My Wife, My Home

It’s cold up here in the sparrow’s perch.  Lately, we've had some wonderful days of sunshine, temps in the 60’s and 50’s and much needed rain. So, it was a little bit of a shock to wake up to temps in the 20’s this morning.  I haven’t been coming to the church to do my writing lately, simply because it is much more difficult, and expensive to warm my office than it is to open the window and let a cool breeze blow through during the summer.  Besides, the sparrows that bring me so much joy, are hunkered down somewhere else, hopefully warmer, and well fed. 

These things wouldn't have bothered me in the past.  I wouldn't have cared about the 'stinking little sparrows.'  As the course of my life draws closer to it’s inevitable conclusion, I find myself less concerned with what I possess, what people do to me, and what I get out of a situation.  Suddenly, sparrows matter to me. Grandchildren, babies, and little ones make me giggle. I didn't used to care about these things, but now I do. At the same time, my body is less able to do those things that my heart would like to do.  I used to be able to stay up till midnight, wake up at five, and work endlessly in between.  Now, I am happy to lay my head down at 8, wake at 4, and lay in bed till five.  My wife’s job forces her to be up at 3 in the morning so she can prepare to be at work by five, and when she leaves at 4:30, the house is quiet, lonely, and actually the last place I want to be.  Which brings me to what I want to talk about, my wife.

Home is my wife.  (No, I’m not trying to talk like Yoda.)  My wife is literally, my home. Throughout the years of our marriage, we've lived in six different States, twelve different cities, and about that many different abodes.  Everywhere we've lived, one thing has remained constant, HER. She is my home. Her raucous laughter, sparkling eyes, and gentle touch are what drive me during the rest of the day.  There is a Proverb that says; ‘happy is the man who finds a wife, for he has found the favor of God.’   I've lived in the favor of God for over 37 years now.  Seeing her, knowing she is ‘here’, is all I need.  She is my home. 

I build houses, remodel, and repair houses for a living.  I know what houses look like from the dirt, on up.  I can show you the difference between a home, and a house.  I've seen way too many houses in my lifetime.  I've seen gorgeous gilded boxes, that have no more life in them than an empty candy box.  I've seen tiny shotgun homes with so much warmth, and love, you wouldn't ever need to turn on the heater.  I’ve seen houses crammed to the rafters with the stuff money buys, and yet they are nothing more than museums for the lunacy of our materialistic lifestyles. Things don’t make us happy, they are substitutes for the real happiness of intimacy with someone who loves you. 

I know my wife is the breath, aroma, and home in my life.  Not long ago, I was reminded of how crucial she is to me.  She’d been called upon to sub for another worker who worked midnight shift. This went on for nearly two weeks.  I didn't sleep while she was gone. You see, we've been married for so long now, her breathing is what gives me my sleep pattern.  Without her there, I would toss, turn, punch pillows, read, pray, and do everything I knew to sleep.  Without her there, I wasn't home.  My own house was a strange place to me.  I heard noises I don’t usually hear.  I thought thoughts that I don’t usually think, and I . . . .missed her. 

Now, before you start thinking all kinds of wrong thoughts, we’re not a perfect couple.  I’m sure she wishes I were more attentive, more interested in what she is interested in, and I wish the same thing.  We take each other for granted. That is more to do with the circumstances of life than a desire of the heart. We've been blessed by God to weather this financial mess our Nation is in, but then isn't that what a home is.  It is a place to keep you safe, warm, and make living bearable.  She is all that to me, and more.  She is just one more assurance of the provision of God in my life. 

Glenda, I've found the favor of God in you.  You are my home, and will always be.   

