THINGS I CAN'T EXPLAIN

To say I'm hurting this morning would be an understatement.  The killing of Charlie Kirk yesterday has devastated me, and enraged me at the same time.  I get so tired of people pointing to his being a Christian as a reason for me not to be devastated. I've already heard the unending platitudes of:  "He's in a better place," or "He's with his savior," and "he's resting in the arms of his Lord"..etc. etc. etc ad nauseam. There are very few men that I hold in high esteem, Charlie Kirk was one of them. I remember the first time I ever watched one of his videos on social media. It was obvious that he was a force of nature. I didn't know then that he'd not been to college, and assumed he had. He possessed wisdom beyond his years, so I naturally assumed he was ten years older than he was. His kindness, and deep abiding concern for those he debated was very rarely returned. However, on those rare instances when one of his opponents admitted that they might be wrong, he never gloated. At more than double his age, I found myself wishing I could be as much a man as he was. He inspired me. 

Yesterday, someone changed all of that for me. 

A coward, (not a judgment just an observation) killed Charlie Kirk with malicious intent. My 'Sparrow's Perch' blogs are usually created in response to the antics of the birds and sparrows I encounter in my daily life. But, I don't even have a way to tie this into something I've observed in nature. I can't talk about sparrows, or squirrels, or anything in nature, because there isn't anything in nature that even comes close to the evil of someone killing another person in cold blood just for the things they've said. I would like to believe that Charlie's life was ended by a mentally ill individual who has no grasp on reality, or human compassion. I keep hoping that law enforcement will find some kind of social media rant or manifesto that will reassure us that a normal rational person could not do something this heinous or cruel. It would be easier to accept that Charlie was killed by a sick, demented person than to believe it was a political hit job, born out of political desperation. What makes it even more political is that there had already been talk of Charlie Kirk running for President. I don't even know if I'll still be alive in the next election, but I would have voted for him in a heartbeat.  More like than not, it was an ideological killing in response to the raging vitriol pumped out by the left leaning legacy media that Charlie often spoke against? 

In many of the past killings, and attempted killings, we discovered a frustrated, clinically diagnosed mentally ill person who was ill prepared to escape, painfully obvious in their chosen place of attack, and driven by a need to be found. These kind of deluded people long to be martyrs because without martyrdom they are just another person.  A nobody, feeling small and insignificant.  They are the kind of person who often leave behind 'suicide' notes along with their manifestos blaming everybody else for their sickness. They chose a famous person to kill because by doing that they end up being famous themselves.  They also chose a person who was viewed by them as the personification of their pain.  That would be so much easier to understand than a cold calculated hit job.

I'm old enough to have lived through some of the most heinous killings, and mass murders of the last seventy years. I can't help but believe that this one has all the earmarks of a professional assassination. Dear God in heaven, I hope I'm wrong.  

Either way, as I was doing my prayer walk this morning, I couldn't even pray. I could only cry.  I cried because the only image I had of Charlie Kirk was of him holding his kids while surrounded by his wife looking at him adoringly. As I  trudged along in sorrow for his devastated family, I didn't want to stop walking.  "What if I just keep walking?"  I asked myself.  "What difference does it make?"  Nothing mattered anymore. It was the same feeling I had when my wife Glenda died. I stepped out of the hospital moments after holding her lifeless hand one last time to find out that life goes on, people go about their business, and the world keeps on spinning unaware of the massive pain in your heart. As I'd watched the coverage yesterday afternoon I kept wondering who cares that this young father won't be coming home to his precious children?  It would have been strangely easy to just keep on walking. Running away is my usual coping mechanism.  I wanted to run, and get as far away from the situation as possible.  In this case, where can I run to?  As much as my heart was hurting I wondered if I could keep walking long enough for it to stop altogether. That would let the monsters win, so, I walked another quarter mile up the creek bed till I reached a point where I knew I wouldn't have the strength to walk back to my car. I felt empty and helpless, but I wasn't about to let the leftists win.  They were revealing themselves for the cold heartless monsters they are. When I made it back to my house I was confronted with the cold, and callous reaction of the legacy media who somehow blamed him for his own death.  

