Singled Out

Mark 5:31 -- "You see the people crowding against you," his disciples answered, "and yet you can ask 'who touched me?' "

The insides of my palms were clamming up and a large lump was forming in in the back of my throat. I could feel the air around me start to disappear and my heart was knocking so loudly inside my chest that I was sure those pressed in against me could actually hear it. My vision started narrowing and I could only make out the images that stayed within it's thin funnel. The lights were just about to go out in my head when my ears started to ring a bit. My sister quickly registered what was about to happen and saved the day by leading me up and over the bleacher railings away from the crowd. Just the thought of getting out and away from the "sardine run" into the stadium made my head start to clear and I began to breath a little easier.

We were stopped by stadium "security" who informed us that their insurance did not cover people climbing up over the bleacher railing. Karla quickly said something like "does it cover my sister passing out and getting trampled by all these people?" We were then "allowed" to keep climbing and in short order were sitting with our husbands in the cooling night air, watching the mass of people struggle to find their own seats. It from this calmer perspective that we awaited Billy Graham to take the stage.

The thing is, before we were in calmer waters, I couldn't have told you my sister had her hand on the back of my arm. I couldn't have told you that Steven was trying to guide me and keep me clam by holding my hand. There just wasn't any way I could discern one sensation from another as the huge crowd pressed in all around me. I couldn't focus.

In Mark 5:31 it amazes me that as Jesus was pressing his way through crowds he knew immediately when an ailing woman reached out for his robes. He singled her out and felt the power leave his body when she clung to her only hope of being well again. He was aware of her pain and her need in the middle of hundreds of other hands and arms. I just can't imagine that! I think his disciples were of my frame of mind when Jesus turned and asked "who touched me?". They probably thought it was a joke, at first. How could he be asking that in the middle of all these people?

But Jesus wasn't kidding. He was very aware of the one woman who reached out to him in desperate need. He knew her individually, personally, and specifically in a sea of other humans.

He still does that. He knows each of us though we may stand in the middle of a raging crowd. He is very aware of our heart-aches and deep needs. We may feel lost in a herd of equally searching souls, but Jesus can single us out. He feels us keenly as we reach for him in hope and in faith.

There is great, great comfort in that.

The Sound of Music

Psalm 148:13 -- "Let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name alone is exalted, his splendor is above the earth and the heavens."

 

Even while the voice in my head was telling me "this is so stupid" I laughed out loud along with my boy's club as the colorful antics of Mordecai and Rigbee played out on The Regular Show. I guess some humor is an acquired taste. I've been around my guys long enough to appreciate some of the subtle sarcasm that would not have made me laugh in my youth.

In a classical delima, Rigbee becomes increasingly agitated when a catchy but annoyingly repetitious song simply refuses to be purged from his brain. The tune actually becomes a sentient being in the form of an old cassette tape and proceeds to taunt our cartoon raccoon with reckless abandon. Rigbee then attempts to physically fight the song with weird spastic punches, but the overly enthusiastic tune cannot be harmed. Rigbee's blows go right through the cassette tape that smugly sports bright red '80's sunglasses and stick-figure legs.
       

It is at this strange point in our animated adventure when Mordecai says to his friend: "you can't touch music, but music can touch you."

Ah, truer words were never spoken.

There are indeed moments when music seems to take on human characteristics. Moments when a melody can elicit all manner of emotion inside us and rhythmically stir points in our spirit untouched until the sound of it reaches our ears. I suppose that's why when we hear good news we proclaim that "it's music to our ears."

Music leads us to dance, it can lead us to cry, and it can express sentiments that we may find difficult to otherwise put into words. There is energetic music that puts our feet to tapping along with the beat and there is music that encourages our muscles to relax and our mind to rest. The wonderful thing about music is that no two sets of ears receives it in exactly the same manner. It's very personal in both it's expression and it's experience.

Music to God's ears comes from our own lips. It is when we lift up our voices in recognition of His majesty and might that He hears song. There can be no purer form of music than when we praise the Lord simply for the sake of expressing love, gratefulness, adoration, or defference.

