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Archive for the ‘Inspirational’ Category

Painted Puppy

Typically, I am a colorful character, but when I paint, I am more colorful than ever — and I mean that literally. A few months ago, while painting at the dining room table, I somehow managed to knock over the water can that all my brushes had been cleaned in, so there I was with a huge wet mess soaking into my jeans and into my carpet faster than the speed of light.

Knowing what a klutz I can sometimes be, it would have been wise to have thrown down a tarp or something, but I had somehow managed to convince myself that I would not make a mess. I’m not even going to splatter any paint on myself this time, I said, with an optimistic bit of denial. Looking back, I can’t even imagine why I would have ever entertained such an unrealistic notion. Had I been honest with myself in the first place, I could’ve saved myself a lot of trouble.

What to do about that bright green spot? My first thoughts were OH NO! We’re going to have to replace the carpeting! I despise stains on the carpet, yet I suppose I could live with a small, inconspicuous spot here-and-there, given that our home is well lived-in. Even so, there is simply no way that I could live with a large field of bright green in the midst of my tan carpet, despite the fact that green is my favorite color.

Then again,  I could have just splattered some white pedal shapes onto the green, then painted on some stems so that I could forever enjoy a nice field of poppies right there in my dining room (no, I’m not serious). Instead, I immediately grabbed my Bissell® Carpet Cleaner and started cleaning. I am happy to inform you that it worked! My green spot disappeared completely and my carpet returned to normal.¹

Had I waited very long, though, the stain would have set in and I would have had to devise a clever way to cover the unsightly stain since replacing the carpets would not have been financially possible at the time. Most likely, had I not gotten the stain out, I would have covered the area with a large, decorative rug. I would know what lay hidden beneath, but hopefully no one else would be the wiser.

Dear reader, you probably know where I am heading with this true, colorful tale, for it is a rather good analogy of sin.

Most of the time, we sin because we are not honest with ourselves and we convince ourselves that whatever we are getting ready to do won’t create us any problem at all. Of course, that type of thinking always gets us into trouble. And when it does, we have a big mess on our hands. We then have to make a decision to either deal with the sin immediately through repentance, thus allowing the Lord to wash our sin away, or to let the sin stay and soak in deeper. Just remember, if we choose the latter, the stain will set-in, leaving a permanent, painful mark on our souls, leaving us no choice then but to cover it up and hope no one ever gets a peek at what we have so carefully hidden.

Friends, we are at the beginning of a new year; what better time to examine our hearts and lives so that we can start this new year free from the burden of sin, giving our whole self completely to the Lord “That he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word….” (Ephesians 5:26) That he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish (vs 27).

As for the people in  your life, remember the old adage: You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time.

When it comes to the Lord God, your Creator, you can not fool Him any of the time!

Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account. (Hebrews 4:13)

¹note: I was painting with acrylics, which clean-up easily with water.  Oil paints are not so easily cleaned.

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caring hands cropped

A Stroke of Providence

One-hundred-fifty years ago or so, Charles Spurgeon penned the following words: “I would go to the deeps a hundred times to cheer a downcast spirit. It is good for me to have been afflicted, that I might know how to speak a word in season to one that is weary.” Heaven knows I have been afflicted more times than I can even recall, yet little did I know when I posted Spurgeon’s words one month ago that  they would be somewhat prophetic for what was soon to come; a mild stroke was on the horizon.

The emergency room doctor seemed very nonchalant about the whole thing. In all fairness, however, the waiting rooms were packed, and the good doctor did look like he had already been worn clean smooth, as they say in the south. A few questions and the compulsory, “Be sure to follow-up with your physician,” and off he went.

My physician seemed equally indifferent. Stroke damage is irreparable, he explained. When one has a stroke, that part of the brain that was damaged doesn’t ever come back to life. He also explained the probability for a future occurrence (which I don’t accept), prescribed a drug that “might” help lessen the odds, and sent me on my way.

Irreparable, my foot, I said to myself as I exited the building; I will come out on-top of this thing —watch me!

The damage was certainly noticeable, but not nearly as bad as it could have been. For a period of two weeks or so, I sounded like Porky the Pig. By way of explanation for international readers, Porky is a cartoon character who st-st-st-stutters. My thoughts were somewhat intact, but I couldn’t get my words to come out clearly for the life of me. What frustrated me the most, aside from not being able to clearly communicate, was that my left arm, which throbbed most of the time, lost all strength and tended to draw-up on me. There were other problems too, like migraines and repeated face numbness, but I kept reminding myself that God was still on His throne and that “this [challenge] too shall pass.”