WHY?  Because he championed free speech?  Because he challenged the liberal elites who have captured our education system with lies, and half-truths?  Because he challenged those who make money by normalizing mental instability, and destroying the lives of those who aren't mature enough to make rational choices?  There is a huge cultural divide that is being shaped by powers beyond our shores, who wish to sow division, and create chaos.  Did those powers pay for and issue the hit on Charlie Kirk?  Did they subvert a young man's mind and make it appealing for him to murder someone in cold blood.  For right now we don't have that answer. 

I would love to say all the mushy Christian rhetoric that the left loves, like;  "We have to be forgiving."  No, I don't.  I don't have to accept Charlies death.  I don't have to make sense of it or say things like God will bring good out of this.  A monster picked up a rifle with a scope, put the cross hairs on Charlie's head, and pulled the trigger. That fact alone is the only reason I believe he wasn't a professional sniper. It's obvious he didn't account for the distance.  Somehow the killer escaped. Another 'conservative activist' silenced by a monster. Actually, I'm tired of people describing Charlie as a 'Conservative activist', as if that somehow has anything to do with his murder. I'm a conservative activist and have been all my life. I just never took it to a college campus and challenged the ruling elite, because I wasn't ever in my wildest dreams as well read, or intellectually acrobatic as Charlie Kirk. He wasn't a radical in his Christian beliefs, nor did he belittle those who debated him. Charlie was a better man than me. I would have never been able to do what he did. Sadly, I'm one of those who would berate the idiot standing in front of me.  Not Charlie.  If anyone ever felt humiliated, it was because Charlie confronted them with the truth, and with facts. For me the better descriptor would be: Charlie Kirk, husband, father, and truth speaker was killed by a coward.  

I can't change the rage I'm feeling right now, I can't fold it away.  This is the way I react to senseless killing. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day I'll be able to put away my sorrow for the loss of someone I enjoyed watching on social media. Being a worn out seventy year old man who loved watching Charlie speak common sense to confused young people gave me hope for our nation's future. Please don't get me wrong, as a Christian, I know I will have to let my rage go. I'll have to focus on what is in front of me, and accept Charlie's death. Eventually I'll find the strength to be like my savior and pray for the one who killed Charlie, BUT, it will never be my responsibility to forgive his killer. I'll pray for the killer's salvation, and ask God to be merciful to him, but forgiveness has to come from Charlie's wife, and kids. Even now while I'm still consumed with anger, and rage, I hope Charlie's family finds the grace to forgive the one who took their loved one from them for their own sake. If they don't, then the bad guy wins, and that angers me more than the death of Charlie Kirk.  

Rest in peace, Charlie.  An old man in Arkansas will miss you.  

  

  

IT'S THE LITTLE THINGS THAT GET US

 This post comes from an incident that happened to me Saturday morning.  

Oh wow, what a beautiful morning it was. Being that it was Saturday, I wasn't concerned with doing my daily 2 mile walk. BUT, it was a fantastic morning with a nice temperature, and low humidity. Perfect for some long needed pruning and timber cutting along my property line with my neighbor. My idea of fun?  NOT so much!!  But needful.  

My neighbor is a young fella, and I remember what it was like to be young, engaged, and single. Well, I sort of remember. Actually I have vague long forgotten recollections of that time, but it felt big of me to think that...thought.  Let me say that I decided I would hold off mowing the yard so that he could sleep late, so I grabbed my loppers, and my extension saw to do some much needed clean up of my property line. (Okay, that's more along the line of what I was really thinking, I think) Anyway, about an hour later my neighbor steps out to let his dog do his stuff, and we started talking about what I should leave along the property line and what I should cut down. He offered to do the work for me, but I said, NO, I could do it myself.  I figured if I couldn't do my own pruning, then I needed to be in the grave.  He put the dog in the house and took off to spend some time with his fiance. Unknown to me, while I was talking with him, I'd been standing squarely on a carpenter ant hill.  It was just a few minutes later when I began to feel them attacking my legs, my arms, and my chest.  To say the least they were all over me.  I quickly shed my shirt and began flailing at myself like a madman, hoping that no one drove by. I'm sure that the sight of me slapping my big old fat belly, and dancing around like a crazed man would have frightened anyone if they'd seen it. I could feel them biting and crawling in places that I don't like to think about, and I didn't want to be the source of unwanted laughter in the middle of my traumatic battle with the ferocious killer ants.  I also wasn't about to strip down to my skivvies out in the front yard, but dear God in heaven, I wanted to.  I began to pat and pound places that shouldn't be pounded on, while still being attacked by the ants.  I was leaping, shouting, and crying all at the same time. I finally got the garage door down and stripped down to my...well you know.  Just stripping down, I shook loose about twenty ants and stomped their bodies into the garage floor. I stomped what I'd just stomped, and then ground them into the floor, and stomped them again.  I was mad at them!!!  Then, I became mad at myself for not realizing where I'd been standing in the first place.  I'd seen them on the tree trunk and even remarked to my neighbor not to lean against the tree.  I shook out my clothes, stomped a couple of more killer ants and then went inside to get a shower. I was humiliated to say the least.