As deeply moving as can be some musical arrangements when heard in just the right setting - so is our recognition of the splendor of our Lord. We have but to take a peek out from an open window or breath in deeply to experience the wonder of God, for His splendor is beyond Heaven and Earth.

What greater inspiration for music is there? What truer melody can exist than praise for our Creator and Savior?

. . .Upon A Star

2 Peter 1:19 -- "And we have the word of the prophets made more certain, and you will do well to pay attention to it, as to a light shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts."

The sound of lazy waves halfheartedly hitting the bulk-head and the creaking of old dock pylons could only barely be heard over the orchestra of crickets, cicadas, and frogs. Now and then a rhythmic knocking could be heard - like a wood-pecker hunting up grubs, but the rest of the night belonged to the four of us spread out in fold out chairs with our eyes glued heavenward.

The fresh brackish air intermingled with the smell of bug repellent and tickled the stray hair around my ears. I could not help but smile at what we must have looked like: Grandpa and Grandma Saunders, my date [aka, my husband, Steven], and I - necks strained awkwardly as we all looked up at the moon, waiting for her to put on her fantastic show.

There would be a full lunar eclipse. And while it didn't take long to unfold, the moments seemed to tick by slowly as we all anticipated on waited breath.

Every detail engraved itself permanently on my brain. I could tell you that Grandma and Grandpa were talking about the way things had changed since Grandpa built this house and the dock that stretched out its long arm into the tannin rich waters of Doctor's Inlet. Grandma talked about how many grandchildren she'd watched play on the dock, fish for blue crabs with bits of bacon tied to string, and launch water craft into the lake beyond for afternoons of sun and surf. All the while, Steven and I asked questions, listened to the cadence of a couple married for a long time, but remained acutely aware of each other.

I paid attention. This was our very first "we are more than friends" date together. I remember everything. This was a gift. Something important. The beginning of something that both over-filled my senses with hope and terrified me.

Something about that night kept whispering to me - pay attention.

I'm glad I did. Not only did I end up marrying the wonderful blond haired, blue-eyed man next to me - but the black night full of stars and the bright red moon covered in shadow would mark one of the last times I'd cherish the company of both of my grandparents together. In a few short months following that wonderful evening, my Grandfather went home to be with Jesus.

Yes, a night of importance to be sure.

Taking a  look around at the crazy world that seems to be spinning so much faster than it did in my youth, I can't help but think that the older I get, the more crazy things seem. Is violence on the rise now? Or am I just noticing more because I have children? Are anti-Christian politics taking over our country? Or is it just that I'm more aware of the long-term consequences because of my age? Am I paying attention to the right things?

God grants us precious moments, special and personal gifts every single day. In what would seem an increasingly dark place, God sets alight countless stars that twinkle and burn brightly. Am I paying attention? Can I spot the twinkle amid the ink-black darkness?

I love the verse in 2 Peter because we are told to pay attention to the light. Take care to notice the bright in a dark environment. Remember every detail. We have never been closer to the realization of prophecies from long ago, we would do well to remember that in the midst of what seems to be a never-ending storm, black with sadness, bloodshed, and the denial of God - the sun shines brightly just beyond the raging winds. Our Son will rise soon.

Pay attention.

There is blessed hope in that.

Out Of The Woods

Job 37:22 -- "Out of the north He comes in golden splendor; God comes in awesome majesty."

This past February, it not only came bounding into our schedule with great surprise, but also, a great deal of stress.  Having moved less than two years ago this Dalton Gang was faced with more upheaval, and the agonizing task of packing up, finding a new home, and getting everything into that home moved and settled. Ugh! [I have no idea how you military types get so good at this!]

I was so NOT expecting this turn of events and I felt so much less than UNprepared. With our annual home-school portfolio review right around the corner, I guess you could say that I had some difficulty finding the silver lining in the deep, dark clouds that seemed to be rolling in.