I’m not taking the drug. As providence would have it, my family has been, for years, under the care of one of the best alternative wellness providers in the nation, a man who also happens to be one of the most godly men I know. He was, and is, working closely with me to find the root cause so that this doesn’t happen again. [Thanks again, Dr. Ben, I greatly appreciate you.]

I am also doing my part to expedite my healing. I reminded my body that I am more than a conqueror through Christ, my Lord (Romans 8:37) and I let my body know in no uncertain terms that I was going to call the shots, and not the other way around.

Day after day, I fumbled through tongue-twisters and other recitations, in order to force my thoughts and speech to connect. I also forced my arm to move, and work, even when it didn’t want to. It wasn’t always easy. I knocked a lot of things over, and spilled a lot, but still I persisted.

There is much more that I could say about this whole ordeal, but for time’s sake, I will jump to the good news; then share a few additional thoughts.

It has been just shy of one month since I had the stroke and I am currently feeling pretty good, almost back to normal. My speech may still have a few glitches in it, but I sound like myself again. My arm almost has full range of motion again, doesn’t throb and is regaining its strength, and the headaches are diminishing. God is faithful and He has acted on my behalf! I realize I still have a way to go, but I also know that He will continue to see me through. He who has begun a good work will be faithful to complete it.

And now, I want to share something interesting. In that first week or so following my trip to the emergency room, while I was st-str-struggling to get most words out, I could recite Scripture verses almost flawlessly. I marvel that the Word of God is more a part of me, than the very blood coursing through my veins.

I shared with my husband, through broken words, what was happening and how awesome I thought it was that my inner-spirit was not affected the way my body was. On the contrary, at a time when I could have easily been downcast, my faith effortlessly rose-up  in leaps and bounds.

My precious Lord showed me so many times, and in so many ways, through all of this that He was right there with me, communing with me, strengthening me. I had trouble remembering simple things, yet I easily remembered a great many verses to those old, beautiful hymns —verses that I hadn’t heard in many years. The Lord spoke to me, through those old hymns, especially. Song after song played through my mind effortlessly, as though I had  heard them only yesterday.

My theme song for those first few weeks was selected for me by my Heavenly Father. Time after time, I found myself singing or humming, Great is Thy Faithfulness.¹

“Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!”
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

I am not sharing all of this with you, dear reader, to boast of my spirituality —God forbid! No, I am sharing this with you to remind each and every one of you of God’s faithfulness. In fact, the song above was penned by Thomas Obediah Chisholm, a man whose health was so fragile that he was often confined to bed for long periods of time. The greatest hymns, it seems, were often penned by those who daily relied on God’s faithfulness to see them through great struggles and challenges.

Finally, dear reader, may I say that I do not believe that it is the Lord’s desire that His children suffer. I do, however, believe that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28). I also believe that God can help us to draw upon our own experiences of suffering and trials in such a way that we can, in turn, be a blessing to others. Charles Spurgeon certainly understood that through our own afflictions, we gain the empathy to speak a word in season to another that is weary. May we follow in his footsteps.

¹Great is Thy Faithfulness. Words by Thomas Obediah Chisholm. 1923

fear not

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cardinal snowglobe

Can you guess which Super Bowl team I’m rooting for? Sorry, that was a trick question, because I don’t care for football in the least. I have come to appreciate the sport more in the last few months, though, because few things put me to sleep faster. My husband can watch his game and I can snooze away; that’s what I call a win-win.

However, Super Bowl Sunday does have one thing going for it. This is my oldest daughter’s birthday. I guess that’s why she exudes enough football enthusiasm for the both of us.

Each year, she has at least three birthday wishes: First, for a Dairy Queen ice cream cake, second that the Denver Broncos win the game, and third that it snow. The Broncos aren’t playing this year, but she likes the Seattle Seahawks, so hopefully she won’t be too disappointed –go Seattle!

As for the snow, there wasn’t enough to stick, but at least we got some. Last year there wasn’t so much as a flake, yet my husband and I made sure that my daughter had snow for her birthday. Seeing that it was her twenty-first, we wanted it to be very special for her.

We sprayed the windows and doors with artificial snow and wrote a unique message in the middle of it all. She was delighted! In fact, the snow and the Dairy Queen ice cream cake would have been enough to keep her happy meter overflowing for a few days, but it was her gift that brought the most joy. Why, because it was a gift from the heart –one that was very carefully thought-out and very personal.