It's amazing how something as small as a carpenter ant can upset your day and bring you to a full rage in no time at all. The welts from their bites weren't as bad as being stung by wasps, or bees, but they still hurt.  After I got my shower I sat around the house in a pair of loose fitting shorts and nothing else. That ended my day in a hurry. 

As with almost everything that happens in my life, I quickly began looking for a spiritual analogy.  Then I remembered the verse that said "the little foxes that spoil the vine."  Boy, did those ants ruin my day!  

It's amazing how easy it is to mess up a scripture verse just to make it easier to remember. When I thought it, I opened up my Bible app and looked it up. Wow, I was amazed at how I'd been saying it wrong all this time.  The saying comes from Song of Solomon 2:15.  Song of Solomon????? What? That's a funny place for an oft quoted idiom. Even more amazing is how we've truncated it down to almost nothing.  The verse actually reads: "Catch us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines, for our vines have tender grapes."  I've heard the abbreviated version so many times that I skim over the depth of the full verse, and even the meat of the chapter that it is in.  

We all know the meaning of the thought that it is the little foxes that spoil the vine. It's the little things that can hurt our growth, and cause us to be unfruitful, but I was not prepared for the full revelation.  Chapter 2 is this wonderful revelation of our relationship to Christ.  Yes, I know it was written long before Jesus walked this earth, but the Song of Solomon has long been considered a love song between the Messiah and His bride.  There are so many sayings that we use today from Chapter 2, and this one is amazing.  The bride is asking her Lord to catch the little foxes that are nibbling away at the tender young fruit of the vineyard. The bride knows where her help comes from, and we see that Jesus becomes our 'love' who deals with the little things that ruin our lives. Once again we make it about what 'we' can do, but the plea is from the bride to the groom. Remove the little issues that keep us from growing fruitful.  That is exactly what Jesus did. He took the law and the traditions of men, and nailed them to the cross, and in so doing we can rest assured in His love, and grace.  

Yes, the admonition to pay attention to the little foxes is still there, but the bride knows that only her 'love' can catch them and keep them from nibbling away at their relationship. We become convinced that God only takes care of the big stuff in our lives, but we have to sweat the little things. That is the furthest thing from the truth. Jesus is invested completely in our relationship, in every minute detail, and even the big, almost impossible things.  The big question is, where are we standing?  How aware of our spiritual surroundings are we?  Are we oblivious to the little foxes, and how they destroy our relationship, or are we asking Jesus to help us catch them?  

When we become aware of the little foxes in our lives, we have to let our 'love' know we see them.  Ask Him to catch them and remove them.  Okay, let me put it in daily terms.  If you ignore, or excuse your little quirks of behavior, then you risk being fruitless. Believe me, if you see what is attacking your relationship and continue to turn a blind eye to it then it will ruin your relationship. If you are proud, and afraid of asking for help because you'd be embarrassed, then you don't have much trust in Jesus' love. He himself told us to cast our cares upon Him. He also told us He would make a way out of our transgressions. He doesn't leave us helpless.  He gave us His Holy Spirit to guide us and lead us through this life. He even warns us to stay away from or avoid the little foxes in our life so that we can enjoy a fruitful relationship.  I didn't realize it until today, but Jesus has been helping me all these years by removing the little foxes that spoiled our relationship. Without me even knowing what He was doing, He was teaching me how to place my trust in HIS ability to catch the foxes. It's one of the fringe benefits of being His love. Even more, when we fail, He is faithful, and Just to forgive us our sins.  Then, before you know it, you're walking through this life as a new creation that is a pleasing bride for Him.  Trust me, it's the little things that get us. Point out the little foxes in your life, and let Jesus catch them for you. It's a trust thing.  