So it was with a somewhat horrible attitude I began packing boxes, arranging for the rental truck, digging around for my sharpee markers, and turning the house upside down in search of my packing tape.

When my attitude gets this sour, I play a little trick on myself and start reading Job. For two reasons: one of which is - if I look at the stress and chaos in Job's life, I am sure to realize that my list of things about which I feel entitled to whine is nothing in comparison. The second reason is - to be reminded that God is in charge. Even when I don't always like the task He's set before me.

No spring chicken, one would think that I'd learned by now that God is ALWAYS good and He ALWAYS knows what's best.

Having spent three full days unloading the rental truck and making trips back and forth from the old location to the new home, I woke early and jittery - ready to take on the eye-ball-high pile of boxes in the garage. We would need showers to start the day, at some point we would want food [not the fast variety], and the bathrooms had none of the essentials yet. So I set myself down on the floor of my brand new, albeit empty living room with a cup of coffee in my hand, opened the blinds and looked out at the woods in the back yard. A lazy fog made the view a tad bit hazy, but I do so enjoy greeting the day as the sun comes up.

To my astonishment and delight, a single doe timidly poked her head out of the woods and into my back yard. I froze, hoping she wouldn't see me through the blinds. And I smiled at her as she nibbled on the grass. What a beautiful, personal blessing!

The new home is everything I could want. The carpet is the perfect color [it doesn't show dirt!], AND I was given a fresh new day with a gentle mist AND a sweet deer in welcome to the very first morning in our brand new house!

God's majesty does, indeed come in golden splendor! It was such a precious moment for me, alone with God and one of his gentle, amazing creatures - ready to greet a brand new day with our Creator at the helm.

I am richly blessed, O Lord. I am thankful that you remind me of that.

Chicago Blues

Psalm 51:12 -- "Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me."

Dan Aykroyd, Ray Charles, John Belushi

The year was 1980 and for some reason yet to be truly understood, the strange twangy shiny sound with a bazaar electric rhythm [aka Disco] was king. Music everywhere began to have a glitter-ball-hanging-from-the-ceiling feel to it. Even old R&B great, Cab Calloway tuned his classic "Minnie The Moocher" to the drum of this strange beat.

Then there were the conversions of  the works from orchestral masters like Chopin, Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach put to the disco beat on an album entitled "Hooked On Classics". A personal favorite and one that would actually have a single that hit the top of the Billboard charts in 1981.

Everything from movie scoring [like an adaptation of the Star Wars Theme] to hit radio top ten lists covered this unique - if not a little crazy - authentically American sound.

Dan Aykroyd, John Belushi, Cab Calloway

And yet, as boogie bathed in high-wasted jeans with bell-bottomed legs and overly floral prints, a beautiful, soul gripping and also authentically American part of music history was dying out.

Associated with the Bible Belt and the Mississippi Delta, Blues phenoms like Aretha Franklin, James Brown, B.B. King, and Muddy Waters found themselves a dying breed, and out of work. That distinct southern sound was all but gone in the media main-stream.

Until . . . a little movie called "The Blues Brothers" hit theaters on June 20, 1980. Some movie goers [myself included] were introduced to the amazing sound of Delta Blues for the first time, while others were reunited with the sound of soul after a long hiatus. The cool thing is, with a brilliant understanding of music theory and a deep respect for unique sound, one Dan Aykroyd hatched the idea to take the Delta Blues and add in a touch of Chicago - and viola! The Blues Brothers was born.

Dan Aykroyd, John Belushi, Aretha Franklin

Ears across America perked up as young and old started tapping their feet to soul. The Blues greats, including the wonderful Aretha Franklin, credit Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi with an industry-wide revival. The City of Chicago credits this two-man team of best buds with putting them on the tourism map.

Revival, thy name is "Blues Brothers". At leas it was in 1980.

Today, reading sad tid-bits from the local news papers and catching streamers on my internet home page gives me cause to believe that passion for Jesus and an energy for life is all but dying out. What we need, is a good 'ole fashion revival that sweeps across the entire nation. Nay, the entire GLOBE!