After much searching, we finally found the perfect snow globe; an ornate, musical globe that featured a cardinal, which my daughter also loves. We had the following words engraved on the base:

For our beautiful Rachel, that you may always have snow on your birthday.

She cried tears of joy!

Today, as I carried her ice cream cake through the snow, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought that my daughter is having another lovely birthday. She is celebrating with friends at present, but soon she will be home enjoying her cake while chattering on about her day, and I will cherish every moment, for some day she will be married and have children of her own and I won’t always get to see her on her special day.

That is another reason her daddy and I wanted to give her a very special keepsake for her twenty-first birthday; so she would have a little piece of our heart with her every year and always remember how very treasured she is, and how blessed we are to have such a beautiful daughter. In fact, my husband and I have been blessed with four precious gifts from Heaven, and we are so proud of each and every one of them.

Today, while millions of people are gathering around their television sets to cheer on their favorite teams, I am thankful to have given birth on Super Bowl Sunday all those years ago, and I am mindful that the most important teams in life are those whom God has given us, whether they be family or friends. Bearing that in mind, I called my mother and chatted with her for a while.

What about you dear reader? Whether you cheered on a Super Bowl team, or snuggled up next to your sweetheart on the couch and snoozed, did you take time today to really root for your home team –and by home team I don’t mean football?

When is the last time you looked a loved one in the eyes and told them point-blank, I love you, and I appreciate you? There’s no better time than the present. Well, it is Super Bowl Sunday, so I guess you could wait till half-time if they’re watching the game (if you’re reading this now, you probably aren’t), but whenever you take the time to do so, I guarantee you, it will be a win-win!

pencil lady

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In loving tribute to my dear friend, Barbara “Hugs” Hammond, who crossed into eternity January 7, 2015

barbara.11

Everyone needs to have some “hugs” in their life. I am so grateful that Barbara was mine for so many years. 

*******************

fried worms 3

Years ago, while I was still single, I served as an assistant manager for a rather large truck stop restaurant. One particular evening, while the place was unusually noisy and crowded, a rather weary family arrived.

One look at the parents’ faces told me that the day had already been very taxing for them and chaos was the last thing they needed. while I couldn’t do much about that at the time, I determined to ease the situation any way I could. Although it took some effort, I seated them more quickly than they had expected.

“I’ll go ahead and take your order,” I offered. “As you can see, all of our waitresses are swamped and I don’t want you to have to wait too long; you look exhausted.”

“Bless you,” the mother exhaled as she melted onto her chair. “We have been driving all day and to be honest, the whole trip has been one big nightmare! All we want to do is eat a good hot meal and then get home as quickly as possible so we can sleep in our own beds.”

After hurriedly scanning the menu, she asked her youngest son if he knew what he would like to eat. “FRIED WORMS!” he insisted. That was cute enough the first time but after the fourth time his parents were irate and very close to applying the board of education to the seat of learning right there in that dining room.

“Just bring us all a cheeseburger and fries please.”

I certainly didn’t know what it was like to deal with an obstinate child like that. But his mother’s face said it all, and I was determined to help her out just a bit. Did I mention that I was somewhat prankish when I was younger?

Returning from the kitchen a short time later, I walked over and placed a heaping plate of chewy little treats before the annoying little worm lover. His insolence quickly changed to anxiety. “Wha – what is that?”

“Fried worms,” I answered slyly. “That’s what you asked for, and we always try to make our customers happy.”

Even his parents looked a little nervous, they didn’t have a clue what I was up to but they could tell from my impish grin that they should just play along, and so they did. “You ordered those.” his father said sternly, “Now you eat them- all of them!” The boy didn’t move, though, because his body was rigid with disbelief and probably nausea at the thought of eating fried worms for real.

“Are those really worms?” his older brother asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” I answered. “And they’re pretty tasty; you should try one.”

He was a bit skeptical, though obviously a tad more daring. He slowly raised one to his mouth and ever so gingerly bit the end off of the critter. All eyes were fixed on him as a smile gradually overtook him. “Hey- these are good!” His father agreed.

Little Mr.” I want fried worms!” was not convinced, but after a bit of parental persuasion he finally braved his first bite. His eyes grew wide again, this time from surprise; he actually liked the worms very much. By this time everyone was munching on them and they polished off the whole basket-full in no time.

As the family was leaving, the boy’s mother hung back and quietly asked me what I had fed her family; she honestly didn’t have a clue. “I know they weren’t real worms,” she confessed, “but they really looked like they were.”