LOVE SONG

 This morning I'm sitting out on my back porch wondering why I'm out here instead of sitting in my recliner under the air conditioner.  It is hot and humid this morning. I just finished walking my two miles, came home and sat down in our glider patio seat. The morning is full of sound from cars making their way along Hwy 7, and Hwy 43. Occasionally I'll hear the laughter of teenagers up the street waiting for the school bus. Mixed in with all the human sounds is the chirping of sparrows and even a few songbirds. It's peaceful out here.  

I am on a profound path of renewal that God began in me early Friday morning. It began with me trying to deal with anger issues born out of frustration with the way things are going in my life. I still feel this profound grief for my wife, and a need to do something beyond that grief. The same old daily routine I've been doing for years is wearing on me. Part of that has to do with my personal relationship to Christ, and some of it is to do with frustration with those around me and their relationship with Christ. So, God slapped me hard Thursday night and told me to get going. Which brings me to me sitting here writing this blog.  As part of MY renewal, I began listening to old Christian rock bands that changed my life. When I say old, I'm talking about bands that were part of the Jesus movement of the late sixties and early seventies. The one band that affected my life more than any other was 'Love Song'. 

In my Junior year of High School (1972) there was a group of kids who were gathering in our school's quadrangle at lunch and singing songs I'd never heard before. At that time I was going to an Assembly of God church with my parents, and all I knew were hymns. These kids were singing new songs that began to speak to a hunger and desire in me for something more than what I knew. They wore long hair, and hippie clothes, and talked about God in ways that felt young and fresh.  Soon, I began to sit with them and I quickly learned the songs they were singing. One day one of the boys asked me if I was a Christian.  I told him yes, but that I was tired of the pastor of the church I was going to always preaching about tithes week in and week out.  I paid my tithes because I had a job, and my mother had taught me the value of tithes but at the same time, when a Christmas sermon could end up being about tithes, I'd had it. He told me about a group of kids who were meeting at a small church in the middle of town on Friday nights.  They called themselves Jesus Chapel, and I later learned that Chuck Smith had helped them to get established. When I first started going there, there were about a hundred kids like me packing ourselves into a building made for 150 people.  On the platform there were five college age guys singing the same songs I'd heard at my school. The little group called themselves 'Joy Song' and their love for God was simple, and beyond anything I'd experienced. They would sing and lead worship for about an hour, then the leader of the group would sit on a stool and tell the gospel story for about fifteen minutes, always emphasizing the love of God.  Within two months, they had to find another church who would let them meet on Friday nights. We moved to St. Johns Methodist Church because it could hold 500 people. Every service would see the same results, young people would flood the altars and give their lives to Christ. The police placed 40 gallon trash cans at each end of the altars where kids, and adults could throw away their drugs or alcohol without fear of being arrested.  This went on for months until they finally had to build their own facility that could hold at least 2,000 people in a service.  One Friday night while we were still using the Methodist church facility, a new band stepped up to the stage. It was obvious that our own praise band was in awe of this group. "I'm Chuck Girard," began the leader of the band as he sat down to the piano. "This is Love Song, and we are glad you're here."  The praise set was deliciously different with the music ranging from country sound, to almost a jazzy blues. When Chuck began his testimony, you could hear teenagers in the congregation begin to cry and weep. Like our own worship leader, he didn't spend a lot of time preaching, I don't think he could have. It felt like everyone was pressing up against a gate straining to run to the altar. Without knowing how I got there, I found myself on my back under the altar crying my heart out. That's when I realized that all the tradition I'd learned was meaningless and empty. My friend, James (Jimmy) was sitting at my feet when I came to. He had huge tears in his eyes, and a big old goofy smile that only teenage boys can do. We'd both experienced more love and grace than the human body can contain this side of glory. We both stood up and stumbled to our pews, grabbed our motorcycle helmets and headed home. From that moment on, I stopped buying worldly music and went out and bought the Love Song album at our local Christian Book store. Suddenly within the space of a year (1973), there was a large group of Christian rock bands that I could listen to. Chuck Girard, and Love Song changed my life, and shaped my destiny without even knowing it.  Eventually I would be introduced to Keith Green, and a host of other Christian musicians who were translating their faith into music that felt like home to me. God was doing a new thing with the very generation that had declared Him dead. There was the Latin inspired sounds of Ron Kenoli. Maranatha leaned heavily into scripture songs, Whiteheart, Petra, all eventually took Christian music to a new place it'd never been before. I think I'd be safe in saying that they all owe their existence to Chuck Girard and Love Song.  