So bogged down with horrible national politics, rising crime rates, and an un-employment all-time-high, I find myself deep in the blues without the benefit of a soul-lifting beat and energetic mouth harp. As I read Psalm 51:12 I prayed the words of the verse out loud. I need a "Blues Brothers" to hit my own personal theater. I pray dear Lord, that you restore to me the joy of my salvation. Take me back to the wonderful musical sound of my first years as your child -with the passion and energy that resonated through my every fiber - and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me.

Ya know what's totally awesome?! My sweet, amazing Jesus can do just that!

Grafted Growth

Psalm 104:14 -- He makes grass grow for the cattle and plants for people to cultivate - bringing forth food from the earth."

 

Blue Tinted Dahlia

As the rich, moist soil pushed itself further under my fingernails I took a minute to stretch out my back and breath in that wonderful earthy smell. I love to piddle with plants. I am not good at it, but I do love to try. I love the hope that springs eternal when you gently remove a budding life from the starter pot and tenderly fold it into the fertile soil of a dish garden. I love watching the stalks and stems grow bright and healthy - strong enough to support fresh little flower buds. I love the smell of wet catnip, freshly picked rosemary, and the new hybrid chocolate-mint plant I'm trying to coax back to life. There's just something about diving into damp earth up to the elbow with a late summer sun baring down on your shoulders, a swift cool drink from the garden hose and giant night crawlers trying to hide when you accidentally unearth them.

In my eagerness to learn all that I can about herbal gardens in order to use fresh ingredients for my hand-crafted soaps/bath products, I am keen to get a good handle on growing my own plants. I've learned that my chocolate-mint was root-bound and hope to remedy that by dividing and replanting [a thing I have only just learned]. It amazes me - all the things it takes to grow a garden really well.

And I stand in awe and marvel over a new study on grafting.

As flowers go, the bright, lush fulness of a Dahlia is a favorite of mine. I recently saw a blue one - I kid you not - an actual blue Dahlia. The thing is, Dahlia's don't come in blue. Not naturally, anyway. When they are left to their own devices, they come in wonderful shades of pink, red, orange, yellow and even a combination of those colors - but they just don't grow blue . . . unless they have a whole lot of help.

Simple Grafting Chart

HOW!?

Good question.

One way to get a Dahlia, or any plant for that matter, to behave a certain way and provide a certain fruit/look - is to graft the thing to another plant. It's very much like surgery. There is even more than one way to perform the graft, but the gist of the procedure involves making a wound on two plants and binding them to one another until the wounds unite. If it's done right, characteristics from both plants will be included in whatever flowers or fruit are born of the newly united [hybridized] stalk. The results can be truly fascinating and often amazing. With grafting/hybridizing we get things like weeping cherry trees, broccoli, boysenberries, lematos, and of course, blue Dahlias.

The cool thing is, it takes a mixture of different plants to make one unique, strong, and breathtaking hybrid. [I gotta say, I'm really itchin' to try a lemato] The process is a growing one, a tedious one, sometimes painful, but all in all - rewarding. Even if the graft doesn't take you learn from the experience and can apply that knowledge to the next experiment. It is an ever changing and never dull field of study.

Lemon + Tomato = Lemato

When I came across the devotional verse for today, I couldn't help but think of grafting. We humans start out fairly small and lack a personal relationship with our Savior, Jesus Christ. If left unattended, we can grow as a physical being, but will lack the richness, the fullness, and glorious "flavor" that comes from knowing our Creator on a personal level. We won't be hardy perennials that bloom year after year in eternal life with Jesus. We'll be annuals that flower for a short time and then whither to compost.

In short, we cannot bloom into something lively and everlasting without being saved by Jesus and then fertilized with God's Word. We need to be grafted into the arms of our Lord. Bound through the grace of Jesus Christ and infused with his love and mercy. Then we can become sturdy, strong, and stable contributions to a wonderfully fruitful garden that will last forever. AND, at the end of this life-cycle - we seedlings in our starer pots can be transplanted into the permanent gardens of God's amazing Heaven.

