Things

I sold my 1966 Chevrolet pickup for $2500 to buy a Toshiba laptop with the side-mounted mouse—latest technology in 1994.  We were returning to the mission field, and I needed a new computer for our work. Looking back, I wish that I could have kept that pickup. It was special and I wanted to keep it, but we were moving back overseas, and keeping it was just not possible. I had bought it a few years before and then invested funds in some body work and a new paint job. It was a straight eight with lots of power. I repainted it the same shade of light blue as the original paint. It was a keeper, but I could hardly pack it away in our luggage!

For the last several days I have been updating the inventory of our home and our farm. The inventory is a dynamic document that needs to be updated from time-to-time, so in some spare time I have been comparing the old document to the things that we presently have. We don’t buy new furniture very often, but the electronic stuff seems to turn over frequently.

And that was the case with my Toshiba laptop. After three years, the technology was outdated, the operating system was slow compared to the newest models, so I had to replace it.

About that time, I was back in Mississippi and actually saw my ’66 pickup going down the road. It looked great. I had spent my money on a laptop that was practically worthless, and there goes my pickup humming down the road just like it had done three years before when I sold it. You can guess some of the thoughts that ran through my mind as I thought about spending the $2500 from the sale of the pickup on a computer that was now worth nothing.

Isn’t it interesting how we want to keep “things?” I am guilty! In our attic and in the storage areas on the lower level of our home are boxes filled with some of those things. My barn is full of things that I am saving for future projects. Granted, I have saved a lot of trips to the hardware or lumber store by looking in my reserves for material for a project. Just this week I have been repairing a hay feeder that I made a few years ago. I learned that it is not wise to plant those 3 ½” by 3 ½” landscape timbers from Home Depot in the ground. They rot in about 3-4 years where a good treated post will last 20-25 years in the ground. I smile when I realized that among my “junk” (as some of my kids and grandkids refer to the goodies stored in my barn) were all the materials necessary to repair the hay feeder. Did not have to go buy anything!

So, I am patting myself on the back while getting off subject. Cheryl would say that I am chasing a rabbit. I have never chased a rabbit, but I have had beagles that were great as chasing rabbits. Uh, there I go again…

About those things that we accumulate. I had not thought much about all the things that we own until I started updating the inventory. I recall the villagers with whom we worked in West Africa. The only clothes they owned were the ones they were presently wearing. They slept on an elephant grass mat. They ate out of a common gourd dish. A prized possession for them was a kerosene lantern, a transistor radio or, if they had lots of money, a bicycle imported from China.

Granted, during those days, our lives were much simpler, and we had a fraction of the things that we have accumulated here in the USA. The purpose of this epistle is not to make you feel guilty about all your things because I already do. But the purpose is to remind us how much God takes care of all our needs and most of our wants.

I have learned over the years not to confuse the words “need” and “want.” At this ripe stage of wisdom-acquiring in my life, I know better than to say something like I need a new tractor. The fact is that there is nothing wrong with my tractor, but I want a newer model, but I do not need one (Cheryl is actually going to smile when she reads this!).

The Bible talks a lot about God supplying our needs, but not our wants. Philippians 4:19 (ESV) says, “And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”

All this said---I still wish I had not sold that ’66 pickup!

Fun Gift

I am the type that does not want to toss old food from the refrigerator. Why throw out molded cheese when you think about how cheese is made?  Just cut the mold away and enjoy. Some of the most expensive cheeses are aged up to two years, and bacteria is injected into some of these cheeses to give them that distinctive flavor. Why should I throw out a chunk of cheddar cheese just because it has a little mold on it?

The same goes for yoghurt. It is made from fermented milk, so how can it go bad? Now, I am not in accord with keeping everything in the refrigerator that is old. Our house helper in Burkina Faso was named Etienne (Stephen in English) who lived in a mud hut very close to our house. Etienne believed that any food kept in a refrigerator would never go bad.

Our refrigerator was a kerosene-operated type. Most nights when we went to bed it was still 100 degrees in the house, so you can imagine how hard that little kerosene refrigerator had to work to keep a decent inside temperature in the high 60s. That’s right! Naturally, food would not keep very long in our fridge. We had to be careful in taking spoiled food out of the fridge because Etienne would take it home for his family.

OK, so I am not as bad as Etienne about eating old refrigerator food. I was brought up not to waste food, but I think my kids and grandkids just think I don’t want to throw away food because I want to save money. Actually, I am challenged about trying to finish leftover food instead of tossing it.

I admit that I may be tight about some purchases, and I don’t buy hottest brands in clothing. I laugh at some of my grandkids because they shop for the right branded clothes and accessories. I am well past that, but, by and large, I believe that you get what you pay for.

One thing I don’t do is cut corners on gifts for Cheryl. For years I have given Cheryl a purse for our anniversary (just celebrated our 52nd!). I only buy name brands. I do not like shopping for clothes for her, but I really enjoy shopping for purses. Fortunately, she likes what I buy—or at least she says she likes them and she uses them. This year was hard because I have never bought her a purse that I did not pick out in person. I had to order one online. I wasn’t able to touch it and feel the material that it is made from,  nor was I able to see how many pockets it had and how deep they were. Frankly, it was a gamble, but guess what? She loved it.

Maybe Cheryl is bored with getting a new purse every year. She knows what to expect. But, I never know what to expect from my bride. For our anniversary she bought me a cell phone sanitizer. But she also gave me a really awesome gift—three soft dart pistols and a package of 100 extra soft-tipped darts! That’s a woman who knows how to give unusual fun gifts. I can’t wait to have some dart fights with grandkids. We get our second COVID-19 vaccinations next week, so we are looking forward to reintroducing ourselves to our grandchildren soon.

By the way, this is the same wife who gave me a hang-gliding experience for my 60th birthday.

Isn’t it great that the Lord gave us the ability to have fun? Go ahead! Have some fun and honor the Lord in all you do.

Built on Clay

One of the greatest and most complex structures of its day was completed in 1350. It stands 179 feet tall, but it leans 17 feet out of its perpendicular. That is enough of a description for you to guess that I am talking about the Tower of Pisa.

The construction of the tower began in 1173, and it took nearly 200 years to complete. The foundation of the tower is only 3 meters deep, and it was built on a type of clay that was not strong enough to support the tower. The tower began to lean when the third floor was completed in 1178, so construction was halted for 100 years because the government decided to focus on its war with Genoa, and they hoped that the soil would settle during that time. Over the ensuing years more efforts were made to correct the leaning which only led to the tower leaning even more.

Today it is one of the top tourist attractions in Italy, and I am one of those millions who have flocked to visit the site. Take my word for it—if you have seen a picture of the tower, don’t waste your time going there. It looks like a giant wedding cake that tilted when one of the wedding reception guests bumped the folding table. The pictures are better than seeing it in person. That is true for many of the landmarks in the world i.e. Stonehenge in England.