Well, yesterday, I was cycling through my YouTube feed and saw a tribute to Chuck Girard from his daughter Alisa Childers. I sat dumbfounded as she related his last few days on this earth. I couldn't hold back the tears, and I'm even tearing up now as I write this. I can't even begin to explain how this unassuming man with a terrible tragic past has affected my life. I am here today, still serving God, because of this man who translated the beauty of the gospel into a language I could understand. I know I'm not the only one. If you were saved because you listened to White Heart, or Keith Green, or Jesus Culture, or Maverick City, Elevation Worship, or any hundreds of other modern Christian music artists, you owe a debt of thanks to Chuck.  Not that he would receive it.  I had the pleasure of hearing him one more time when he came to Ponca City, Oklahoma one summer.  I'm not sure if it was 1974 or 1975, but I do remember it well as he sang "Little Pilgrim" at an out of tune piano. I wished there was another altar for me to lay under.  

Chuck left this earth for his reward on August 11th 2025 from stage IV cancer. Even now my heart is pounding as I try to hold back the tears. We all die, it is inevitable, and at 81 years old he'd lived a long life. I encourage anyone reading this to listen to his daughter's tribute. Chuck's music, and life shaped who I am today. His testimony and understanding of grace helped me to fold away the legalism of my youth, and put on the sincere robe of righteousness that Christ gives us. 

I'm still on my journey to renewal, but somewhat saddened at the same time. My YouTube feed is filled with the music from Chuck and Keith. As soon as I slam the "publish" button I'll go back inside to my AC with a profound sorrow for what will be missing in his children's lives, and an overwhelming joy knowing that someday I'll be able to press my hand into both of their hands and tell them how much they affected my life.  Eventually I'll gravitate back to Brandon Lake, Maverick City, Elevation, Hillsong, and the myriad of other musicians who give me hope with their music to continue on.  Right now, I'm jealous of Glenda, because she adored Chuck, and Keith's music.  She probably is bugging him right now to sing for her.  

 

WHEN THE 'WE' IS 'ME'

 Happy Anniversary, Glenda.  

As soon as I finish writing this blog, I'm going to load myself up in my little Pontiac Solstice and make a quick jaunt over to Silver Dollar City to celebrate our anniversary.  It's been four weeks since I've been there, which is in large part due to the heat wave we've been in. I used to hate going because I'm an introvert, and it takes a lot of energy for me to endure large crowds. I try to never go on a weekend because the place can be a madhouse. In a couple of more weeks they'll be going back to being open five days a week instead of seven, so I'll go back to making my weekly jaunts on Thursdays.  Glenda loved Silver Dollar City, and on the morning she died almost two years ago, that is where we were going. If you came to visit us, she would take you there. It was her preferred place to meet with our kids, and grandkids. She loved to ride the rides, and she loved to see our children having fun. So, going to 'The City' as she used to call it, is something I do to honor her memory.  In the process of doing that, I've come to enjoy it myself. I usually get me a funnel cake, and then go to a couple of shows and ride 'Fire in the Hole' about once a month.  The ache in my heart caused by her absence isn't as pronounced as it used to be, but today is different. I woke up missing her.

Forty nine years ago today, Glenda and I said our vows to one another, ran off to a cheap hotel about forty miles away and prayed to God no one had followed us there.  I took her to a very nice restaurant in Stillwater, Oklahoma of which I don't remember the name or even what I ate.  BUT, I do remember her face, and her radiant smile that warmed my heart.  Today, I don't want to point out how much I miss her, or how she made me feel, I want to simply say that she was a special person, loved by almost everyone who met her. Her laugh was ready, and hung out easily just beneath the surface of her smile. She took joy in simple things, and saw life in a clarity that made everyone happy she was there. She was a much better writer than I ever was, and everything she wrote made you feel as if you were there in her story. However, if you told her she needed to publish her stories she would brush it away and quickly change the subject. After our move from Las Vegas to Little Rock, I noticed that her binder with her stories was gone.  