The stress that this woman had upon arrival had long since melted away, and she and I both shared a good laugh when I explained that her son had just tasted his first deep-fried clam strips. “Well, you sure taught him a lesson,” she said with great satisfaction. Then, with every ounce of motherly appreciation she could muster, she thanked me and left to rejoin her husband and children, who were hopefully better behaved for the remainder of their journey.

Interestingly, I was really trying to teach that little boy a lesson, yet I learned an important lesson as well. That incident helped me to realize that I was a lot like that boy. There were so many times I had wanted something so badly that I pitched a fit till I got it, only to find in the end it wasn’t really what I wanted after all. And the opposite was true also. There were times when I could not see what wonderful blessings were right there in front of me.

One such example was my friend whom I  lovingly called “Hugs.” I had only known this woman a short time before she felt inclined to give me a big ole’ bear hug. “You needed that,” she informed me. I really wanted to respond with “No, I didn’t, but you need this – SMACK!” Back then I still had a lot of emotional healing to do and I was not at all comfortable being hugged by someone I barely knew. I’ve changed a lot, though. I’m a lot more outgoing now, and hugs are just fine.

As time passed, I got to know “Hugs” better, yet  I still couldn’t help but think at first, “This woman really irritates me. Friendship, no thank you, I pass.” However, I had prejudged her just as the boy had with his fried worms. God had placed this woman in my life knowing what a blessing she would be, but I let my opinions get in the way and nearly rejected this precious gift.

Hugs and I were friends for nearly twenty years and she was always  there for me through the good times and bad. Her friendship was the real deal —one of those once-in-a-lifetime friendships— and I thank God that He knew what I needed even when I didn’t.

One of the most important things I have finally learned in life is that the decisions I make on my own are almost always the wrong ones. Without God’s help I often desire the things that are not in my best interest and fail to recognize those that are. But, when I pray and seek direction from my Heavenly Father through prayer and through Scripture, I can be confident that I am headed in the right direction and everything will work together for my good for the remainder of my journey.

God is greater than our heart, and knows all things.
I John 3:20

*** Postscript: I believe there are certain things which are not to be eaten, as instructed in God’s Holy Word. Clams are one of those items. This event, however, happened nearly twenty-five years ago before I came to this understanding. I thought I would clarify this for those of you who know me personally and may have wondered what on earth I was doing feeding clams to a child. I now have much better food to feed those I encounter; the Bread of Life, but I do not in any way judge or condemn anyone who has a different understanding and eats those chewy little critters.

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pig.jpg

I can say with certainty that it is not a good idea to ride a pig bareback. On the other hand, it is a hysterical thing to watch if you are on the outside of the pen. I know this because I once busted a gut watching my younger sister’s efforts to conquer a big fat hog. Incidentally, those porkers can really move when they’re riled.

With lightning speed, the hog violently bucked my sister off; which would have silenced me at that very moment had she not fallen into a fresh, mucky puddle of piggy poo– that was just too riotous for constraint.

The hog, relieved to have thrown its burden, paced frantically back and forth squealing some unintelligible swine dialect, uncertain of what to do next. But when my sister stood up, the furious beast decided to charge; she barely cleared the pen before it slammed against the railing in an effort to nail her. That brought me to my senses rather abruptly.

I could just imagine the next day’s headlines: “Nine-year-old girl is killed by charging pig; thirteen-year-old killed by parents for letting it happen!”

Even though she was only bruised and shaken, I was angry that my sister had not listened to me when I forbid her to climb into that pig pen. Then again, she always was pig-headed (pun intended). She just grinned smugly and proclaimed with more than a hint of arrogance: “See, told you I could do it!”

Truthfully, I never really doubted it. That girl was always one to grab the bull by the horns- or the pig by the ears- and seize as much of life’s gusto as she could manage. Though I would never have told her so, I secretly admired my sisters’ sense of adventure and her limitless courage. (Don’t tell her I said that- I would never hear the end of it.)

I, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Whereas my sister had been raised in such a way as to believe nothing was impossible to her, I was conditioned to believe that everything was. I had absolutely no self-confidence and was pretty much afraid of my own shadow, so I always played it safe. Being an incredibly difficult hurdle to clear, that fear has kept me from fully enjoying life for more years than I care to admit.

And I will confess that even as a person of faith, I spent way too many years being overly cautious, especially in regards to my children. It is only by the grace of God that they aren’t afraid to pursue their dreams and desires, despite my frequent nominations for the Over-Protective Parent of the Year Award. I guess they really took it to heart when their father and I taught them to believe the words of Philippians 4:13: I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Being nearly grown, I’m sure none of my adventurous offspring will ever want to try riding a pig, but it goes without saying that they will undoubtedly want to do other ‘risky’ things on occasion. That may be hard for an old mother hen like me, but I have to realize that I cannot always protect my children, nor should I always try.

Even if their decisions cause them to ‘fall in piggy poo’ once in a while, I still rejoice in their adventurous spirits and their courage. And, I am very thankful that they are willing to take the bull by the horns and go for the gusto. After all, A life making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.” [George Bernard Shaw]

As for me, I don’t know what the future has in store, but watching my children grow into such fearless young adults has been a great inspiration to me. I’ve even decided to dust off a few old dreams and give ‘em a whirl. After all, I too can do all things through Christ who strengths me. And so can you!

“Don’t fear failure so much that you refuse to try new things. The saddest summary of a life contains three descriptions: could have, might have, and should have.” (Louis E. Boone)

cartoon pig

⇒Disclaimer: My apologies for the following advertisement, if applicable. I would like this site to be an advertisement-free site, but I have to pay a fee for this. I plan to do so in the near future, but for now, please know that I have nothing to do with advertisements &/or advertisement selection.

[I hope you enjoyed this repost from 2010.  Be sure to check back soon for lots of new posts.]

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Bedtime was still a few hours away so the girls and I each settled into our own pleasurable activities to wind-down for the night. One of the girls was giggling at an old movie while her sister was on the phone talking faster than anyone could possibly listen.

I too was occupied, completely unaware of the approaching storm. It wasn’t a big storm, just one of those that rolled in quickly, hit furiously, and left suddenly. But there we were, inside a house suddenly blackened by a power outage.

Immediate sounds of scurrying and bumping indicated that someone was slightly frantic. She was searching wildly for her cell phone because she had been disconnected. I suppose it was the urgency of the matter that caused her to forget how helpful the light can be. Her sister was a bit disgruntled at the forced intermission but decided to make the most of it by fixing a sandwich. She could not see into the refrigerator, however and grumbled, “How long till we get the power back?”

Quite amused, I waited a few moments before shedding light on the subject (literally). Because my husband and I are always prepared for a blackout, we always keep two oil lamps, candles and flashlights readily available. If a power outage happens at night, therefore, we are never left unprepared in the dark.

Still, neither of my daughters had thought to take advantage of the light which was practically at their fingertips. I lit one lamp and watched the girls settle into a more peaceful state now that they could see things more clearly.

Gazing at the soft, soothing glow of the lamp, I thought about the ten virgins who took their lamps to meet the bridegroom (Matthew 25:1f). Five wisely prepared their lamps with oil, five did not. Once these five realized they had forgotten the oil, they scrambled in desperation, much like my daughter did for the phone. It was too late. Their lack of preparation cost them dearly.

I thought too, about the unexpected storms of life. There have been times in my life when I was far less prepared than I needed to be when they hit. And like the girls, I was so distracted by immediate circumstances that I didn’t immediately reach for Jesus, the true Light.

One of the things that I dearly love about my husband is his calmness in the face of every storm, both physical and spiritual. Many years ago we faced a very destructive tornadic storm, which caused me great anxiety. I was on the other side of town, when several tornadoes began touching down near my home.

Regardless of the danger, I was determined to return home to my family. Our children were very small at the time and we lived in a mobile home park. Those are not the safest places to live, as evidenced on my way home. Several of the mobile homes from a nearby park had been thrown onto the highway and a few were perched in trees; few were left standing in the park. And to make matters worse, a radio announcement reported that the town located only miles from our home had been mostly leveled.

I assumed my family was in the storm shelter, and I knew deep down that God would protect them, but that didn’t stop worry from gripping my heart. It was not until I pulled into our park entrance that I began to relax; minimal damage was evident, but all was intact.

Rushing through my front door to grab a few things before joining my family, I was stunned to find all of them inside. I sternly asked my husband, “Why aren’t you in the storm shelter?” My husband smiled at me, raised his hands, and his gaze, heavenward and confidently answered, “I am!”

Obviously he knew where The Light was all along and was fully prepared.

Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path (Psalm 119:105).

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Could anyone ever doubt the artistic brilliance of Michelangelo? Though his architectural and engineering feats were prodigious, the paintings and sculptures of this Italian Renaissance man are yet considered to be amongst the most treasured works in all of art history.

It is rumored that the Pope, while admiring Michelangelo’s sculpture of David, asked “How do you know what to cut away?” To which the sculptor supposedly replied, “It’s simple. I just remove everything that doesn’t look like David.”

Whether this dialogue is true or not is uncertain, but it seems this principle was surely applied by Gutzon Borglum, whose artistic vision equaled Michelangelo’s, or possibly exceeded it. Borglum is the creative mastermind who gave South Dakota its legendary Mt. Rushmore National Memorial.

Four of America’s presidents have been immortalized there. Their granite faces gaze eternally over breathtaking South Dakota. And they are gazed upon. More than three-million tourists visit Mount Rushmore each year to marvel at America’s “Shrine of Democracy.”

The tourists are eager to learn of Gutzon Borglum, Rushmore’s fiercely determined sculptor. If not for his artistic genius and ingenuity, the Memorial may never have become a reality. But is it possible that one man could have single-handedly accomplished such a feat? Hardly.

Borglum may have been the brain of the project, and he may get the lion’s share of the glory, but let’s not forget the whole body of Americans who embraced the dream and worked towards its fulfillment. The first name on the Mount Rushmore roster is Doane Robinson. As secretary and historian of the South Dakota Historical Society, he was eager to draw sightseers to his beautiful state.

While thoughts of tourism were freshly churning in his mind, Robinson read that Gutzon Borglum had been commissioned to carve a tribute to the confederacy into Georgia’s Stone Mountain. He thought of South Dakota’s grand mountains and envisioned “all the heroes of the old west peering out from them.” Fortunately for South Dakota, the Stone Mountain project washed out and Gutzon Borglum was free to sculpt elsewhere.

State forester, Theodore Shoemaker, escorted Borglum into the heart of the Black Hills. He felt that the renowned artist would be captivated by Mount Rushmore. Shoemaker was right on the mark. Once Borglum saw this “garden of the gods,” no other mountain would do. “Here is the place!” he announced. “American history shall march along that skyline!”

The dream took wings. From school children’s pennies to philanthropist contributions, monies and resources slowly trickled in. These invaluable contributions were the fuel that kept Borglum’s dream burning, as were the labors of the men who worked for Borglum: the men who drilled, blasted, and polished the Memorial into its present greatness.

When the plans to sculpt Mount Rushmore were first announced, unemployment was very high. Borglum easily gathered a beginning crew of twenty-two men. Most of them, being loggers, ranchers, and miners, knew nothing at all about carving. Yet they not only mastered the skill of stone carving, they did so while hanging over the side of the mountain in small chair-like “saddles.”

Even though the saddles were sturdy and dependable, the work was dangerous and stressful. Each day started with a taxing 506-step climb to the top of the mountain. The men, who were already exhausted, were then lowered down the side of the mountain to drill and chip the rock away bit by bit.

Borglum originally believed that the Memorial could be carved without dynamite, but he was wrong. Before Rushmore’s completion, 450,000 tons of rock was blasted off the mountain. “We have literally carved with dynamite,” Borglum later confessed.

Most of the men who worked on the mountain earned little pay and gained no recognition. So why did they do it? Initially, the men simply wanted to feed their families. Times were hard, jobs were scarce, and men were desperate. At some point, though, the men caught a glimpse of Borglum’s dream. ‘Red’ Anderson explained, “The longer we were there, the more we began to sense that we were building a truly great thing, and after a while all of us old hands became truly dedicated to it.” Through the years, more than 400 men would share the satisfaction of laboring to create the Memorial.

Gutzon Borglum certainly deserves a place of honor in the annals of artistic achievement. “I want somewhere in America,” he said, “ a few feet of stone that bears witness (to) the great things we accomplished as a nation, placed so high it won’t pay to pull it down for lesser purposes.” The Mount Rushmore National Memorial serves its purpose well.

For me, the past week has been life-changing. Many events, some good, some tragic, have caused me to reflect on my own life. In the end, I want my life to count for something. I don’t want to be famous and admired like the Mount Rushmore memorial, but I want to leave a legacy that encourages people to trust the Lord Jesus Christ. And, I want my life to bear witness of the inexpressibly wondrous things that the Lord has accomplished in me and through me.

I thought about the many people whom God has allowed to impact my life. Like the Rushmore workers, some have helped to gently chisel away some of my pain and imperfections. As Scripture says: As iron sharpens iron, So a man sharpens the countenance of his friend. (Proverbs 27:17).

The Lord has used less gentile people to shape me as well, some were believers and some were not. They, being tools in the Master Sculptor’s hands, were often more like a forceful blast of dynamite because the Lord was using them to reach the places where my heart was harder. Though I could not always see it, the Lord was working all things out for my good (Romans 8:28).

Circumstances, both good and bad, have also helped define me. More often than not, the circumstances have been those which leave me feeling blessed and enriched, but there have been more occasions than I care to remember, when the circumstances of life were also like the explosive charges that carved Mount Rushmore.

It never ceases to amaze me that Borglum was able to assess a mountain and, at the hands of his workers, blast away everything that did not look like a president. One misplaced charge and Washington could have lost his nose, or Roosevelt his ear. But every time the rubble crashed to the ground and the dust smoke cleared, it was evident that the extraordinary masterpiece was one step closer to its completion.

Look closely at the Rushmore Memorial, however, and you will note that it is not quite finished. I think that is a perfect analogy of the human life. We are all works in progress; and we will never be fully perfected in this life.

Even so, let us show forth God’s excellent craftsmanship in our lives by submitting to the Master Sculptor, Jesus. He knows how to skillfully chisel and dynamite all the hardened places in our hearts and lives until we show forth His glory.

Borglum said, “The purpose of the (Rushmore) memorial is to communicate the founding, expansion, preservation, and unification of the United States…” However, we have an even greater calling than Borglum did. Our calling, our legacy to mankind, is to allow the Lord Jesus to communicate the founding, expansion, preservation, and unification of His kingdom through us.

Finally, let us never forget that His is a kingdom of people. I for one am thankful for all the people who God has used, whether chisel or dynamite, to help refine me. When I think of the rubble lying at my feet, which has been chipped and blasted away in order to make my life into something beautiful, I realize that the Lord’s masterpiece is one step closer to completion.

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. (2 Corinthians 5:17).

As such, we are living memorials of our blessed redeemer. Praise God!

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Whatsoever


Fanny Crosby is probably one of the most inspirational women who ever lived. Though blind since infancy, Fanny penned more than nine-thousand of the most beautiful hymns ever written and devoted her entire life to selflessly serving the poor and needy.

What Fanny lacked in physical sight, she was more than compensated with spiritual insight. She once remarked: “It seemed intended by the blessed providence of God that I should be blind all my life, and I thank him for the dispensation. If perfect earthly sight were offered me tomorrow I would not accept it. I might not have sung hymns to the praise of God if I had been distracted by the beautiful and interesting things about me.”

Lord help us all, I pray, be blinded to the enticements of this world that we may see you more clearly. Let us proclaim, as did English clergyman John Newton, “Amazing Grace… (I) was blind but now I see!”
(“Blind Sight” is an archived message from my Polished Pearls blog.)

***

pencil lady

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Eagle takes flight over Grand Canyon USA

This week, my region’s wonderful sweatshirt- and-boots weather has been held at bay by a resurgence of warmer temperatures. Nothing new here; our local weather is somewhat bipolar. Only a few summers ago, my children were swimming one day, and the very next they needed to wear their coats. If there is one place in the world where glimpses of all four seasons can be experienced in the course of a single day, it is definitely here, smack in the middle of the good ole U.S.A.

Now that I’m slipping into my autumn years, I sometimes feel the same way emotionally. Those pesky hormonal changes have a way of diving-in and swinging the emotions of this menopausal woman like a pendulum, from happy tears over the least little thing, to unexplainable sadness over nothing, all in one fell swoop.

Speaking of “one fell swoop,” Whether Shakespeare first penned the phrase or merely borrowed it for his Tragedy, Macbeth is uncertain; but he certainly popularized it. The imagery of “one fell swoop” is that of the fierce, dreadful descent of the swoop (an English hunting bird) upon its prey.

If the Bible were to use the phrase, I Peter 5:8 would be a perfect Scripture for its insertion: Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour [in one fell swoop]. Thankfully, those who put their trust in Christ have been given an arsenal of spiritual weapons to fight, and to overcome, the devil’s all-out attacks.

If only the victory were always as simple as the Apostle James’ admonition to “Resist the devil, and he will flee from you!” Maybe I am only speaking for myself, but sometimes the enemy’s attacks are so strong and unrelenting that I simply wear out, to the point that my faith starts swinging on that same emotional pendulum as my “bipolar” menopausal emotions.

It is then I remind myself of the 91st Psalm:

1 Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
2 I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”
3 Surely he will save you
from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
4 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
7 A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
8 You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.
9 If you say, “The LORD is my refuge,”
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
10 no harm will overtake you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
11 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
12 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
13 You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.
14 “Because he loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
15 He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
16 With long life I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.

Dear reader, it does not matter what challenges we are facing; nor does it matter how difficult the fight. Our King is Adonai Tzevaot – the LORD of hosts! In one fell swoop, He will rescue those who call upon His name!

pencil lady

⇒Disclaimer: My apologies for the following advertisement, if applicable. I would like this site to be an advertisement-free site, but I have to pay a fee for this. I plan to do so in future, but for now, please know that I have nothing to do with advertisements &/or advertisement selection.

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steve cross
When my husband came home with a cough the other day, I felt badly for him, but I was anxious to test the claim that pineapple juice is more effective  than cough syrup. You can be my guinea pig, I told him.

Then my brain started whirling. What if someone stumbled upon that phrase a few-hundred years from now, or a thousand, should the Lord tarry? Would they have any idea what that expression meant to our generation? Would they debate its meaning the way folks sometimes do with some of the archaic expressions in the Bible, like turning into a “pillar of salt,” for example?

Some believe that Lot’s wife literally became a giant block of salt. The historian Josephus made the fantastic claim that the salty form of Mrs. Lot still stood in his day, some two-thousand years after her demise, and claims to have personally seen it himself. There are natural salt formations in that region, so it isn’t too far-fetched to believe that Josephus, with a little imagination, might just have fancied one of those to have been Mrs. Lot.

Whereas I can see his enthusiasm for the literal rendering of the biblical account, I would like to think that if I ever saw a pillar of salt, even an oddly shaped one, I would merely accept it as a giant “cow lick,” as we call it in my neck of the woods, or perhaps a “camel lick” in those parts. Do camels even lick salt blocks, I wonder? But I digress.

There is another explanation for Lot’s wife turning into a big salt lick as well. Some bible scholars teach that “turning into a pillar of salt” was an ancient Hebraic idiom, meaning that one had a heart attack or stroke. If this understanding is correct, the Scripture is merely informing us that Mrs. Lot was so frightened at seeing her town destroyed, loved ones and all, that she dropped dead on the spot from a coronary or brain aneurysm. I tend to agree, but I doubt anyone could ever know for certain.

Whatever happened to this frightened woman, it was tragic and I certainly don’t want to make light of it, but I do find it humorous that some people still claim, to this very day, to have seen the salty form of Mrs. Lot also; her frozen glare fixed upon the spot where Sodom once stood. To me, that would be akin to someone reading this post some four-thousand years from now and thinking that my husband really turned into a guinea pig at my suggestion, and that they had recently seen him squeaking his way around town.  That just wouldn’t be true.

Likewise, we sometimes  just have to accept that there are many things in Scripture that are not as clear-cut or easy to understand as we desire them to be. For example, it would be great if someone could clearly explain to me what Ezekiel 13:18 means? I am still a bit stumped by this one:

… Thus saith the Lord GOD; Woe to the women that sew pillows to all armholes, and make kerchiefs upon the head of every stature to hunt souls! Will ye hunt the souls of my people, and will ye save the souls alive that come unto you?

Someday I will dig into that verse, but for now I’ll just refrain from sewing pillows onto armholes and making kerchiefs upon the head of every stature to hunt souls, which shouldn’t be too difficult since I don’t even have a clue what that means.

And with that, my guinea pig and salt licks rambling comes to a point. Dear reader, it is quite easy to misunderstand some of the Scriptures, which are written and can be studied. It is a great deal easier to misunderstand people, because we are much more complex. Even Jesus was misunderstood quite often. However, we should never –we must never– allow misunderstandings to damage otherwise healthy relationships.

Margaret Elizabeth Sangster once wrote, “In the whole round of human affairs little is so fatal to peace as misunderstanding.” I wholeheartedly agree with that. Misunderstandings have all too often caused otherwise peaceable folks to stand in frozen defiance of each other like bitter, unmovable pillars of salt; their eyes unable to see anything other than what they desire to see; unable to move forward.

Seeking truth is important and fighting for truth  sometimes necessary, but fighting each other is never the best recourse. Let us, therefore, remember to be charitable in our misunderstandings and disagreements, knowing full well that:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.…  (1 Corinthians 13:4-6).

 

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