Not Feeling So Well Myself

Good Ol' Mark Twain.  So many of his witticisms have wound up in my cranial cavity, I'm almost embarrassed to admit it.  Yes, I enjoyed the master story teller, and his penchant for captivating what most of us feel at one time or another.  The quote came from a speech he gave upon hearing that he'd been mentioned in a long line of great, but dead authors. Let me give you the quote. “I was sorry to have my name mentioned as one of the great authors, because they have a sad habit of dying off. Chaucer is dead, Spencer is dead, so is Milton, so is Shakespeare, and I’m not feeling so well myself.”
Actually, when the quote came to me, I was thinking of the song "Feeling Alright" by Joe Cocker.  Joe is one of my favorite musicians of all time. The reason I was even thinking of the song, is because I've been fighting a cold for the last week.  The simple chorus goes: "feeling al'right?  I'm not feeling too good myself."  I'm sure Joe got his inspiration from Mark, though.  If not, my apologies Mr. Cocker.  
You see, this morning I was grousing to the Lord about how long it was taking for me to get over this stinking cold. (Actually, I was whining.)  I get colds about twice a year.  I usually get one in early November, and get a summer cold sometime around July or early August.  I consider them (colds) to be a natural rhythm to my life.  I've never known a year when I didn't get one.  When I didn't get one in November, I considered myself to be living in the favor of God.  My wife Glenda, had already fought one nasty bout of the flu around the Christmas season, and it never touched me.  YEAH, FEELING ALRIGHT! As the flu season erupted and our local hospital filled to capacity, I moved in and through the mess with relative ease.  Must be living right!  Then came my birthday.  You know, the first day of February.  A FRIDAY!  Nothing went my way.  Glenda was already beginning to fight off another bout of flu, I had to work the entire day, my kids didn't come visit me, no one called from the church family, and it was just an ordinary day to everyone else, but me.  To add insult to injury, my wife makes my favorite cake, and then decides to give half of it away to her co-workers. AUUUUUGGGHHHH!  For some reason, which is not in my character, (my family can testify) I had made this birthday important.  It wasn't all bad. Throughout the day, all three of my children called me and wished me a Happy Birthday.  I got a cute e-card from my oldest daughter, but even my mother forgot it was my birthday.  MY MOTHER NEVER FORGETS MY BIRTHDAY! What in the world is going on here? Where are the men from the church?  Where's my mom, and dad?  Even my Dad forgot.  What in the world?  Needless to say, I went to bed that night in a serious blue funk.  Joe Cocker, and I could have done a great duet on 'Feelin alright'.   
Saturday morning I awoke with a slightly scratchy throat.  
Sunday morning, I was beginning to show the tell-tale signs of sinus drainage.  DARN!  Crappy birthday, and now I'm getting a cold.  The Superbowl didn't have either of my favorite teams playing (I have a favorite team in each league.)  Glenda had to work the next day, so we left the Church Superbowl party well before the fantastic second half.  By this time, I'm gritting my teeth.  Not one person even wished me a Happy Birthday, except Chris! (Thank you Chris.)  
I couldn't figure it out.  Why was this birthday so important to me?  It'd never been important to me. As the week progressed, so did the cold.  My wife's bout with the flu, morphed into bronchitis, and now has become sinusitis. Tissue balls litter night stands, tables, and even the floor around chairs.  We're both too tired to do anything.  
I'm waiting. . . . .
The answer is yes, I've prayed.  Something is hindering it.
A lack of faith.  
I'm not afraid to admit it.  It isn't a lack of faith in God's ability to heal, it was a lack of faith in God's ability to provide.  I let my doubt become a moral failure.  
I refuse to blame my lack of faith, moral failure, or plain old ignorance, on God's willingness or ability to heal. I am a firm believer in God's ability, willingness, and ongoing ability to heal.  I don't believe we have to beg, have prayer vigils, fast, or do any number of other things the Patriarchs did, because Jesus paid it all.  Is this body gonna die?  Yes, it has to in order for me to inherit the Kingdom of God. Will sickness be the cause of my death?  Yes, old age is sickness. Old age is the deterioration of the bodies ability to repair, and renew itself. Certain glands in my body stopped functioning years ago, and my body can only repair itself, now.  I don't know what I will look like in heaven, but I sure don't want the body I've got now.  I want that body that sported sensational abs, cut thighs, and. . .well I never did have an exceptional upper body.  I would be content with a body that doesn't hurt in the morning as I roll out of bed.  
I believe the reason I got slammed in the dirt with this stinking 'cold,' is because I let my heart become offended over my lack of a birthday. (My mother forgot me!) Somehow, I'd let the enemy sneak in, and rob me of my joy.  Joy (not happiness) is the number one defender against illness. I was angry, and my body was busy working on my anger. Testosterone was raging, adrenaline was surging, and my spiritual defense system was offline.  I don't think the enemy of my soul dumped it on me, I did a perfectly good job all by myself.  I let a simple birthday get me down, my body reacted to the bitterness, and the stinking rhino-virus did it's job.  
I don't believe God puts sickness on anyone.  I believe when we are overcome with cancers, infirmities, and other issues of the body, we should immediately go to the one who bought our healing.  Do I believe in medicine? ABSOLUTELY!  God gave us this amazing cranial mass to create, invent, heal, restore, build, name, discover, and most of all, BELIEVE!  It's the other crap we do with it, that messes us up.  Please don't assume that I believe all sickness, diseases, or afflictions are because of bad feelings.  I don't believe God puts them on you because you messed up.  I believe you mess up, and then stumble into them.  If you didn't mess up, if it's genetic, or just a process of living in this messed up world, there is still an answer in the blood, of Jesus.  
Last Sunday we had Communion, and I failed to realize the anger working in me. When we partake of the Communion it is a two edged sword, at one side, if we recognize our sin, and accept the broken body of Jesus as our healing, then we can in true faith expect the healing.  If we've allowed our selfish desires to overcome us, (as I had) then the cup, and the cracker avail us nothing.  We eat unworthily, and our diseases move with us, some even to the point of killing us. (This is all very scriptural, look in the book of James, and the book of Corinthians.)  
As a final word:  Throughout this week, I've been surrounded with people who are suffering through sickness, diseases, tumors, and other health issues.  It hasn't caused me to doubt in the healing power of Jesus name.  All I have to do is reach up, and take what has already been purchased for me.  I have to believe it is there.  Believing is the release agent for healing.  I just had to repent of my stupid thinking.  I'm already feeling better.             

If I Were God

If I were God, I would wipe out every evil despicable person on the earth.  I would not allow them to inflict their evil on other innocent people, I would not allow them to be sweet little children who warmed their mother’s heart, while knowing they would later break it.  I would choke the life out of them in their mother’s womb, so that they would never breathe, or breed.  If I were God. . .

If I were God, I would obliterate stupid people who choose to live in the most dangerous places on earth.   I would send famines to completely wipe out stupidity.  I would laugh, and say; “You will never be able to breathe, or breed stupidity again.”  I would send flood, earthquake, unending ice and snow, torrential rain, and unyielding sun.  Stupid people don’t deserve to live! That’s what I would do, If I were God. . . . .

If I were God, I would cause you unbearable pain every time you had a wicked thought.  I would put a control collar on you at birth, and punish you every time you didn't acknowledge me as God.  I would burn your eyes out the first time you looked at something you shouldn't.  I would make you bow down and worship me for my greatness.  You wouldn't have a choice in the matter.  No one would dare question my greatness, or wonder if I even exist. I wouldn't allow one person to doubt me,  if I were God. . . . . . .

I would destroy every thought that wasn't my thought, I would make you think what I want you to think.  You would never have a creative thought, a singular insight, or be inspired by anything but me. . .you wouldn't love anyone else but me. . . .If I were God. . . .

THANKFULLY, I am not God. 

This is for the sweet widow woman, struggling to understand how God could allow the murder of the sweet little children at Sandy Hook Elementary. The reason men still exist at all, is because God is love. If any of us were God, we would have wiped the whole stinking mess out and started over. Doing that, would be unthinkable. 

I am not God, and neither are you.  I don’t want a God who executes us based on what we’ll do in the future.  When does he stop it?  When would he intervene?  Would He have suffocated Adam Lanza in his mother’s womb, never allowing her to know the joy of holding him in her arms?  Would he control who is conceived by choosing to close a woman’s womb?  Would you rob a father of the little girl pretending to be a ballerina, knowing full well she will eventually become a drug addict?  When would you intervene if you were God?  Is there ever hope for redemption?  Surely, at your age, you know that evil men lurk in shadows the innocent avoid.  Surely, you know men, and women both have moments when hate or anger becomes murderous.  As for natural disasters, people will choose to live in the shadow of volcanoes, the edge of our restless oceans, beneath man-made dams, and at the top of spires of steel and stone.  We choose to bob upon the waters in wood, and steel.  We place ourselves in cylinders of steel and aluminum, nestled between metal wings, or piercing the ocean’s depths.  We speed along in inventions of our own creation, moving faster, higher, and in greater masses than at any time in our history. Men create the engines of their own destruction. I don't doubt God's love or his goodness based upon man's cruelty or stupidity.  As I sit here in the sparrow's perch aching over the inhumanity with which we treat one another, I watch the sparrows puffed out against the winter chill. God provides for them, and they neither fret nor worry.  Their short lives are meaningful to the creator, He sees when even one falls to the ground. He cares for us much more than he does the sparrow.  It's us, his creation, who don't care for one another. We don't have the capacity to be God.   

How would you protect society from the men who steal little girls, and boys to satisfy their lustful pleasures?  How do you stamp out evil when it is in every one of us. Evil is everywhere moving through darkened streets, and in broad daylight, killing with wanton abandon.  God didn't create death. To stop this madness, to end the wickedness we thrust upon one another, this planet would have to be completely obliterated.   He would have to kill every man, woman, and child, but HE DIDN'T CREATE DEATH.  These are not God's doing.  He didn't make us cruel, wanton, or evil, we did it to ourselves. Our own destruction is the result of our choices.  We can choose to live as murders, molesters, and monsters, or, we can choose to live as the creator showed us how to live, loving him, and loving one another BETTER than ourselves.  It’s not hard, but I’m glad he doesn't wipe us out when we don’t.  In preventing evil, and injustice, you become monstrous to someone else’s eyes. Our wisdom is so limited, our scope so small.  You see, just in thinking of all the things I would do if I were God, is the seed of doing evil.  I am glad I’m not God.  If I were, I would have choked the life out of every little child who teased me relentlessly when I was a child.  I would have crushed the pervert who tried to abduct me when I was just eight years old.  I would. . . not be God.  Be glad none of us are.  Be content to live in the shadow of His wings, and know that He is good to ALL men.