She believed in hard work, following the rules, and loving those who were not easy to love. If you were destitute, or down on your luck, she was your friend. If you needed food, clothing, or just a sympathetic ear, she made sure you had it. If you were a stray, ugly, or challenged in any way, she wanted to even the playing field.  She was brilliant, but hid it behind a mask of redneck simplicity. She never thought she was enough, even when confronted with the truth of her achievements. She loved good food, and made good food.  She was an awesome baker, and worked hard to cook me out of availability. She loved comedy, and at the same time loved action adventure shows.  She was first and foremost a country music girl, and had a deep passion for the bluegrass festival at Silver Dollar City. 

If someone could give me the chance to go back to that hot Friday afternoon on August the 13th, and offer me the choice of whether to marry her again, I would, and I hope she would have, too. It wasn't easy, and I know I disappointed her many times, but that is the nature of loving someone enough to let them see you at your worst, and your best.  As I sit here writing this, I find myself wondering if I'll still be here next year to celebrate our 50th anniversary. We aren't guaranteed tomorrow, but if I am alive next year on August the 13th, I'll go buy a small cake and have them decorate it with a celebration of 50 years together.  

That's it, now it's time to head out and enjoy "The City."    

SITTING ON THE LINE

 Over the past couple of days we have had some unusually cool mornings, which I am sure have been confusing for the little sparrows in my neighborhood. Just this morning I saw a fairly big flock of them hanging out on the power line across the street from me. I'm accustomed to seeing starlings hanging out on telephone lines, especially when I worked out at Bergman School. Tyson foods has a feed mill less than a thousand feet away from the school and as you can imagine when the feed trucks leave out from the mill they will have feed fall off of their trucks onto the shoulders of the road. I know for a fact we had some of the fattest and happiest starlings in the world along the way to Bergman from Harrison.  

So, this morning I asked the Google AI why birds hang out in flocks on power lines.  The answer was pretty much what I expected except for a couple of new things I hadn't thought of. I'd already figured that it was a safe place for them to survey the world from, and Google confirmed that. From the power line, they can see predators coming from above and below.  Hanging out on the wires also gives them the ability to scout out their prey/food without obstructions like leaves or tree branches. One thing I didn't know was that they congregate to preen one another. (Is there a spiritual analogy in that?)  They also congregate to keep each other warm. Another thing that I had never thought about before was that the power lines retain residual heat from the electricity going through them. Immediately my mind went to the presence of God. We gather to feel the warmth of the presence of God. He is electric, warm, tender, and kind!  His presence allows us to see life from Heaven's view instead of from this natural view. When we gather together we experience a collective security, warmed by the invisible presence of God that we all cling to. 

The view from Heaven is a spiritual view of life where we are safe from the spiritual predators that would try to make us live in fear.  The scripture verse in Psalm 27:1 immediately comes to mind; "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" 

If we are seated with Christ in Heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6) we have nothing to fear in this life. Sitting on the line is my metaphor for sitting with Christ in Heavenly places. If we are seated with him, He puts us far above everything that would seek to destroy us. We don't have to fear Death, because death won't, and can't hold us. 

When we are sitting on the line, our paths and purposes are laid out far below us for us to walk in. He allows us to see His purposes so that we can have confidence in what we do. BUT, it's more than just being high and lifted up with Him, it is being united with one another that gives us even more strength.  If we don't forsake coming together, (Hebrews 10:25) we can preen one another, removing old dead practices (feathers, and parasites) that keep us from doing His well .  All of this happens while we are being warmed, and blessed by the Presence of God. 

Nuff said. 