Over the years it has been interesting to observe the competition for constructing the tallest building in the USA or Dubai or Hong Kong or any other country. It brings prestige to that city and to the company that owns the building to have the tallest tower.

Our lives are like the towers that are being built today. Our human nature informs us that we want our personal tower to get taller and taller as bricks are added to the construction. But that desire to get taller and taller does not consider the foundation of our tower. No matter how many bricks are added, the question that must be addressed is what kind of foundation is our tower built on? If the foundation of our life is built on the rock of Jesus Christ, then we have a firm foundation that will last.

Jesus told us to be wise by building our lives on the rock so that we would have a good foundation for the storms of life. That rock is the truth of God’s Word. All of Heaven and earth will pass away, but His Word will remain. Be wise and build your life on what will last.

“Therefore, everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.” Matthew 7:24-27 NIV

 P.S. Travel tip: Don’t visit Pisa, but don’t miss the Isle of Capri. That was one of our girls’ favorite places to visit in Italy.

Doing What Is Right

We are visiting my mother in Mississippi to celebrate her 91st birthday this weekend. She has survived a bout of COVID, four falls, and several visits to the emergency room over the past four weeks. This morning she said without prompting: “I feel good this morning.” She is one tough lady!

When I am “home,” as my mother says when I visit her, Cheryl and I want to help my mother as much as she will allow us to do so. She can’t walk without a cane or a walker but believe it or not she still runs the small sweeper over the floors. She holds on to her cane with one hand and has the sweeper in the other. She wants to do everything for us: Can I fix you a cup of coffee or tea? Let me hang your jacket in the closet. I will cook lunch today. She has been serving people all her life, and she just can’t accept help from others.

There is just Cheryl and me visiting my mom, so it is just the three of us living in the house. My mother is obsessed with cleanliness. If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then my mother is as close to God as one can get. It is actually sad that mom is legally blind and cannot see small things like crumbs on the floor that the sweeper will not pick up. She would be upset if she knew these particles were lying on her kitchen floor.

But there are still a lot of things she can still do and one of them is walk around with a can of Lysol in her hand. My brother and sister-in-law live next to my mother, and my mother keeps them hopping from store to store to keep her supplied with Lysol spray. My brother and I have both ordered some “Lysol-like” sprays, but they sit unused on a shelf in the closet. Mom will not use anything but Lysol. Interestingly enough, she was a huge user of Lysol before we ever heard the word COVID. For years we have purchased Lysol in bulk quantities for my mother.

A few minutes ago my mother came into the “porch” room (former porch and now a sun room) and warned me that she was about to spray the room. I quickly went to the kitchen table to continue my work while she sprayed the chairs, the floor and more. I asked her why it was necessary to spray since there was just the three of us in the house. I already knew her response: “Because I do this every day!”

I resolved myself to the fact that she believes that this is the right thing to do in spraying the house with Lysol. She has her routines that we do not understand, but they are the right things to do for her.

Wouldn’t the world be a better place if everyone did the right thing. We are better at talking about the right things than we are at doing them. Yes, we would have a happier place for mankind to thrive if everyone was focused on doing what is right for all instead of doing what is right for personal gain.

Teddy Roosevelt said it well: “Knowing what is right doesn’t mean much unless you do what’s right.”

The Bible says it better: “So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.”  James 4:17

N'Kiema Cogitations

The title of both this blog and the heading of this blogsite is “N’Kiema Cogitations” so I thought I would explain that. “N’Kiema” is a More’ word from the Mossi people group in Burkina Faso. It means “old man.” It is used to address wise old men as a respectful term. Jeremy still often calls me N’Kiema.

As for the word “cogitation,” that will take more explanation.

Dr. John G. McCall was one of my long-time mentors—for 44years! He passed away at the age of 95 years young. He had several careers. During World War II he served as an Army chaplain. He retired as  pastor of First Baptist Church in Vicksburg, Mississippi, after serving for 35 years. During “retirement” he was a professor at Boyce College in Louisville, Kentucky, and afterwards he served as professor and head of the Department of Religion at Mississippi College. Finally, he served as the “interim pastor” of a church in Edwards, Mississippi, for 9 years!  Few others in our times can match that longevity for the Kingdom!

Dr. McCall was a man of small stature, but he had a healthy set of lungs to belt out a strong voice. He was a meek man, but he was a zealous preacher. He was such a gentleman. Many often said that he was the perfect example of a southern gentleman. I never once saw him miss an opportunity to hold the door for anyone near him. When a line formed to eat at church, in a restaurant or even in someone else’s home, Dr. McCall was always, by choice, at the end of that line.

I did not live close to him during his last months on earth, but frequently I telephoned him for a visit. Often when he answered the phone I would ask him what he was doing. He would give a one-word response: “Cogitating.” OK, so who has used that word in the last six months?

I recalled hearing the word used, and I knew that it meant to ponder something, but I looked it up, and in addition to ponder, it means to think deeply about something, to muse, to ruminate, to mull over and to contemplate.

I have been reflecting on when I have recently cogitated. I spend too little time just meditating and listening to the Lord.  I am so task oriented that I usually don’t think about something for a long time. I am also an activator according to Gallup’s StrengthsFinder profile. That means that I don’t like to sit in meetings and talk for a long time about doing something. I like to talk for a short period about what needs to be accomplished and then make assignments to get it done. I think we spend too much time sitting around talking about how to solve issues when we should be out there fixing them.

 I get so focused on results sometimes that I don’t spend enough time thinking deeply or meditating on what the Lord is trying to say to me. I get too busy with all the important work that needs to get done, and I do not think about the most important thing—my relationship with my heavenly Father. The Psalms have a plethora of reminders about how important it is to cogitate. Here’s one from the first chapter: “Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night.”

Just reading back over this, I am feeling bad about my Bible reading habits. It seems that I read the Bible like it is more important to get through a certain number of verses or finish a chapter or a book of the Bible, so I can move on to the next challenge. I read too quickly over the verses, and I miss what God is trying to say to me. I have not learned the art of cogitation, but I am working on refining my cogitating skills.

“This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success.” Joshua 1:8

Miss Alma

All my life I have loved playing in the dirt. I get that yearning honestly because all my family for generations before me farmed for a living. Today I love our small farm because it gives me opportunities each day to watch fruit trees, vines and bushes, vegetables, trees, flowers, and shrubs grow.

I even have a graduate degree in agriculture with an emphasis in horticulture. I don’t usually tell people about the degree because they automatically have questions about house plants. I studied vegetables and, consequently, I know little about house plants. However, this bit of advice on houseplants usually satisfies the inquisitive: more house plants die from over watering then from lack of water.

One of my favorite plants is the daylily. It is a very hardy plant and will thrive in some of the most difficult soil environments. Unfortunately, day lilies are like candy to deer, so I am unable to plant them all over our farm. We do have quite a collection around our home where the yard dogs keep the deer at bay. Over time different varieties of daylilies planted too close together will cross pollinate and after several years they will produce only the orangish flowers that you see growing wild in some places. We have some very unusual varieties that I have collected over the years.