Like the blue Dahlia - we just can't reach a beautiful, breathtaking form on our own. We've got to be grafted by God.

Attitude of Gratitude

Colossians 3:15 -- "Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful."

Looking down at the dark cobblestones it would have been easy to miss the men approaching on tip-toe - snaking their way up close, behind Matthew Henry. Slick from fog and dimly lit with tallow-filled street lamps, the London traffic-ways were a labyrinth and darkness pressed in around Matthew as the quiet seemed to roll in on the mists.  Though hundreds of years before Jack the Ripper would roam these streets, the look was not much different. Crimes were still easily committed in crowded roadways jammed with down-trod commoners. Buildings that stood elbow to elbow provided shadow and hidden nooks ripe with perfect darkness. Perfect places for sinister souls to hide and lie in wait.

Matthew never discovered exactly what was used to hit him on the head. But it was solid and sturdy. One blow put him to the ground where he was found snoring the next morning as the sun came up to light the streets that would bustle with day-time life.

It has been said that a person is well tested when adversity rears it's ugly head. Know trouble and know the type of man you are. Know what holds the bones together and from Whom you draw your strength. 

Mugged of all he had, sore from the beating the cobblestones delt him when his body slumped to the ground, and tired from spending the night stretched out on cold wet stones, Matthew stepped out from the crowded Constable's quarters where he filed his meager report of theft - and made his way back home. Here is where we learn what Matthew Henry was truly made of.

Somewhat a public figure with a deep routed desire to share the gospel in plain terms with as many  people as he possible could, Matthew spent his life publishing commentary on both the new and the old testaments.  Hunched over each and every verse of the Bible, Matthew provided an exhaustive - verse by verse - detailed layman's study of the Scriptures. Labeled a nonconformist and an outcast by many recognized Anglican churches, Matthew's passion was very clearly the will and Word of God.

Nestled deep within this passionate heart is the real deal. A badly bruised and broken man, Matthew has every right to the anger that should be welling up inside him. He lost what he considered to be - his everything. But in the yellowed hand-written pages of Matthew's journal, we don't find an angry soul clawing it's way out of a battered spirit. Instead, we find these words:

Matthew Henry

"Let me be thankful first because I was never robbed before; second, although they took my purse, they did not take my life; third, because although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth, because it was I who was robbed, not I who robbed."

Penned in the 1620's, these words will go on to fill the hearts of men and women alike for hundreds of years to come. Billy Graham will use them from the pulpit. Other evangelists use Matthew's famous quote on the the relationship between men and women.  But it is, perhaps, this humble attitude of gratitude that best describes the man, Matthew Henry. To this day his words apply. His words inspire, motivate, and encourage. 

If you have been to my house, you have seen a pink, thin-lined journal sitting on my counter top. It's my challenge. At the beginning of this year I was challenged to come up with 1000 gifts - 1000 graces for which I should be grateful. 1000 things listed on a page, for which I can tell God thank you. It's a challenge because so often in this life I can name reasons for which I am frustrated. Things that annoy me, interrupt my happiness, or cause me to fret and worry. So quickly are we, as a species, able to point out the things that go wrong and things that make us miserable that is really DOES require effort to point out the things that are good. 

The pink puffy book stays on the counter. Always. If ever a moment should come along when I am tempted to pout, to rant and rave, to throw a spiritual temper tantrum - I walk into the kitchen, open the pages of the pink journal and force my perspective. I name something for which I am grateful. Often, once the first strokes of the ink pen glide across the paper - the flow continues. To my surprise I am no longer frustrated and bitter - but smiling. 

This is what Matthew Henry did. In the face of real-life pain, the loss of his coin - he tells God how grateful he is. He names GOOD things about a terrible situation.

Oh yes, let the PEACE of Jesus rule your hearts .... and be thankful. If one man in the 1600's can be thankful after being mugged ..... I think I can muster up a few Praises when things seem to hit the fan.