FINDING GOOD

Well, summer has officially began here in the Ozarks.  It's been 10 days since we had measurable rain, and it was 76 degrees when I stepped outside this morning.  One part of me wants to get out and get going, but there just isn't any way to escape the heat. It's a Saturday, so I'm not going to walk around the creek like I usually do, and many of the things I like to do in the yard send me into an immediate sweat.  It's even been too hot to sit out on my back porch and take in the pleasant morning air as I usually do after my walks.  So, here I sit at the dining room table tapping away on my laptop.  All around me are reminders of Glenda's presence, and even some reminders of my parents. If you came to my house to visit me, I could show you the mileposts of my life, but it wouldn't just be my life, it would be the life that Glenda and I shared. Our past surrounds me, and sometimes seems to press in on me like the hot humid air outside. Just outside the dining room window is a small birdbath that Glenda bought to be able to watch the birds from her beloved porch.  When it isn't as muggy as it is today, you would find me out there reading or playing solitaire. It is a good place to be to find my center before the day gets underway.  It's too dang hot to be out there today. So, as I sit here at the table, I can hear a couple of sparrows mixing it up around the bath and it makes me laugh. It made me thankful that humans aren't the only ones in God's creation who mix it up over stupid stuff. I can't help but wonder if sparrows ever think about the past?  What happens to that fat old male sparrow if his mate is taken from him way too early?  Does he revisit their time together?  Does he move on and hope for another mate?  Does he sit in the old nest, surrounded by the artifacts of their life together?  

When we moved from our home on Lone Oak Dairy road, we made ourselves throw  out as much of our past as we could. Over our years of being married, my mother had given Glenda many home decorating items, which helped to fill lifeless spaces and give the house an eclectic look. To say the least, Glenda and Mom had very different tastes, except for floral displays.  Every floral decoration in our house was done by my Mom, and they still adorn tables and vases around...my... house. When my Mom died there were many floral decorations that disappeared that Glenda had wanted more than anything. Now that Glenda is gone, I don't even think about it anymore. What would I do with them?  They would just be one more thing my children would have to decide what to do with. At the time though, Glenda was furious, and threw all kinds of accusations around.  The truth is, we don't know where they went, but the consensus was that my Dad accidentally threw them away.  Every daughter-in-law grieved the loss, as they were truly spectacular. They didn't mean anything to my dad. I have vivid memories of my mother sitting in the middle of the living room floor with boxes of artificial flowers all around her as she fussed over the color and placement of each flower. Those memories are written in stone in my brain. I can also remember the irritation in my father's voice as he tried to negotiate the minefield of flowers to get into the kitchen. So, I kinda lean toward the idea that he threw them away after she died. It doesn't matter to me because she'd filled our house with plenty of arrangements.  It's funny how without Glenda to keep the issue alive, I really don't care. Sometimes the things from our past that we hold on to can become a poison to us. I know for Glenda, she groused about it even as she faced death. 

A couple of years before Glenda was diagnosed with cancer, she and my daughter decided to make our hallway into a wonderful display of our family.  It was my daughter's birthday gift to her mother, and it was one of the greatest gifts she could give.  It is a wonderful way to recount our story to visitors and for family to stop and remember what family is.  Still, it is in the past. It's like a soft blanket that you carry with you because someone gave it to you, but you can trip over it if you're not careful. The moments in those pictures mean nothing to anyone else but our family.  The memories are in me, not on the walls. There isn't a picture that can relate the love bursting in my heart when Glenda said 'I do.'  There isn't a picture that can make anyone feel the immense awe, and fear I felt when I picked up my infant children for the first time.  Each child came with a promise, and a responsibility that only the future knew. Because I was the photographer for our little family, I don't have as many pictures of me as I do of Glenda (it's a physics thing). There are no photos of me carrying two sleepy little girls through the flea market in Mountain Home, Idaho while their mother went from table to table.  There aren't any pictures of those same little girls making snow angels with me during a blizzard in Idaho. There aren't any pictures of me holding them in my arms in church and dancing with them during the song service.  There isn't any proof I loved them and worried continually about their safety. There aren't any pictures that show my pride as we went to innumerable elementary school programs where they played instruments, or sang in choirs. Those are things that are written in my heart along with a million other moments that you can't put into words. Some of those memories will die with me, and never be recounted again because they were my memories.  They are meaningless to anyone else.  There are a few, that I've never shared with my own children because they were so special that there was no way to make those memories about them, even though they are the only reason I remember them to this day. 