Through the years when we were back in the states, I would find some daylilies that I liked and would take them to my mother’s where we would plant them in her yard. When we returned to live in the states 20 years ago, I started transplanting some of the daylilies to my yard, so I have been able to dig some of them up and move them to our present home.

Some of my favorite varieties in our yard came from Miss Alma’s daylily garden. We first met Miss Alma Pittman while speaking at First Baptist Church, Winona, Mississippi years ago. She was a small frail-looking lady all stooped over. Cheryl and I visited only once in her home. She was the proverbial hoarder. We walked around tall piles of magazines and odds and ends in her living room. We did not sit down because most seats were covered with “stuff.”

Miss Alma had invited us to her home to get some of her daylilies. Beside her modest little house, she had a half-acre plot of daylilies. They were her pride and joy, and in her town she was known as the “daylily woman.” She sold daylilies and gave 100% of the money from those sales to her church for the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering for international missions.

God created the daylily bloom for a purpose: to give joy for one day. After blooming for one day, the flower shrivels up, wilts, dries up and falls off the plant. God had a different purpose for us as He created us to relate to Him and our fellow earth travelers to radiate the joy of the Lord to each other. Each day the Lord refreshes His joy in us so that we can bloom for others to see Jesus in us.

Please consider giving to support international missions through the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering through your local church or here: https://www.imb.org/give-now/?projectid=f9lmco

The Kitchen

My mother is a good cook. Just yesterday I was talking with my best friend from college, and he was reminiscing about putting his feet under my mother’s table with a spread of vegetables and cornbread set before him. My mother will be 91 in a couple of weeks, and she is legally blind from macular degeneration. However, that does not stop her from cooking. Granted she is not on the high point of her cooking career, but she still has the touch. While I was staying with her a few weeks ago, she cooked a three-layer chocolate cake for me. It was not perfectly iced, but it still tasted good. She can’t read, but she bends over the stove with her lighted magnifying glass and figures out how to set the oven temperature.

When Cheryl and I were first married, I was actually concerned because Cheryl had declared that she could not cook—but she was eager to learn. That meant that I was going to be the guinea pig!

There were some challenges in the early years, but today Cheryl literally has a world-wide reputation as an outstanding cook. Through the years as family and friends have bragged on Cheryl’s cooking, I have made this statement: “I taught Cheryl everything she knows about cooking.” As a follow up to that declaration, I am quick to add that through the years she would often ask me, “Would you get a clean spoon and taste this?” or “What does this soup need” or “Do you think I need to add more lemon juice in the guacamole?”

She loves to be in the kitchen. When we designed our home, I made more decisions in planning the layout, but when it came to the kitchen, that was Cheryl’s domain.

Over the past eleven days, I have been in charge of the kitchen. Cheryl has been recovering from the coronavirus, and I have been the chief cook and dish washer. And, boy, am I ready to relinquish this duty to the master cook of the house.

I have tried to keep the meals as simple as possible. Granted I have picked up more than a couple of meals from restaurants, but I have prepared chicken salad, taco soup and of course bacon and eggs and other simpler meals. I had a hankering for some potato soup, but a look in the pantry revealed two small potatoes—not enough for the potato and onion soup that I wanted to make. I had already talked up the potato soup with Cheryl, so I had to come up with another kind of soup.

A glance in the fridge solved my dilemma. The recent grocery store pickup included a container of fresh mushrooms. I looked on the web for a recipe for mushroom and onion soup. After settling on one and making some adjustments for missing ingredients or deciding to substitute this for that, I served the soup to my two COVID patients. They liked it. I was happy.

Christmas is a special holiday, and it is ALWAYS highlighted with good food. I had to do something special. After some deliberation over Cheryl’s famous recipe file box (that has its own frequent flier account), I decided on comfort food. We had chicken and dumplings, candied sweet potatoes and green beans. I was in the kitchen for hours. I am so slow, and I was nervous about making the dumplings. How much do I roll out the dumplings? Would I get the temperature of the broth just right before dropping the dumplings in the pot? Don’t let the dumplings scorch while simmering. Keep the sweet potatoes simmering while getting the green beans going and watching the temperature of the broth. Oh, when will Cheryl get back in her kitchen?!?

I love the kitchen, but I love it when the chief cook is on duty. During visits from our family and friends, we often gather around the large kitchen island instead of the more spacious family room. Kitchens bring families together. Sadly, except for me, our kitchen has been empty during this holiday season.

I don’t know exactly what the “new normal” will look like, but I surely hope it includes more fun time around the kitchen island watching Nana cook.

“She looks well to the ways of her household
    and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children rise up and call her blessed;
    her husband also, and he praises her.”  Proverbs 31:27-28

I'll Be Home for Christmas

“I’ll Be Home for Christmas” is one of the most famous Christmas songs. Written in 1943, it was recorded that same year by Bing Crosby and was in the top ten records of that year. The song was written from the perspective of a World War II soldier who longed to be home for Christmas “If only in my dreams.”

With the coronavirus raging once again, this year many of us can truly say that we will be home for Christmas. Plans for celebrating Christmas with our families have either been canceled or altered by the threat of spreading the virus. 

Our kids and grandkids have not been together at Christmas time since 2014, and this was supposed to be our year to be together. Those plans were scratched long ago along with our plans for a week-long family vacation at Grey Wolf Lodge. 

Our plans have become even simpler as Cheryl tested positive for COVID-19 this week. We have racked our minds trying to figure out how she contracted the virus. We have been so careful, yet, boom! She has a few less severe symptoms that we are watching, and she has been in regular communication with our family physician. 

My brother and his wife both have the virus. They live in Mississippi next door to my 91 year old mother. Our daughter, Amanda, left her husband and five children to go care for my mother for a week. I am so proud of Jeff, her husband, for volunteering to take off work and take care of the kids while Amanda was in Mississippi. 

Amanda was with my mother when she tested positive for the virus, and a couple days later she became seriously ill. Amanda took her to the ER, and the caregivers administered an infusion of antibodies, and miraculously they sent her home. 

Amanda contracted the virus and now she is isolating on the lower level of our home, and unfortunately she will be away from her family til the end of the year. I am proud of her for the act of love that she demonstrated by taking care of her grandmother and exposing herself to the virus. 

Cheryl is isolating in our bedroom on the main level. Amanda is on the lower level. I am headquartered in a bedroom on the loft level, and trying to take care of my two COVID patients. I will be home for Christmas with two of my sweethearts—responsibly distancing—and dreaming about the greater family Christmas that will have to wait for another year. 

Stockings and Mangers

It’s Christmas time! This year has been a challenge for many people as it has for our family. We are still sheltering in our home, so ALL our shopping has been done on the web. We use aps for pickup orders for food, animal feed and general things for the home and farm (Home Depot, Tractor Supply, etc.).

Cheryl made stockings for each of our four children when they were born, and each year while our children were growing up, they usually were more excited about their stockings than other gifts. Of course, each item in their stocking was bought especially for them.

This tradition has passed to our 16 grandchildren as Cheryl made a stocking for each of them, and just like their parents, getting their stocking is a Christmas highlight. If the grandkids are not in our home for Christmas, then we make every effort to get the stockings to them for Christmas time. With kids living overseas, it has been challenging over the years to send the packed stockings with someone who was traveling to their area. It may take a few months to get the stockings back to our home, but we have always received them back in time for next Christmas! Some stockings have accumulated a lot of frequent flier miles! This weekend we are celebrating Christmas with Jason and family, so it is stocking time again!

Jason and his family have been in our home for the past two weeks. They spent the first week isolating in the lower level of our home. Then, after a negative COVID test last Saturday, they have been up and about the other two floors, and we have had a great time with them. It is so good to hear grandkids singing Christmas carols all over our home.

My favorite Christmas carol is “Away in a Manger.” I love to hear our grandchildren sing this carol. It is such a simple song with a profound message. It is simple to learn and relatively easy to sing. When the grandkids harmonize while singing this carol, it is just beautiful.

None of the mangers we see during Christmas time are good depictions of the “manger” where Jesus was born. I have visited Bethlehem and seen the supposed site of Jesus’ birth. All I recall is a church built over a dark spot that is supposed to be exactly where Jesus was born. To me it doesn’t matter if we don’t know the exact location. What matters to me is that he was born in a setting where animals lived. Animals ate there, they slept there, and they laid their wastes there.

Our mangers today do not depict the smells of stable droppings and the unsanitary environment of a barn where animals live. Just think, Mary and Joseph laid the baby Jesus in a feeding trough where animals eat and drool.

God chose to have His son born in a stable. The Jews were looking for a Messiah to come who would save the world, but not one whose first bed was a feeding trough. The Jews were looking for a king dressed in royal clothes and surrounded by his court, but they were not expecting a baby born of a virgin whose father was a carpenter. But God chose the perfect place for the perfect Savior of the world—a stable.

As we celebrate let us remember how Jesus came humbly into this world when God could have chosen for Him to come in the most magnificent manner in the universe. From humble beginnings, Jesus lived and died humbly.

Makes me wonder about my life. How humbly is my life lived? Am I completely humble in all my actions?

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2

Best Day Ever

Jeremy, Jason and I installed a 40’ rope swing on an oak tree on the farm last Saturday. Jason and family are here isolating in our lower level, so our interaction has been outside only for this past week. 

Earlier this week, Anabelle and I were at the rope swing. As she was swinging on the rope, it began to snow—just a few flakes—and she was squealing. All of a sudden, she cried out, “This is the best day ever!” Of course, that made her papa feel real proud.

That was not the first time I had heard her say that phrase. The other time she said that in front of me was a couple years ago. I took her and Naomi to the dollar store, and I told them that they could buy any five items in the store that they wanted. They were excited that they could pick out their own purchases. The fact that every item in the store only cost $1.00 did not seem to matter to them.

Thirty minutes later after they had picked out their items, we started to check out and I asked the girls if they would like a soft drink. Of course! I also picked up three ice cream sandwiches before checking out. 

After getting settled in the car, and as we were eating our ice cream treats, Anabelle exclaimed, “This is the best day ever!”

How many days in your life have been the best days ever? I think that most of us have experienced many times a “best day ever.”

One of mine was a date that Cheryl and I had at the reservoir in Jackson, Mississippi. We were on a double date with my best friend and his date, and I brought along my battery-powered record player for background music as we had an evening picnic. That night I realized that I had fallen in love with Cheryl. 

Other “best days ever” were the days that each of our children were born. Three were born in different states in the USA, and one was born in West Africa. 

Another one was sitting in a marriage enrichment meeting in Amman, Jordan, when Cheryl wrote me a love note. It was so beautifully written, and it made me cry. I still have that note in one of my Bibles. 

I have many, but just one more: my 60th birthday celebration. My birthday and Christmas had already passed, and Cheryl and I had two couples as house guests in our home—Al and KK Gilbert and Denny and Sherry Smith. I thought it was interesting that each of these couples did not know the other until they both arrived at our home. I wondered how that happened, but Cheryl had arranged everything, and I loved both of these couples so I was happy to have them visiting with us. One evening Cheryl and the other two wives were out shopping, and I received a call from Amanda asking me to pick up Collin from a birthday party at the skating rink. Al, Denny and I stopped at the skating rink for the pickup, and Collin came out and  said, “Papa, you need to come inside.” 

As I walked into the building I was totally blown away. Cheryl had rented the entire skating rink and gathered many friends to celebrate my birthday. It was a great time. Did I skate at 60 years of age? Of course! I even did the skating races. It was a grand time with family and friends. Interestingly, the owner of the rink was very nervous when the rink was rented for a 60-year birthday party. Previously, the oldest person to celebrate a birthday there was a 40-year old! 

Indeed, all of us who have a personal relationship with Jesus would list that day when we became a child of God as the “best day ever.” But, we also know that the best days will be in the hereafter as we bow at the feet of the Risen Savior. 

Questions

I have always been curious. By my upbringing and my nature I am a farmer, and farmers are always curious. They ask the “why” and “how” questions. When I was born my parents lived on a farm. I grew up with farmers as most of my extended family during my childhood were farmers. So, I get my curiosity honestly from the culture in which I was raised.  

I remember my elementary school teachers telling me that I asked a lot of questions. My ninth grade English teacher said that I only asked questions to get attention—maybe I did!?

When Cheryl and I were in language school in Tours, France, one of our professors said to me, “Monsieur Cox, alors, vous etes Chinois!” He accused me of being Chinese because I asked a lot of questions. I thought some of my questions were very reasonable. For example, when someone knocks on the door of your home and asks if you are at home, you reply I am there. How can I be “there” when I am “here?”

One of my mentors was Avery Willis. From the first time I met Avery, we had a mutual affection for one another. After we had been friends for several years, he told me that he first became interested in me because I asked hard questions that made him think deeply.

God has a sense of humor because at one time or another each of our 16 grandchildren have asked me a zillion questions like “why are trees green?” or “why is the sky up there” or “how do those poles holding those lines beside the road stay straight?” or “why do ducks say ‘quack’ and chickens do not?”

I always had a response for each of those silly questions from my grandkids even if I did not know the answer. When Caleb was four years old he was going someplace with me and all the way there he asked me question after question about the most random things. I responded to every one of them and made up an answer if I did not know it. After a while Caleb asked me, “Papa, do you know everything?”

Last year on my birthday I received a gift that had this imprinted on it: “Papa knows everything and if he doesn’t know he makes stuff up really fast.”

Asking a lot of questions is not bad. After all, questions and parables were two of Jesus’ favorite ways to communicate. Both methods have in common that they are not direct answers. They are asking the listener to participate in this process of understanding. 

Jesus also answered questions. I understand that during Christ’s time on planet earth, the gospels record 113 questions that Jesus answered—52 of which were his own questions, so that means that he answered 61 questions from others.

Jesus taught that we are changed as much by what we say as what we hear. Mark 7:15 (NIV) “Nothing outside a man can make him ‘unclean’ by going into him. Rather, it is what comes out of a man that makes him ‘unclean.’” What a man speaks is what makes him clean or unclean. We are changed by the truth when we speak the truth. When Peter declared Jesus to be the Christ, he believed even more firmly that Jesus was the Christ.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, oh God, my strength and my redeemer.

Daughters-in-love

Over the years, Cheryl and I prayed for our kids’ spouses, and we are so happy that God answered our prayers and brought just the right men and women into our family as spouses and life partners for our children.

When Jeremy started school at Mississippi College, Jason had completed his freshman year. I was on staff there, and as I was reviewing the list of incoming freshmen, I was happy to see that the granddaughter of some friends was on that list. Her grandfather was the foreman of the very first team of volunteers who came and worked alongside us in the Tennessee Upper Volta Hunger Project. Over a five-year period we hosted 550 volunteers from Tennessee who all came to work with us for a minimum of 30 days. Many of them quit their jobs so they could come and serve as they were not able to take off from their work for a 30 day period.

This period of our lives was one of the most fruitful and yet one of the hardest. Through projects in the areas of agriculture, literacy, public health and water resource development the Lord led in the beginning of churches in 31 villages in our area of work.

Our friend Reg was retired, and he came out to work with us for the first four months of the project. He had a new crew every 30 days to build the sleeping quarters for the volunteers (concrete slabs with a tin roof with tiny spaces divided by woven elephant grass mats). He came back to Upper Volta the next two years during the dry season to continue to serve as the foreman of construction, and he brought his wife, Annette.  During these times of service alongside our family, Jason, Jeremy and Amanda called them Uncle Reg and Aunt Annette. Interestingly enough, I finished Mississippi College with their daughter, Ann, so we had more family connections.

When Ann and her husband, Charles, showed up at Mississippi College on move-in day, Cheryl and I made it a point to find them so we could meet their daughter, Kelli. We wanted to try to get Jason and Jeremy to meet Ann, Charles and Kelli because Kelli’s grandparents had been such important people in their lives. As one could imagine with 350 new students on campus along with their families, it was hard enough to find someone much less try to get people together for a meeting. We were not successful in trying to make the introductions and settled for the fact that we would have another opportunity to meet Kelli at another time.

We lived less than a block from the high school and only five minutes from the college campus, so we were accustomed to having kids in and out of the house every day. So it was not unusual when Jason told us that he was bringing a new friend to our home. Cheryl asked him her name, and he said Kelli. It did not cross our minds that this was the same Kelli that we were trying to get the boys to meet a few weeks before. It was only when we met Kelli that we made the connection with her mother and her grandparents.

When Jason and Kelli became interested in each other, Kimberly Magee was already a good friend of Kelli’s. Kelli asked Kimberly to go the tennis courts to watch Jason and some other guys play tennis because Kelli did not want to go there alone. It was at this tennis outing that Kimberly and Jeremy first met.

I will never forget Kimberly’s first visit to our home in Clinton. As stated earlier, kids were in and out of our house every day. However, early one evening I was sitting in my chair in the den and suddenly, a young lady was standing over me asking, “Is it OK for me to sit in your lap? I miss my daddy so much.” What could I say!? Kimberly stole my heart at that moment.

Kimberly and Jeremy became more interested in each other later in their freshman year, and they started dating. They broke up during their sophomore year, and in the spring semester Kimberly went to London in the study abroad program. Although she and Jeremy did not communicate during that semester, Kimberly and I continued to exchange emails. Soon afterwards they were dating once again, and I was happy.

The Lord called us back to overseas service, and we moved to Kandern, Germany in June, 1994. In the fall we started making Christmas plans for our family. Jason and Kelli, who were engaged by this time, and Jeremy were making plans to come to Kandern for the holidays. Cheryl and I decided to invite Kimberly, also. We wanted to share this time together with Kimberly also—even though she and Jeremy were not dating at the time of the invitation. By the time the holidays came, they were once again dating!

We had a memorable time together celebrating Christmas in a tiny German village called Kandern, traveling in Germany, France and Switzerland and having a great ski trip in the French Alps.

After another couple of years of dating Jeremy and Kimberly were married.

For many years I have been calling my daughters-in-law “daughters-in-love” because I fell in love with them early on.

This is a sad season for Cheryl and me. For a couple of years we had planned to celebrate the week of Thanksgiving with ALL of our family—there are 26 of us now. This took some planning and preparation to arrange the schedules of our busy kids and grandkids to have fun time together at Grey Wolfe Lodge. Unfortunately, that was all cancelled weeks ago. Our family celebrating Christmas together will be postponed as COVID-19 continues to reignite.

In my understanding of the Bible, God ordained two things: the church and the family. Since the beginning of time blood relatives have organized themselves into tribes, clans, and families. Families are the strength of a society. Everyone needs family, and if they don’t find it with their own blood relatives, then they will go elsewhere to love and be loved. I do not understand why people don’t spend more time celebrating family. It seems that we get busy and forget our priorities. I believe that it is not so much the quantity of time spent with family, but the quality of time with our loved ones that is most important.

Make the most of time with your family. You will never say that was wasted time.

Smell

I read this week a relatively old news report that dogs are being trained to sniff out the COVID-19 virus. Amazing! I never cease to be amazed at the extraordinary abilities of the dog’s olfactory capacity.

One of the pleasures that I enjoyed earlier in my life was to follow a pack of beagles on the trail of a rabbit. The dogs were so good at tracking the elusive rabbit, and they were so persistent in the briars and thickets that the tips of their tails became bloody. The rabbit was rarely in sight, and I would think that the dogs had lost the trail. But their noses were always near the ground, and most of the time they would pick up the trail and take off in hot pursuit. 

Recently as I exited our house next to where our two yard dogs were snoozing in their bed, I walked near them with a garbage bag with chicken scraps tucked away somewhere in the bag, and the dogs were immediately awake and sticking their noises in the air. 

A dog’s sense of smell is from 1,000 to 10,000 times greater than that of a human. Humans perceive the world through their vision, while dogs experience the world through their nose. Every smell is different for a dog, and each smell has a story behind it. When a dog smells a person, another dog, or any random scent, he is trying to determine the history behind it.

Like all humans my smelling ability is only minuscule compared to that of the dog, but I do have some history behind “smells”—experienced during my travels in many other countries over the years.

Walking in the sand of the desert in eastern Chad, I smelled the camel dung in the largest camel market I have ever seen. Most people would turn their head away from the smell of animal manure, but for this farm boy, that’s like potpourri!  

The aroma of fried dumplings on the streets of any city in China made me hungry even when my stomach was full.

As I walked the narrow streets of the medina in Sanaa, Yemen, I smelled the newly cured leather of goatskin.

Crepes cooking in a cart on the street in France. Coffee beans roasting in Guatemala (and I don’t even like to drink coffee). The sweet smells of a Lebanese bakery or mangoes being peeled in Egypt. Smelly open air fish market in Abidjan. Durian in Indonesia (Yuck). Haria soup in the Marrakesh market - tastes as good as it smells.

Where we lived in Burkina Faso, I smelled the dried seed from the nyeri tree, which is used in preparing the sauce that provides sustenance for families in the Sahel. It is a repelling smell, but the taste is not bad! 

One of our closest neighbors to our house in Sanwabo used natural indigo dye to color hand spun cotton material. Every time I came near one of his dying pits, my nose burned from the odor of the dye. I dreaded shaking his hand as it always reeked of the dye.

The Lord has been saying to me, 'Larry, if you have any purpose in My work - it has to do with these scents. For these are the smells of the world I died for.' 

For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing, - 2 Corinthians 2:15 (NIV)

Spoiled

It is common to hear people talking about “spoiled children” or a “spoiled child.”  

In our family we did not talk about a spoiled child until Amanda was born. Having two boys only 17 months apart in age, we did not talk about either boy being “spoiled.” When that cotton-top little girl named Amanda appeared on the scene, the boys were as guilty as their parents in spoiling her. 

As a preschooler in Burkina Faso, Amanda had only one local playmate, Janeen, who was our house helper’s daughter. Most children of all ages—even four-year olds—were kept busy all day helping with chores, hauling water or working in the fields. There was little play time for village children. Janeen’s dad worked for us so their family had a steady income and did not have to farm to grow food for their family, so she was able to play each day with Amanda. 

When Allison joined our clan Amanda was four years old. Amanda, the boys and Janeen all participated in spoiling her—along with her parents! There is four years difference in our girls’ ages, so Allison came along at just the right time for Amanda to pretend that she was her real baby.

Allison was definitely the most spoiled of our children. Maybe that’s because she is the fourth child, or she is the baby of the family. Regardless of the birth order, her three siblings doted on her so much that Allison was queen of the house.  

As parents we did not consider ourselves as heavy disciplinarians. We were firm with our kids for sure. I admit that I was less firm with our fourth child because I really did not need to be firm with Allison. Sometimes whenever Allison did something wrong, I did not have to say a word. I could just look at her a certain way, and she would lower her chin and look away from me. What a sad face! Whenever I gave her the “look,” she understood that she had done something that she should not have done, and she had that repentant reaction.

Isn’t it interesting how Allison’s reactions to her father’s “look” made her know that she had done something that displeased her father? The same is true with our Heavenly Father: we know when we miss the mark with Him without a word being spoken to us—and not even a “look.” 

Lord, as we walk with you, guide us to be so in tune with You that we don’t need a word or a look from you to know when we are not pleasing You. 

Dirty Clothes

When we lived in Burkina Faso most people in the country did not have any way to wash their clothes except by hand. The clothes washing duties fell to women and children. It was not unusual to see a group of women gathered around a “watering hole” doing their washing. A watering hole would usually be a hole dug out in the sand in a dry river bed where water would seep into the hole, and the women would dip water out of the hole with a calabash (gourd) bowl.

It would be 100 degrees plus with a humidity of about 10-15% most of the time, so drying was easy. but here’s the twist: when the women would finish washing a piece of clothing, they would stretch it out on the sand. Yes, on the sand! When the clothes would dry (usually in a matter of minutes) interestingly enough they would shake the clothes briskly and there would be no sand on the clothing!

We had the only washing machine within two hours of our home, so we were very fortunate indeed. We thought we were doing a good job getting our clothes clean until we returned to the USA.

When we returned to the US after resigning from our service in West Africa, we brought very few things back to the states with us. We picked out our very best clothes and packed them in our luggage.

The first day after arriving at my parents’ home, my mother told us to pile all our clothes near the washing machine—not just our dirty clothes but all of our clothes.

After washing a load she hung them out on the clothesline (oh, by the way that is a wire stretched between two posts and the purpose is to dry your newly washed clothes in the fresh air and sunshine). After hanging out a couple of loads she came inside and informed us that we needed to buy all new clothes.

We thought how ridiculous that was until Mom marched Cheryl and me outside to the clothesline to look at our white clothes compared to their white clothes. Our whites were all a tan color. Without any more discussion we agreed with my mother and made plans to buy new clothes.

My mother has always been a Nazi about cleaning. The old adage “Cleanliness is next to Godliness” rings true with my mother. She will have many jewels in her heavenly crown if they are based on cleanliness.

As I write this story Cheryl and I are at my mother’s home. She fell for the fifth time in the last couple of months and miraculously she has not broken a bone. However, this last fall bruised her severely and it has incapacitated her to the point that she walks with a walker with wheels. But that has not stopped her from trying to clean her house, or more accurately telling Cheryl and me what she “needs to do.” Like this: ”I need to vacuum the den.” “I need to sweep and mop the bathrooms.” We jump in to do these chores, of course, and we try to preempt some things before she mentions them.

Even though no one will come in her home all day long, she still gets out the Clorox wipes to clean door handles, door frames, counter tops and on and on.

Oh, I did not mention that my mother has macular degeneration and is legally blind. She takes her shoes off to walk across her kitchen floor and can detect a few grains of sand on her floor. She just knows how to sense dirt.

Wouldn’t it be great if we, as believers, had the ability to sense dirt in our lives that may not be so obvious to us or those living close to us? What if we had a sixth sense for detecting sin before it happened so that we would not actually commit that sin?

We don’t have a sixth sense ability. We do continue to sin even though we desire not to commit sins. But God has given us the ability to stop ourselves from committing a sin. We are often tempted to do something that misses the mark that God has set for us.

Let no one say when he is tempted, "I am being tempted by God," for God cannot be tempted with evil, and He Himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. James 1:13-14

By the way, I miss the fresh smell of clothes that have been dried on the clothesline! 

Sleep Talking

Until our boys were in high school, they shared a bedroom. I know that may sound strange to some people who are from a family of 3 or 4, but we were a family with four children and there just were not enough bedrooms to go around.

My mother could say, “There were only two boys sleeping in one room?!” That’s because she grew up in a primitive wood-sided house with no insulation or running water. The basic part of the house had two rooms with a shed attached on the back that served as the kitchen. Her dad and brothers added to that shed to make another room. It was in that shed room where my mother and her three other sisters and three female cousins grew up. There was one bed and lots of quilts for pallets.

In some ways Jason and Jeremy were about as different as day and night. One of those differences was in the way they liked to keep their room. Jason was the one who wanted everything to have a place and everything in its place. Jeremy—well, any place was a good place for anything. So we had the constant battle of organized versus unorganized.

Things became so bad while living in the bush of southeastern Burkina Faso that I resorted to extreme measures to try to keep peace in the family. I took a roll of masking tape and divided the room into two parts. I also placed tape in the closet and divided it into two parts. I assigned wall space and shelf space and drawers in the chest of drawers to each boy. By the time the tape finally wore off, they were actually getting along much better.

The boys had the only real soccer ball anywhere near our home in the bush, so they spent a lot of time playing soccer with the village boys. The area around our home was over grazed because the boys who were given the task of herding the livestock would hang out around our house waiting for our boys to come out to our makeshift soccer field to play with them. Village boys spoke a mixture of French and their local language called More’ so our boys grew up speaking both of their playmates’ languages.

Jason and Jeremy were active sleep talkers, and Jason was an active sleepwalker, so it was a regular occurrence for us to awaken to the boys talking in their sleep and occasionally find Jason walking around the house in his sleep.

One night I walked into their bedroom and discovered that they were not only talking in their sleep, but that they were talking and responding to each other! On top of that they were mixing up three languages in their conversations. One of them would say something in French and the other would respond in English. Then one of them would say something in More’ and the other would respond in French. They did not interrupt each other. They carried on a civil conversation in three languages. Interesting how it is sometimes difficult for me to carry on a good conversation in one language!

Although I do not know its source, I heard this some time ago: The biggest communication problem is we do not listen to understand. We listen to reply. Proverbs 18:13 says, “If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.” We all know the adage: God gave us two ears and only one mouth.

This is an area of challenge for me, so I am working on being a better active listener. Here are some things I am trying to practice: 1. Looking at the person who is talking instead of looking at something else. 2. Reflecting on what the other person is saying. Think deeply about what the person is saying and make responses. The response may not be a lengthy one, but even a short one lets the person know I am paying attention. 3. Don’t just hear the words. Try to understand the meaning of the words as they are presently being used. 4. Do not interrupt or talk over the person talking. This is the toughest one for me for I am an activator and I like to hear a few words about the problem or challenge, and then I want to get to work immediately on fixing it.

I am a work in progress in this whole area. I have spent too many years not being a good listener, and I am believing that I am not too old to improve my listening skills.

These two verses have been helpful to me:

 “A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion.” Proverbs 18:2

 “Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.” Colossians 4:6

Curly Q

I love ice cream! Over the years I have traveled in 135 countries, and I think I have had ice cream in all of them. Granted, in many of the countries, the ice cream was not memorable.

Cheryl’s father, Maurice, ate a bowl of ice cream every night. FYI, I don’t eat ice cream every day. I learned a lesson about ice cream while in college: ice cream everyday makes you fat. I don’t know how Maurice kept from being fat.

When I began my proton therapy treatments in early January, my radiation oncologist and his staff insisted that I not lose any weight and urged me to eat more calories than normally. This was important for the dosage calculations that the technicians had made for my treatments. Being treated for cancer was no fun, but I was going to have fun with this extra calories challenge.

I had surgery in November, and I was inactive afterwards and boom, Thanksgiving weekend happened. Yep, I gained weight. Then, I had the second surgery in December, and once again there was a lot of food around during family visits. So, my weight was already up when they coached me about the importance of maintaining my weight. Bottom line—I ate lots of ice cream during my seven weeks of treatments. By the way, my favorite ice cream treat is a chocolate malt which is difficult to find these days.

Back to my college lesson—during one year in college I worked for Borden’s ice cream factory in Jackson, Mississippi and gained 15 pounds. I worked on the clean-up crew which came to work late afternoon each weekday. For perspective, I grew up in a home where I was taught that no food should be wasted. So I saw it as my personal responsibility to eat as much of the ice cream that was left in yards and yards of stainless pipes as possible. It was soft and easy to eat, and man did I eat a plethora of ice cream. After a month of stuffing myself, I finally realized that I had to eat that soft FREE ice cream in moderation. But I still gained the fifteen pounds.

Shame on the major ice cream producers for marketing “Dairy Desserts.” You pick up a carton of Breyer’s Rocky Road and think that you have purchased ice cream. Wrong. To be classified as “ice cream” the product must contain 10% milk fat. What you have purchased is a dairy dessert—so designated in small print at the bottom of the carton. It is less expensive to manufacture, but the price of these products did not go down. Now the producers will argue that the price of a carton of ice cream has not increased in recent years, but mind you, they have reduced the size of the carton by 25%.

When you make homemade ice cream you do not fill the container completely with your ice cream recipe because the paddle turning inside during the freezing process adds air to your ice cream. Also, in fast food restaurants their ice cream machines have a large paddle turning continuously to add air to their product. Air is free, so the lighter the ice cream, the more air—and incidentally more margin. A gallon of ice cream must weigh 4.5 lbs/gallon to pass the USDA standards. The cheaper the ice cream, the more air that is in it. When deciding on an ice cream product the greater the weight the richer the product.

While working for Chick-fil-A I learned that their soft serve is “Ice Dream” because it is not real ice cream. When Cheryl and I were dating one of our most favorite treats was a strawberry soda from Dairy Queen. I have eaten a lot of ice cream from Dairy Queen, but only recently have I discovered that it is not ice cream after all. It only has 5% milk fat.

The sweet spot of this story is this: what you see is not necessarily what you wanted to get. I am reading in the book of Samuel now, and the following verse reminded me of a sweet principle: don’t let the curly Q on the top of a Dairy Queen cone fool you—because it is not really ice cream but a dairy dessert.

But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." I Samuel 16:7

Talking About Dying

People just do not like to talk about dying. Cheryl has accused me of being morbid at times when I want to talk about death. I contend that it is quite normal and expected that we talk about death.

We have all heard the expression: “Nothing is certain except for death and taxes.” This phrase is usually attributed to Benjamin Franklin, who wrote in a 1789 letter that “Our new Constitution is now established, and has an appearance that promises permanency; but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” However, The Yale Book of Quotations attributes the first appearance to this: “‘Tis impossible to be sure of anything but Death and Taxes,” from Christopher Bullock, The Cobler of Preston (1716).

Another thought on the theme of death and taxes is Margaret Mitchell’s line from her book Gone with the Wind (1936): “Death, taxes and childbirth! There’s never any convenient time for any of them.”

Some people say that the older you get the easier it is to talk about death. I am not so sure  about that. From some personal experiences, I have seen resistance to talking about death from loved ones who were imminently facing their death.

Readers of this blog know that I like to write about my dad, Pete, so I will use him as an example. Pete thought that he would not live past 76 years because his father had died at that age. I started trying to talk to him about death before he reached that age, but he was resistant. I think he was just afraid to talk about his death. He was sure of his salvation, and he knew where he would spend eternity, but he just did not want to talk about death. Over the years he mellowed on the topic, and in the five years leading to his death at 92, he would openly talk with me about his death and his memorial service.

Now, my mother is a different story. Many times in my visits with her I have tried to channel the conversation to talk about her memorial service, but she won’t go there. She is not the exception; she is the norm on this subject of death.

Have you noticed how we avoid the word “death” or “died?” Just read some obituaries and you will see words and phrases like these: he went to his heavenly reward; she passed; he went to his eternal home; she expired; he departed this life; she went to be with Jesus; he departed this world.  

According to the website www.legacy.com, research on obituaries in every state revealed many different ways to say someone died: Texas and Georgia – entered eternal rest; Wisconsin and Michigan – was called home; California and Oregon – succumbed; Illinois and Louisiana – went to be with his/her/the Lord; Colorado and Washington – left this world; Montana and Utah – slipped away; and Nevada – lost his/her battle. Most of the other states just say “passed away” or “died.”

The finality and uncertainty that surround death can be frightening, even for people of faith. It makes us think about all that we have not accomplished in this life.

Christians should not feat death. Jesus died and rose from the grave, therefore death has lost its sting (1 Corinthians 15:55-56).

Death is not an easy thing to meditate on, but the wise person will think about death often. The enemy keeps us from thinking and talking about death.

Here is some advice from someone who does not fear death and feels comfortable talking about my own death: spend 15 minutes today just thinking about your death. Nothing else. Do not let your mind wander from these thoughts.

This little exercise will relieve some tension of thinking about death. You will be less reluctant to think about death, and you will think of death in a more constructive manner. Your thoughts will begin to formulate on how to prepare for death. Thinking and talking about death is healthy for your mind and the heart—the control center of your being.

I believe that once you start thinking more about your death and your eternal existence you will make better decisions about how you steward your resources: where you live, what you drive and the shoes you wear.

“Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12).

Easy Street

During our years of living in West Africa I saw sights firsthand that most people only see via some type of media. A baby dying in my arms not from meningitis, malaria, typhoid or any other prevalent disease, but from simple common diarrhea from drinking dirty water. A village family boiling shrub brush roots to make a soup to feed their children. Children with swollen stomachs. A visitor might mistakenly think these children were well fed because he/she would not know that one of the symptoms of the hunger related disease called kwashiorkor is a bloated belly.

To the villagers to whom we ministered, we were wealthy. We had the only western style house with a metal roof for three hours in any direction. Our vehicle was the only one around except for the ones assigned to the gendarmerie office at our rural government office and the French Catholic priest who lived near us. We slept in beds with mattresses while the villagers slept on elephant grass mats. We ate three meals a day while most villagers ate one meal each day.

If the villagers had known the expression “living on Easy Street,” they would have certainly told us that we were living on Easy Street.

Our family was unquestionably living on Easy Street compared to the abject poverty of our village friends and colleagues. But we actually did live on a street named Easy Street in Yazoo City, Mississippi in 1979. First Baptist Church of Yazoo City had a home on Easy Street that that they used for workers on furlough. Our family lived on Easy Street for four months of furlough before we took a leave of absence for me to pursue a graduate degree in agriculture at Mississippi State University.

While many people fret about an OLED TV or 5G networks or buying a vacation house or another new vehicle, so many people right now are suffering because they do not have the basics of life: food, clothing and shelter. And many of these peoples’ kids cannot even go to school because they are in displaced persons’ camps or refugee camps. We can help.

There are a lot of organizations out there asking for your contributions to help these impoverished people, but most of those organizations use a large portion of your donation to pay for their administration and fundraising expenses. Southern Baptists pay for these administrative costs through faithful congregants’ regular tithes and offerings that they give each week in their local churches all across the USA. Therefore, you can be sure that your gifts to Send Relief, Southern Baptists’ hunger relief, disaster relief and community development organization, will be used entirely to help people in need around the world.

October 11 is Global Hunger Sunday.

Send Relief website: https://www.sendrelief.org/

The Table

Nearly 2,000 years ago the Temple, the center of Jewish life, was destroyed. At that great moment of crisis, the table became the center of Jewish religious practices. The Rabbis transferred the Temple in Jerusalem into the Jewish home, moving its rituals, sacred space, food, blessings and prayers to the family and the family Shabbat table. In making the Jewish family table and meal the successor to the Temple, the rabbis also made Judaism portable. The family table became the center of the Jewish faith from Tel Aviv to New York City, from Ottawa to Oslo, and from Marseille to Melbourne.

Today a common saying among Jewish families goes like this: “Every home a temple; every family a sanctuary; every table an altar; every meal an offering; every Jew a Priest.”

Jewish tradition recognizes a meal as a time for intimacy, fellowship, and significant conversation. As followers of Jesus, we recognize the importance of the table as we celebrate the Lord’s Supper. How many artistic renditions of the Lord’s supper have you seen? At the center of every one of these paintings is the table.

There are 76 references to the table in the Bible. The table has been particularly important in Judeo-Christian culture.

When we moved to live in Upper Volta (now called Burkina Faso) in 1980, we did not have a table, so I made one. There were only two kinds of wood available and both were imported from Ghana—an exceptionally soft wood and mahogany. I chose the mahogany. The only electric tool I had was a circular saw, and for the rest of the project I used hand tools to finish the table and two benches. The top of the table was made from three 12” wide boards and the legs were crisscrossed to form an “X”  like many picnic tables.  

We lost count of the number of times that table was disassembled to move it from one location to another. I have had to be creative in reassembling the table as there have been so many screw holes in the wood.

Our family has eaten a lot of meals around that table, and we have hosted hundreds of people around that table. We have used it in four countries—Burkina Faso, USA, Germany, and England. It is the kitchen table that the three oldest kids remember the most for mealtimes. When we moved back to the USA and lived in Clinton, Mississippi the old mahogany table was in our den. From that time on we did not regularly eat around it, but it was still used—kids did homework there, Cheryl graded papers seated at the “picnic table,” and the family played games around the table.

Over the years there were a lot of decisions discussed and finalized around that table. We ate and played games by kerosene lamps at that table in West Africa. It has been covered in Harmattan dust many times. Our family has individually and corporately read the Bible and prayed at that table while sitting on one of the mahogany benches. We have made many family decisions, cried together and laughed together at that table.

When I retired from Lifeshape, I needed a work desk and the best place in our home was the one occupied by the old mahogany picnic table in our loft. We still were using the old table when we entertained large groups for a meal in our home, and grandkids played with dolls, toys and “little people” on that table for the 12 years we have lived in this house.

There was no other good place for the old table, so, sadly, I disassembled the table once again and stored it and the two benches away.

Our culture today has forgotten the importance of the table. Tables in the home serve as a “catch-all” for keys, mail, shopping bags, etc. Families do not sit around the table for a meal much anymore. Everyone seems to eat on the go or in shifts.  My heart breaks for young families who are missing out on making memories around the family table.

Our table is out of sight today, but not out of our minds or our family’s memories. Memories are not something that you can shut up in a storage area in your home. They are made to last. Maybe one day someone else in our family might want to put our old mahogany picnic table back into service and make some more memories around it.

Our family legacy is made up of memories. Cherish them. Share them with your children and grandchildren. Share them with your friends and colleagues.

Dr. Suess once said, “Sometimes you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”