So, how did this little story start?  Instead of going outside this morning, I went into my office where my 'love me wall' is, and found myself staring at the accomplishments of my time in the Air Force. I am proud of my service, and thankful for the opportunity to have worked on three distinct weapons systems. When I went into the Air Force in 1980, the world was in total chaos.  We were at the height of the Cold War, and involved in minor incidents in the middle east. The end of my service was marked by Desert Storm and eventually operation Deny Flight. Those days are gone! They're in the past and time has gone on without any memory of my contribution.  This is the way of things, and isn't something to be concerned with. As I sat in my recliner trying to put together the events that were marked on my wall, I realized that none of it meant anything. I doubt seriously any of my children will want my 'shadow box' nor the flag that flew in one of the hangars at Tonopah. My achievements, held within cheap plastic frames, means nothing to anyone else but me, and even now they hold very little importance.  I find myself trying to find the good in holding on to those memories. The thought occurred to me to just take them down, place them in document protectors and place them in a binder. Yep, that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to put my past into a binder and close it up.  I'll put those memories in a plastic tote and let my children decide how they want to handle those memories.  At the same time, I'll cherish Glenda's 'love me wall' filled with the faces of friends and family, and happy times. You see, I think I've finally learned that finding the good in our past means cherishing those who will live on in the future.  

Besides, I'm not a sparrow.  

WHEN GOOD IS NOT GOOD

 When I began writing the 'Sparrow's Perch' blogs in 2012, I began it as a discussion of living in God's presence.  I'd just finished reading Psalm 84, and was overwhelmed by the heart of the Psalmist as he yearned to be as close to the presence of God as the sparrows who nested in the Holy Place of the temple. Since beginning this blog, I've seen sparrows as examples of God's tenderness, and His love of His creation. 

Since beginning of this blog, I've learned a lot about the common house sparrow. They are some of the most prolific birds throughout the earth, choosing to dwell mostly in the presence of men.  They make their nests in almost any structure we humans build, and they actually help to keep down annoying insects, as well as help clean up around our trash bins, parking lots, and restaurants. They are monogamous as far as we can tell, and they rarely live longer than 3 - 5 years.  

Yet...

Jesus chose these inconsequential animals to exhibit God's concern, and care for us human beings. In Matthew 10: 29-31 Jesus points toward the Sparrow as an example of God's care for even the tiniest, and common of animals.  "Are not two sparrows sold for a Penney?" This selling is in reference to the price of a poor person's sacrifice at the altar of God. "Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. SO, don't be afraid, you are worth more than any sparrows."  

Our lives in this present age are much better than we can ever imagine. Most of us who live in this great country live in the comfort of air conditioned homes, own one or more cars, and have more food than we can eat. Life is good!  The average lifespan for men is 75 years, and for women it is almost 80 years. About 2% of the population in Europe and the United States provide the food for our entire populations, and even provide foodstuffs for many other nations throughout the world. The current work week is on average less than 40 hours per week.  In many developed countries the work week is 32 hours.  In other words, we have it good.  We have it so good, that obesity, heart disease, and diabetes are among the biggest killers in our modern society.  Sometimes having it good, isn't good. Depression, loneliness, and anxiety have increased exponentially within the last 60 to 70 years as our standard of living has become better. Sometimes being blessed, is not as good as it appears from the outside.  We become convinced of our ability to provide for ourselves without the provision that God has promised. 

There is a benefit to being dependent upon God for our needs, and that is captured in the words of Jesus when he tells us to "take heart" (Don't be afraid.) I've come to believe that trusting God is essential to a happy life.  So, if you find yourself being overcome with fear, or feeling that God has somehow forgot you, take a moment, and think of just being a sparrow and nesting in the Holy Place, the presence of God.  Look around you, and see that God is good, and that He will take you through whatever you are facing and be there with you through it all, and even on the other side.  

Psalm 84:

How lovely is your dwelling place, Oh Lord of Hosts! My soul longs, yes, faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God.

Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself where she may lay her young at Your altars, O Lord of Hosts, my King, my God.

Blessed are those who dwell in Your house, ever singing your praise!  Selah!

Blessed are those whose strength  is in you, in whose heart are the highways to Zion. As they go through the Valley of Baca they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools. They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion. O Lord God of Hosts, hear my prayer; give ear O God of Jacob!  Selah!

Behold our shield, O God; look on the face of your anointed! For a day in Your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere.  I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness.  For the Lord God is sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor.  No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.  O Lord of Hosts, blessed is the one who trusts in you!

*The Holy Bible English Standard Version (ESV) copyright 2001, by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers.