Musings for the Flock

Slogans

2010-05-29T23:07:00.004-04:00

Every organization that wants to be noticed has a slogan. I’m sure each of us can think of the catchy one-liners various businesses have used. Some use the play-on-words angle. Others refer to memorable situations. Invariably, they all try to attach themselves to something in our lives so that when we are at that location or in that position, our minds will be triggered to associate it with a product or service. This is obviously a successful technique for advertising; otherwise we wouldn’t see it still being used.

Have you ever thought about God and advertising slogans? How about this:

“You’re in good hands…” What better insurance is there than the Lord’s promises? What safer place to be than in His hands?

“When it rains, it pours.” He promises to fill our baskets to overflowing. He’s promised the former and latter rains, intending to equip us to be the salt of the earth.

“You’re a name, not a number.” The Lord knows our names before we’re born. He can’t and won’t forget a single one of His children. They’re each unique and special to Him. If He knows the number of hairs on your head, He knows your name.

“Grab all the gusto you can.” I don’t normally like beer commercials. To my mind they tend toward hedonistic behavior. At the same time, where can you get greater pleasure or fulfillment than from what the Lord offers? He has an unlimited supply of “gusto”, and He wants us to take as much as we can hold. He doesn’t even mind if we stuff a little extra in our pockets.

“Sears has everything.” Well, not quite. But God does.

“Breakfast of Champions.” If we feed on the Lord every morning, how can we be anything but champions? He’s the bread of life.

“I’m lovin’ it.” If you think having a Big Mac is where it’s at, you may want to lift your sights a little bit. God is love, so when we’re in relationship with Him, we’re really “lovin’ it.”

“Expect more for less.” Think about how much is offered to us in exchange for the little we can offer.

"Can you hear me now?" He's always calling. Am I listening?

“When you care to send the very best…” God sent His Son, the VERY best! He really cares.

“Fly the friendly skies.” One of these days. One of these days!

See how it works? The truth is, however, that God doesn’t use slogans. He doesn’t need catchy one-liners. His best advertisement is a satisfied customer. Word of mouth really works. Have you told anyone lately?

Have a great day.

Dr. G

The Mockingbird Sang His Song

2010-05-27T20:29:00.004-04:00

I’ve always liked Mockingbirds. Even though they are fairly common in residential areas, they are not typically found in denser woods or forests. They prefer wide open spaces with scattered shrubs and trees. They like exposed perches from which to pour out their sometimes non-stop singing, chirping, buzzing and twittering (in the older sense, that is). They are one the few songbirds that can be heard singing at any hour of the night. I love it!

A number of years ago we lived in a rural setting in Massachusetts . Behind our lot were wide-open pastures of a farm. And we had our mockingbird. There was an antenna standing outside and above our bedroom window which served as a favorite singing stage. I remember one night when I heard our bird mimic 23 other bird species. When we moved from there to eastern Washington State , we missed him. There were no Mockingbirds to be found in Walla Walla County .

Then we moved down to the south, and once again we could hear them singing all over the place. That is, everywhere except where we’d built our house. Up until about 12 years ago, our lot was on a forested, undeveloped ridge. Then a small road went up the ridge, and nine lots were developed, opening up some space, but leaving much of the forest intact. To our sorrow, no Mockingbirds came for eight years. Then, last year, a single bird could occasionally be seen moving up and down our short cul-de-sac street.

This year, much to our pleasure, it is back with its mate, and has chosen several of our trees as singing posts. They appear to be nesting in a crepe myrtle in our front yard. Hopefully, they’ve found a secure and inviting spot to dwell. This brought to mind the passage in Psalm 84 where the psalmist speaks of the sparrow and swallow finding shelter and safety in the tabernacle, God’s house (Ps 84:3)

The next verse is what gives me comfort: “Blessed are those who dwell in Your house; They will still be praising You.”

If the Mockingbird can sing joyfully about the security of its nest in my crepe myrtle, should not I also praise mightily the one in whose house I dwell? What more can we ask for than the safety of His house?

Have a great day of praising Him, and continued blessings from Him all summer!

Dr. G

Do You Still Want the Sauce?

2010-05-20T21:27:00.002-04:00

Going in, I didn’t expect any problems. I’d done it before, and it seemed fairly simple at the time.

Not long ago, I made a quick run to one of the local Taco Belleries to grab a few things for lunch. I asked for three items, nothing more. There were only a couple of modifications. For the beans and cheese, I asked them to add some creamy jalepeno sauce (ka-ching! $0.45). Then I wanted a 7-layer burrito, leave out the rice, but add the creamy jalepeno sauce (ka-ching! $0.45). The small drink I would get for myself. Nothing hard, and something that would allow me to get back to school in short fashion.

I should have suspected problems when the cashier asked if I wanted cheese on the pintos and cheese. “Yes,” I replied. “Regular pintos and cheese – just add the jalepeno sauce.”

“Do you still want the guacamole on the burrito?"

“Yes. Regular 7-layer without the rice – just add the jalepeno sauce.”

After confirming my order with me, the cashier took my money, and I stepped back, verifying that the number she’d given me matched the number on the receipt. I filled my drink, and picked up a spork and some napkins while I stood there.

In a short matter of time, a bag was handed to me. I could tell by the shape that it contained a burrito and a container full of beans. I went out to the car to eat while I listened to a radio program. First off, I opened the beans, only to find Fiesta Potatoes with cream cheese. Time to go back inside. Fortunately, I still had my receipt.

I approached one of the staff as he handed off another person’s order. “Excuse me. I order pintos and cheese with jalepeno sauce, and ended up with potatoes. Could I have my beans?” I asked as I showed my receipt.

After looking at my receipt, the fellow mumbled something and went to prepare the pintos and cheese. From the back he hollered, “Do you still want the jalepeno sauce on them?”

“Please,” I answered. At this, another worker looked up, and said, “I forgot to put the jalepeno sauce on your burrito. Do you still want it?”

“Sure, why not?” I responded, pulling the still wrapped burrito out of the bag and handing it to her.

Back to the car I went, where I ate the beans. I opened the burrito and took a bite. If you’ve ever had a Taco Bell burrito, you’ve probably noticed that things tend to be clumped into areas. It was only after the third bite that I came across something strange.

I opened the burrito only to find ground beef in what is supposed to be a vegetarian item. Let’s go back inside, shall we?

“Excuse me,” I asked the crew who had now become like family. “Do you normally put meat in the 7-layer burrito?”

This time the manager came over. “No, we never put meat in those.” I held out the offending item for her perusal, along with my less than crisp reciept.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Let me remake it.”

A moment later, “Did you still want jalepeno sauce on it?”

As I said earlier, I thought my request to be simple, reasonable, not complicated. As I stood there, I began to wonder why there was such a mess up. I mean, they have a screen that provides an itemized list of each order. Had they just scanned it, not paying real attention? Had they been working out of habit, not knowing what they were doing or why? Did they think it wouldn't matter to me if I got something other than what I ordered? I even considered, briefly, asking if I could come back to the kitchen to show them how to do it.

In Micah 6:8, our spitual “screen” tells us what God requires of us: to do justly, to love mercy, and walk humbly with Him. Pretty simple. Only three items. Why then do we find it so hard to fill the order? Maybe, sometimes, we forget to look closely at the "screen" He’s provided for us. Maybe we forget to communicate with Him, verifying exactly what it is we’re to do. I’ve come to the conclusion that the only way I’ll ever get the order right is if I let Him into the kitchen of my life, and have Him do it for me.

By the way, hold the jalepeno sauce on the drink!

Dr. G

What the Deaf Man Heard

2010-05-16T17:26:00.002-04:00

There was a movie out a number of years ago entitled “What the Deaf Man Heard.” In a nutshell, a young boy becomes stranded in a small town in the late 30’s or early ‘40s, and pretends to be deaf – sort of a self-preservation coping mechanism. He’s taken in by a couple, and grows up to be the town “fix-it” man. And because he (presumably) can’t hear, he becomes privy to much of what goes on behind the scenes in town. Ultimately a scandal breaks out, to which the “deaf” man is witness. And jokingly, the protagonists put him on the witness stand, so everyone can hear what the “deaf man" heard. It is at this point that it becomes clear that he can hear, and did hear, and he is willing to tell all. But I’d like to talk about what another deaf man heard.

The story is found in Mark 7. Jesus and His disciples are passing through the region of Decapolis , when a deaf man with a speech impediment is brought to Jesus. Of course, Jesus heals both problems (verses 32-36). But notice the important thing – the first thing the deaf man heard was the beautiful voice of the Savior. And by implication of verse 36, the first things he said were praise and thanksgiving to the Savior.

And what about the blind men mentioned in Matthew 9:27-31? They came to Jesus asking for mercy, and He gave them their sight. The first thing these men saw was the face of the Savior. And they, too, added praise and thanksgiving to the Lord wherever they went.

Can you appreciate it? The first thing you see is His face. The first thing you hear is His voice.

Let’s move on to Lazarus. When he came out of the tomb, the first voice was that of Jesus. The first vision was of Jesus. The first person in his presence was Jesus.

To a degree, that can be your experience and mine every morning, if our first thought of the day is of Him. Oh, I know it’s important to head for the kitchen to get breakfast going; and letting the dog out is important, too. So also is… But are those things really that much more important than what the deaf man heard and the blind man saw?

Jerry

I'm Awake!

2009-12-10T21:19:00.002-05:00

It seemed like I had just gone to bed when I heard a voice.

“I’M AWAKE!” cried my Mind. Mumbling, Eye opened up and looked at the clock. 12:35 a.m.
“Go to sleep.” “Pipe down!” “Be quiet!” chorused various parts of Body, not wanting to wake up yet.

“BUT I’M AWAKE!” Mind continued to clamor.
“Make him stop,” cried Hands, afraid I would soon jump out of bed to work on the computer.

“I’m still awake,” whimpered Mind.
“Well, you’d better get a grip on yourself,” called out Stomach, "before I start twisting in bed." “Shut him up,” Leg demanded of me, “Or I’ll give us a cramp.”

Younger reader, know this: as you age, Mind and Body cease to always be on the same page. At times Mind tells Body to do things it can’t; sometimes Body does things Mind wishes it wouldn’t. Conflicts can occur. It was time to step in.

“Mind,” I said, “settle down. Think about something other than being awake.”

Then I heard another voice. “Let’s think about all the sins you’ve committed.” It was Satan. Before I could respond, Mind had whipped out his list.

“Put that away,” I said. “I’ve taken all of those to Christ. He promised to take care of them, and I trust Him. I don’t need to go over that list again.”

“Well, let’s worry about tomorrow!” suggested Satan. Right away, Mind had the To-Do list for this day out, scanning it for probable problems and searching for unforseeable crises.

“No need,” I responded. "I’ve given tomorrow to Christ, also. He’s promised to sustain me, guide me, to provide all my needs. His protection is mine, His angels are at my beck and call as long as I trust in Him. I don’t need to worry. Everything is taken care of. Get lost, Satan. Go to sleep, Mind.”

“But I’m still awake,” whispered Mind.

“Then I’ll tell you a story.” And I began to review the gospel story, relaxing Body, and calming Mind. I even switched to Spanish for the benefit of the more southern parts and recesses of Body and Mind.

I must be a pretty poor preacher. Before I knew it, the alarm was ringing and it was time to get up.

Friend, let me tell you – if you wake up at night and are bothered by a restless mind, review His story. Remember His promises. Claim them as yours. He really can be trusted. Close your eyes and settle into His rest.

Have a peaceful sleep!!

Dr. G

The Cure

2009-11-26T12:40:00.003-05:00

Your church probably follows a similar format to mine when it comes to prayer meeting. A short song service, then a sharing time for praises and prayer requests, followed by a study of some sort. A few weeks ago, at my prayer meeting there were a number of names mentioned for special prayer. Six of them had something in common: cancer. Five of the six I knew, several fairly well. Cancer. A dreaded word to most people. It seems like it is always in the news – new treatments, new methods of detection, new suggested regulations, new causes…the list is endless.

Scientists have been working for many years to understand cancer. Some progress has been made as to knowing what cancer is. In most cases, however, the how’s and why’s are still fuzzy at best. Society is getting better at treating cancer, fortunately. There are three basic modalities of treatment: surgery, radiation, and chemo. Each totally radical from the other. Yet they all have something in common: in treating the cancer, they also affect healthy tissue.

In surgery, the surgeon always takes a little extra tissue – “just in case.” While the radiologist will focus his bean as tightly and narrowly as possible, there is inescapable damage to nearby tissue. Chemo is the least focused of the methods in that the chemicals flow throughout the body. The drugs are searching out cells that are multiplying rapidly. For that is one of the things that make cancer so dangerous – the rate of growth and how quickly tumors can begin affecting surrounding tissues. So any tissue that is rapidly dividing is at the mercy of these deadly drugs. Linings of the gut, blood producing tissues, hair follicles – these are sites that chemo affects that we wish it would leave alone. But it doesn’t.

Success rates often depend on how early the cancer is found. In some, the age and general health of the patient can play a factor. We’ve reached the place now where childhood leukemia has very high success rates. If caught early, melanoma is one of the easiest to treat, although it is one of the most deadly if not caught early. Basal cell cancer is generally easy to treat. Other forms lurk undetected until it is almost too late to have long-term survival rate. A few, like pancreatic cancer, are still almost unstoppable.

Which cancer do you fear the most? Breast cancer? Skin cancer? Prostate? Colon ? None are desirable, but if you had to pick one to have, which would it be?

There is one cancer I’ve not mentioned. It is blight on the human race. It’s insidious, infecting us all. Untreated, it is always terminal. This cancer, of course, is cancer of the soul, also known as sin. We don’t understand it well, except to know its dreadful effects. Our bodies are unable to fight it off. Outside help is needed. But treatment is available, regardless of your insurance plan. Ultimatley, this cancer will be obliterated. But anyone clinging to it will also be eradicated, just like the normal tissue adjoining physical cancer. Far better to separate now.

Like some forms of radiation, the treatment for sin involves the implanting of the cure – the entrance of the Holy Spirit into the heart. A sure cure. However, it is a cure that requires daily dosage. If you go off your meds, the disease will surely come back, often with great fervor.

I suggest taking the cure. Some of us may “fall off the wagon” temporarily. But the Great Physician is always happy to see us back in His office. Why not take a dose right now?

Have a very healthy day!

Dr. G

I'm Thankful

2009-11-25T20:35:00.002-05:00

I’m thankful for the occasional twinges of pain in my hands from arthritis. They remind me how nice it is to have hands.

I’m thankful for such a nice place to work and great colleagues to work with. Some are not so lucky – some work with grouches, others don’t work.

I’m thankful I get to unload the buses every morning. Some folks never get to see and hear excitement in children’s voices.

I’m thankful for my opportunity several weekends each month to be able to sing with a group of other men, praising the Lord. Some men have never lifted their voices in song; some do not know the Lord.

I’m thankful for the ability to read. I can expand my horizons, and learn even more to share with my students.

I’m thankful for family, even though none live close at hand. It is good to share news with them, and to share encouragement. There are those who have no one to turn to for comfort or to share a laugh.

I’m thankful that the car started this morning, for I had a task to do. There are those who have no tasks, let alone a vehicle with which to accomplish one.

I’m thankful for a sense of humor. Without it, some days would be a real grind. I’m even thankful for the days that are a grind. They provide opportunities for growth.

I’m thankful that there is a God in heaven who can see down the road when I can hardly look beyond my shoes. I know I can trust Him to guide my steps when I can’t bear to look.

I'm thankful I live in a country where it is still OK to be thankful for things others may not appreciate. They don't know what they are missing.

Have you made your list yet? Thanksgiving is tomorrow.

Dr. G

How Will You Get There?

2009-11-05T20:51:00.002-05:00

The men’s chorus I sing in presented a program in a small church up on Lookout Mountain this past weekend, somewhere near the town of Rising Fawn , GA (at least that was the address). I understand that the group had sung there a number of years ago, but most of the current members had never been there before.

Lookout Mountain is the southern-most mountain of the Appalachians , and has many cliffs and escarpments, especially on the northern and western edges. Even so, there are a number of ways to get up on top. But to get to this church, one had to eventually get onto Highway 157. Our director and several riding with him came from Chattanooga at the north end, and up past Rock City . A number of others went through Fort Oglethorpe and attacked the mountain from various roads on the east. In fact, I pulled up to a traffic light in Fort O , and found myself next to another chorus member. He turned left, I went straight. I never saw him again until I pulled into the church parking lot. He had just gotten out of his car.

Four of the guys decided to carpool. None of them had been atop the mountain before, let alone been at this church. The driver felt confident, however. He’d plugged the church’s address into his GPS. Unfortunately, they had hardly left their starting point when the GPS suffered a fatal error. One of the other guys in the vehicle happened to have some sketchy instructions that had been distributed at the previous rehearsal. Working together with these, and with everyone watching for landmarks, they arrived safe and sound. They, too, were able to find Highway 157 and thence, the church.

This sort of made me think of getting to heaven. We can approach it from several directions, but everyone has to get to Christ. He is the “Highway 157” in the salvation story. Some of us are born into a family that already lives on Highway 157 (Christ is in the home to begin with). Others of us find Him following our own paths, sometimes even diverging from others’ paths. Still others, finding scraps of information about a Savior, have worked together and found the path as a group. But no matter how they got there, Christ, who is the path, the way, the only doorway, was the answer.

One of our members, a young college student still living with his parents, didn’t make it. He’d planned on riding up with his mother. But something came up that morning, and she didn’t go. Neither did he. The application, of course, is that we can’t depend on others, even close family members, to get us into heaven. We have to get to the Savior on our own. He’ll get us in.

For some, the route may be a gentle climb. For others, the route may be steep and full of twists and turns. Keep going though; don’t give up. The reward is worth the effort.

Let me see that map. Do I turn left, right, or go straight ahead here?

Dr. G

Lights On!

2009-11-01T17:57:00.001-05:00

The weather this past Tuesday was not the most pleasant – not a really heavy rain, but more of a heavy drizzle all day long. That is sort of what I grew up with all winter long in Seattle, WA. Cold. Damp. Not a great day for driving, but a great day for staying inside.

However, my wife and I needed to go to several stores up at the mall. So after I picker her up at the school where she teaches, we headed for the freeway, about 20 miles away. We had to go cross country through several small towns, mostly on two-lane roads. What really caught my mind as I drove was the number of vehicles that passed me going the other way without their headlights on. I was surprised and concerned. Because of the drizzle, mist, and spray, it was quite hard to see such cars coming. I had to wonder what people were thinking. Having the lights on isn’t necessarily for only so I can see; it certainly helps others see me.

That is sort of like the Christian life. We’re saved by the grace of God, through our relationship with Christ. Having our “lights” on isn’t what saves us. Yet we’re told to have our lights burning bright, as it were, for the benefit of others. We’re not to put our lights under a bushel or hide them in a corner. We are to be the light of the world for our Master. Not for our sakes. But for the others, so they can see and notice what Christ has done in our lives. Not for our glory – for His. Perhaps seeing my lights, or yours, will keep someone else from running into one of Satan’s ditches. Keep them on, all the time, rain or shine!

Have a safe day in Him

Dr. G

The Master Teacher

2009-10-16T23:05:00.000-04:00

Many people look upon Christ as the source of salvation. And this He is. But how many take note of His teaching skills? His ability to approach lessons and situations with gentle words is easy to see. He was the same with the comely as with the outcast and the erring. Consider how he treated the woman caught in adultery: He spoke softly and, while not condoning, did not condemn. What about the Syro-Phoenician woman who was willing to accept scraps from the master’s table? I’m sure there was a twinkle in His eye when He suggested she was a dog. Otherwise the woman would not have persisted or answered as she did. Then there was the Samaritan woman who had to go to the well at noon-day because the women of her village wouldn’t associate with her. His openness and gentleness allowed her to open up her life to Him and to receive salvation.

His examples and illustrations came from the listeners’ everyday life. This helped draw the lesson out so they could understand, but it also helped in retention. After hearing the story about the mustard seed and the mustard bush, who, among those who’d heard the story, could walk by such a plant without pausing to think about having faith? Who could see barns being town down to be replaced by larger ones without remembering the lesson of responsibility and stewardship?

And did He ever love children. He didn’t just give the disciples permission to bring children; He commanded that the children be brought. They, in turn, loved being in His presence.

We would do well, both as teachers and as parents to learn from Christ. Who to teach. How to teach. What to teach. He was truly the master teacher.

Have a great day.

Dr. G

My name is...

2009-09-25T22:53:00.007-04:00

Daisy was a student of mine when she was in Kindergarten. She is now in second grade, and I work with her in both ESOL and EIP (supplemental math intervention). So I see her for forty five minutes twice a day. I also see her every morning as I unload the buses. Unfortunately, I’m just as likely today to call her Diana as I was during the first week of school two years ago. I don’t know why. Maybe she looks more like a Diana than a Daisy in some back recess of my mind. But when it happens, she laughs and says, “It’s Daisy!”

Then there is Carlos. I’ve also known him for two years. I may call him Daniel or Luis. It just pops out as he gets off the bus. A couple of times, in my confusion, I try to correct myself as he goes by, and it ends up, “Hi, Luis Daniel Carlos!” He grins.

I try to get their names right, and most of the time I do. But with some, it is a real struggle. I know it’s important to the kids that we know their names. As I call off names of passing students as they flow from the buses, I will, from time to time, have a student I’ve never worked with come up and say, “My name is ---- (Juan, Susana, whatever).” It is clear they want their name spoken as they pass by me, too. They want to be known.

I’m glad the Lord knows my name (and yours, and that of every child on the earth). Can you picture it: All the redeemed are streaming in through the gates of glory (but we won’t be getting off of buses) and the Lord is standing there greeting everyone by name. He doesn’t get a single one wrong. Just think of it – not one will come up and say “My name is –“. He is intimately acquainted with each one. Like a parent knows each of his or her children. But it only makes sense, since we are His children. Of course He knows us. What a great feeling! He’s calling you and me by name today. Can’t you hear Him?

Have a wonderful day, regardless what your name is.

Jerry

How much is enough?

2009-09-24T23:10:00.003-04:00

The other day my wife and I were running some errands here in town when I pulled up to a stop light over by the Hobby Lobby. The car immediately in front of me (which would have qualified for the “Cash for Clunkers” program) had a quite new bumper sticker that read, “If 10% is good enough for God, it is good enough for the IRS”. Sort of humorous, but it got me to thinking along several lines.

First of all, if, during the 50 or so years that I’ve sort of been watching political behavior in this country, the government had been a little more God-like in its actions, maybe people might be willing to contribute more than only 10%. That having been thought, I moved on to the next line of thought.

Is 10% good enough for God? Yes, the scriptures indicate in numerous places that 10% of what we gain “belongs” to God. But what if I really love Him? Will I not want to give Him what He deserves? What has He done for me that might make me want to give Him a little bit special? Let me see…
I woke up this morning
My feet still worked properly
My eyes functioned
The sun came up
The light switch worked
The car started…

And what about..
He still loves me
Christ’s sacrifice still works for me
The Spirit is still working on my heart to make me a better person
He’s promised me a fantastic new life
He loves my friends
He keeps the earth, moon and sun in their places…

Yep. I guess He deserves a little more than 10%.

Some thoughts from Lamentations 3:22 and following:
- His mercies are new every morning
- Great is His faithfulness
- Except through His mercies we would be consumed.

How about this? I can’t give Him enough, so maybe I should give Him my all.

Have a great day!

Jerry

Another "Clunkers" Program

2009-09-23T11:06:00.002-04:00

During the past few months, one of the things most heard of in the news headlines was the government’s “Cash for Clunkers” program. Perhaps you even investigated the idea. Maybe you actually participated. If you happened to be in the market for a new car, it didn’t sound like a bad program, as long as your clunker qualified. For there were some restrictions. Among other things, it had to be currently registered and have been insured in the past year. I couldn’t have resurrected my pickup that hasn’t run in two years. There was no cash for it.

I have no political response to the program. I’ll let others pick it apart or build it up as their needs demand. But I would like to tell you about another “Clunkers” program – except it really doesn’t go by that name.

There are a number of places where the problem is described. The Apostle Paul does about as good a job in exposing the situation as anyone. Basically, he says, “What I want to do, I don’t. What I don’t want to do, I do. My life is a clunker! Who will take this problem off my hands?”

Wouldn’t you know it? There is a New Life dealer right down the street who is willing to take your mess, my mess as a trade in for a new life. No strings attached, other than He retains the title. It is registered in our name. And the mileage this new life gets is out of this world.

With the government’s program, you got a $2000 rebate on the new car, but ultimately it will all cost us more in tax dollars. With the program I’m talking about, He has paid the full price. This isn’t a “cash for clunkers” program. It is a “Cross for Clunkers” program. It can’t be beat.

Have a great day.

Jerry

No More 'No Mores"

2009-05-31T19:23:00.004-04:00

Some folks call them covered dish luncheons. Others call them potlucks. It doesn’t matter what you call them, we’ve all been there and partook. Some folks are good cooks, others less so (I’ve seen at least a dozen ways to ruin okra. Picking it is right up near the top of the list). But we learn whose dishes to keep an eye on, and which to watch out for. As we work our way up the table, we keep hoping there’s something left in that one dish. Have you ever reached that spot only to find that there’s…NO MORE!?

Have you ever stood in line for tickets to a fabulous concert or program, only to reach the ticket window to find out there’s…NO MORE!?

Have you ever gone to a concert, or fireworks display that you wish would last forever, and suddenly, there’s…NO MORE!?

Why do wonderful things always seem to be in short supply? Good food, fellowship, enjoyable times – there’s either not enough, or that which there is doesn’t last long enough. Well, I’ve got good news. There is a time and place up ahead that I will refer to as the land of “No more No Mores”. That which is good for us, that which is needful, will be in abundance. Talk about music concerts. Talk about glorious displays in the sky. Talk about potlucks. Man, the Lord’s going to lay out a spread that you and I can’t begin to imagine. No more no mores.

In Revelation 21 and 22, John mentions some other “No Mores”. Perhaps you’ve read of some of them: no more pain, no more sorrow, no more tears, no more death, no more night, no more sickness, no more sin, no more abominations, no more curse.

Is it too far a fetch of the imagination to think that maybe, in that wonderful place called heaven, after the passage of some time, we will no longer remember the trials we’ve been through, the rough spots Satan has dragged us through? I like to think that even with what we’ve experienced on this earth, there’ll come a time when there’ll be no more “no mores.” We’ll remember what going against God’s will has caused – there’ll still be nail prints in those hands – but we won’t be able to recall the specifics of sin. Just maybe, the no mores will be, No More.

This old world is growing weary; it’s a tiresome place to live. It holds no fascination for me, No More, No More. Heaven’s looking better and better every day.

Have a great summer!

DR. G

You Can't Go Home

2009-05-20T20:57:00.003-04:00

You can’t go home. I’m sure you’ve all heard that saying before. But time and again we hear of people going back, trying to rejoin a time and place that has moved on. Can’t be done. I’ve tried.

I first attended school in a little town called Belgrade, in the state of Montana. We moved there shortly after my fourth birthday, and left shortly before my eighth. I can still picture our house, the neighborhood, the large open field stretching from the end of our street, continuing over to the old Northern Pacific mainline tracks perhaps a quarter of a mile away. On the other side was the main street, most of the houses and our school.

About 15 years after leaving Belgrade, my wife and I passed through the town. I took her out to the house I remembered so well. It was smaller now. It was also somewhat derelict. The names on the mailboxes next door were not what I remembered. Home wasn’t there anymore.

A couple of years after graduating from high school, I stopped by my former school during class hours. I found the choir room, wanting to visit my former choir director. He was there, but only briefly. Although he still directed the choir, he was also now teaching an accounting class. Fewer kids were signing up for singing groups. Two years later, he left teaching and went to work for a bank. Can’t go back to the old school either. It’s not there anymore, at least not the school I remember. Bricks and roofing, yes, but the experience can’t be revisited.

When my kids were ten or twelve, I drove them through the old neighborhood I'd lived in during my highschool years. The lot where I found the rubber boa I described a few weeks ago now had a house. The house I’d lived in needed paint. I took my son and daughter along the route I would have followed when I walked to school. The two-lane main street of Burien had given way to four lanes. Buildings had gone, buildings had come. It certainly wasn’t home anymore.

Prior to coming to DPS, I had spent six years as registrar at my college alma mater. The old administration building was the same, but offices had been rearranged and the folks in them were different. The whole valley was different. Even the climate had changed. When I was in school, most of the valley was given over to dry-land farming of wheat and peas. Now, with the addition of dams on the Snake River, much of the valley is under irrigation. The evaporation of water from the irrigated fields has greatly increased the humidity in the valley. Now, heavy long-lasting fogs are not uncommon in the winters where once there had been desert. It’s just not the same as I remember it being. It wasn’t “home”.

A few months ago, I was moved from one school to another. Now, I’ve been given the opportunity to return to the former school. I accepted the offer, but I’m not really going home. Some of my friends are retiring at the end of this year. My former principal has just accepted a position with the central office. My fifth-grade kids will have moved on. I can’t even go home less than a year after leaving.

We are destined to continue progressing through our experiences here, knowing that we can never go back to where we’ve been. No point in being homesick. The home you or I might be homesick for no longer exists. All of our longing really should point forward. There is one home, one we’ve never been to, yet, that deserves our longing, our attention. No, we can’t go back, but we can go forward.

Christ has promised us each a home, far greater, more joyous – filled with more love, filled with all the good things memories are made of. Yes, we must forget about looking back at what was never as good as our minds have made us think it was. Instead, we must look upward and onward, toward that which our minds can’t even begin to comprehend. Aren’t you just a little homesick for heaven? I am.

Dr. G

Can You See Anything?

2009-05-15T04:13:00.002-04:00

The second teaching jobs that my wife and I had were at a private school in Oshawa, Ontario, about 20 miles east of Toronto. The school encouraged students to be involved in reach-out teams which would visit smaller, outlying churches and provide music and other programs on weekends. So it was, during the winter of 1976, that we found ourselves with three young ladies headed to a church in Sudbury, Ontario, a distance of about 250 miles.

Most winter weather in Ontario comes from the west and northwest. As a result, it is often cold, but snowfall typically is not too great, since the larger bodies of water (the Great Lakes) are either far away to the west or just to the south. So there usually isn’t much lake-effect snow. However, the road going to Sudbury is just inland from the shore of Georgian Bay, a large eastern-projecting section of Lake Huron. As a consequence, lake-effect snow is very common there.

It was cold, but mostly clear when we left Oshawa Friday afternoon. By the time we reached Barrie, it had clouded up and a light snow was falling. It was also dark (sunset comes quite early that far north in the winter). The road was snow covered, but driving was not difficult. When we reached a section of road north of Parry Sound, however, things changed. A full-blown white-out covered the area as snow blew in off the lake.

I had never driven to Sudbury, so didn’t have a clue what the road was like, nor did I have any idea of where we were or what the surroundings were like. But I kept creeping forward slowly, trying to keep to the right of the piled-up snow at the edge of the road. After a short distance, I became aware of some taillights ahead of me. I worked my way up behind them, only to discover that I was following one of the big snowplows that worked the roads up there.

White-outs are not fun. It is comforting when you’re not the only vehicle on the road. I decided to stay close enough behind that I could still track him, but far enough back that I could stop in time should he put on his brakes. His taillights were the only point of contact we had to anything outside the car for over twenty miles. We kept wondering, "How does he know where he’s going?" He must have had that road memorized. Eventually, the snow abated. He pulled off, and we continued on, now able to see.

There have been times when I’ve been in a spiritual white-out. Satan surrounds us with so much downward pulling noise, so many distractions, disappointments, frustrations; he’ll use anything that shields our eyes from the narrow road the Lord has outlined for us.

It really wasn’t wise of me to continue driving when I first hit the white-out. I was totally without a point of reference; the road had a number of turns and pitfalls. It would have been so easy to lose my way, and bring tragedy not only to myself but the other four in the car. The snowplow was heaven-sent, a reliable guide that had the road memorized.

When I find myself getting overwhelmed by the snowstorms Satan sends my way, it is imperative that I pull over, wait for the Holy Spirit to come along and then follow Him explicitly. He knows the way. Imagine how silly it would have been for me to pull out and try to pass the snowplow, or to turn off onto another road, wanting to try another route. Behind God’s snowplow is the only way to travel through the winter of Satan’s discontent.

Can one of you find that window scraper under your feet back there?

Dr. G

Snake Handlin' II

2009-05-14T21:15:00.003-04:00

I had been away at college less than a month. To say I was unaware as to how things worked at an institution with dormitories, deans, schools, and respected administrators would be to suggest that I was somewhat naïve, perhaps a little gullible, certainly trusting. It would also be true. I had grown up in a home where you did the right thing because it was the right thing to do; I tried to believe my friends were of the same mold (more or less).

I had gone for a walk with several of those friends after lunch on a Saturday afternoon in late September. The school was in a small rural town, and only blocks off campus the landscape turned into pastures, wheat fields, and streams bordered by cottonwoods and willows. That is where we headed. We’d barely reached the wheat fields and were passing through a road cut on one of the rolling hills when I looked up and saw something sticking out of an exposed gopher hole about a foot below the field level. It was a snake’s head. A good-sized snake head.
I asked my friends to stay in the road and keep an eye on the snake while I backtracked, went up into the field, intending to arrive just above the snake. What I wanted to do was to reach down over the cut edge and grab the snake just behind its head. It worked like a charm. I ended up pulling a western bull snake that was a well over four feet long (these constrictors grow up to eight feet long, and are among the largest of snakes in North America) out of that hole.

Of course my friends thought I was crazy, but neither of them had a biological bent to their thinking. They continued on their walk. I headed back to my dorm room, which I shared with one of the resident counselors. He wasn’t in at the time. So I was free to locate a box in which to store my treasure (for what, I didn’t know). Unlike the rubber boa I wrote about a few weeks back, a bull snake (also known as a gopher snake) can and will strike in self-defense. While not poisonous and lacking fangs, the teeth can cause a bloody wound. Somehow I got it into the box safely and piled all of my books on top to keep it there. I had no idea what I was going to do with it next.

After supper, one of the guys who had gone walking with me stopped by the room. He was a little surprised that I still had the snake. He suggested that he was acquainted with a girl who “probably” would like to see it. Trusting him, I opened the box and deftly grabbed the snake, which coiled itself around my forearm and part way up my upper arm; I was off to town, snake in tow.

What I didn’t know was that this girl (Shirley) was working the reception desk at the women’s dormitory. I had the sense to stop at the top of the entry steps, and didn’t go in. My friend went inside to get her. Believe it or not, she did come out and showed genuine interest in the snake. I relaxed a bit. Then she suggested that the Women’s Dean might like to see it. She went back inside, only to appear a moment later to say that the Dean was in her office and I could go in to see her. What I didn’t know was that Shirley had only told the Dean “there was a young man outside with something he wants to show you.”

I went where few men have trod: into the office of the Dean of Women with a four-foot plus bull snake. To make matters worse, the school President had been having a conversation with her and was sitting in a chair in front of her desk. I can remember clearly to this day the resulting responses. Before I had two words out of my mouth, the president was behind the Dean’s chair, and she was coming around the desk toward me. She was even more interested than Shirley had been. We remained on good terms for decades.

With her permission, I sat on a small couch in the lobby of the dorm for about a half hour. Many people (mostly female) passed by; only a few even saw the snake. Those that did kept going, albeit a little faster than when they had approached.

Over the years, I’ve pondered the several responses I saw that night. A fully-grown man had fled as far away as he could and still keep his dignity. The Dean responded with great interest, even to the point of stroking the snake’s head and noting the colored patterns in the scales. Others saw the snake, knew what it was, and wanted nothing to do with it. Most were unaware of its presence.

In many ways, people of this world respond to Satan in much the same manner. Some are drawn to and charmed by him. Others sense his presence and flee for safer ground. Unfortunately, more and more people are ignorant of his presence, maybe even of his existence. Bull snakes are harmless. Being ignorant of them is of no consequence. Satan is as dangerous when we are not aware of his presence as when we are, perhaps even more so.

It’s my prayer that we’ll all be able to keep our spiritual eyes open during our spiritual journey through life. He could be lurking in that tall grass right over there!

Dr. G

Snake Handlin'

2009-04-29T21:47:00.002-04:00

It was the summer between my eighth and ninth grade school years. My family had just recently moved into a new house in a new subdivision about 12 blocks from where we’d lived for a little over five years. It was close enough that friends from the old neighborhood could come over. Late one afternoon, one of those friends and I were tossing a baseball back and forth in the back yard. Either one of his throws went awry or I flubbed an easy catch (there was a reason major league scouts never stopped by to watch us). In any event, the ball skipped across the street into a large, undeveloped lot.

This lot had a few trees – mostly red alder, madrona and western hemlock – and the typical undergrowth found on the land around Puget Sound in Washington State. There was a lot of red huckleberries, bracken fern and a shrub known as salal, which, like the huckleberry is a member of the heath family. My friend Gordy had thrown the ball fairly hard, so I figured it was about 20 feet into this thick mess. I got down on my knees and started crawling in where we last saw the white orb. This was the best way to tackle the task, since both the salal and bracken fern grew about three feet tall.

After going just a short distance, I spied the ball. I quickly noticed that it was perched upon a strange structure. In the dim light, I recognized it for what it was: a rather uncommon snake known as a rubber boa, coiled up as nicely as could be under the ball. Having a biological bent even at that age, my baseball game came to a stop as I retrieved my approximately two-foot long treasure. How I knew what it was back then I have no idea. To my knowledge, I’d never seen one before, and I don’t remember having ever read about them. But I just knew that was what it was.

I took the snake to the house and put it into the standard “Dr. G” collecting apparatus – my mother’s old galvanized washtub. There I supplied it with plant material to hide under until I could take it to school in a shoe box the next day. I had tolerant teachers. In drafting class I announced that I had something I wanted to show the others. When I dumped the snake out onto the table, there were several forms of excitement, ranging from shrieks to gasps of admiration (at least that’s how I took them). Rubber boas are about as docile as a snake can be – according to literature I checked as I wrote this they are not known to strike in defense. One will generally bury its head under its body, and if terribly bothered, release a strong musky fluid from the vent. But that is all. Fortunately, I didn’t irritate my snake.

The other thing that made it such a neat display object is that they are quite slow as far as snakes go. We had no trouble directing its movement, and quite a few of my classmates got up the nerve to actually handle the snake. The body, as can be seen in the photo, is very muscular (it is a Boa, after all) and has the feel of soft but firm rubber (hence the name). After a few days, my folks called the zoo in Seattle to see if they’d like it (they would) so we took it in to them.

I think it is wonderful that you can learn so much about snakes that you can identify them immediately. But a word of caution. There is one snake that we need to learn to recognize, but only at distance. He’s found world-wide and is quite vicious. He can be found described in both the book of Genesis and the book of Revelation. He is called the father of lies, a master of deceit. He is a champion of disguise, and is not to be trusted. He can appear in many forms, and is very aggressive, and will strike without provocation. He is best left to the Expert. Don’t try to deal with him on your own. To paraphrase Paul, Satan is out like a hissing serpent, seeking whom he may devour. Stay where the Expert has indicated it is safe.

Dr. G

How's My Testimony?

2009-04-27T19:53:00.003-04:00

Have you ever had to testify in court? Have you given sworn testimony, borne witness to some event? The scriptures are full of references to testimony, testifying, bearing witness. Some passages, like John 5:33 and John 5:39 refer to reliable witness. The testimony given was reliable, truthful.
Both of these passages are in one of Christ’s longer responses to the Jewish leaders who had challenged Him. “John bore witness to the truth.” “The scriptures, which you search, testify of me.”

In John 3:11, in His discussion with Nicodemus, Christ pointed out that He (and the disciples) were giving witness and testifying of what they knew and had seen. Furthermore, He pointed out that this reliable testimony was not being received.

Of course, not all testimony given is reliable. At Christ’s trial, false testimony was offered against Him, but the witnesses contradicted one another (Mark 14:56-59)

Another important thought is that we, too, are witnesses. Acts 22:15 was spoken almost 2000 years ago, but it still applies to you and me: “For you will be His witness to all men of what you have seen and heard.”

What is my witness like? Where do you and I bear our testimony? As sure as a connection with Christ is to bear fruit in our lives, we are on constant display as His witnesses. Is my witness reliable, or is it in conflict with my claims? Do I claim to have truth, only to bear false witness? As people observe my actions and hear my words, to which spirit do I bear witness?

Many years ago, I was parked outside a mall waiting for my wife to return from a brief errand inside. My daughter and son were with me. While sitting there, we watched as a friend and colleague from the college where I was teaching pulled his car into a nearby space. He quickly left the car and headed for the mall door. It was a warm summer evening, and he’d left his car windows open.

Moments later, another vehicle pulled up behind his. A young man jumped out, ran to my friend’s car, removed something from the dashboard, and began to pull away, right before our eyes. I quickly pulled my car in behind him, and I had one of the children write down the license number while the other child confirmed what I read. I then returned to our original spot to await my colleague’s return.

A few months later I was subpoenaed and had to give my testimony in court. I was able to identify the young man, and was able to confirm under oath what I had reported to the police. The suspect’s attorney was unable to refute to my testimony, and his client paid the price.

It is so wonderful to know that when I face the heavenly courtroom, I will have an attorney who will be able to refute the charges laid against me; He'll testify in my behalf. He’s experienced; His testimony is sure. I won’t have to pay the price.

By the way – crossing your fingers while testifying doesn’t work.

Dr. G

Spiritual Box Lunches

2009-04-26T23:02:00.002-04:00

A number of years back I attended an out-of-town conference. When registering, I had the option of ordering a prepared lunch, which I took (mostly because they offered a vegetarian option, not because of the $15 charge). When I lined up for my lunch on the day of the conference, I discovered that we were getting box lunches. The contents were: a sandwich, an apple, a bag of chips and one cookie. Oh, yeah, there was also a Juicy Juice. I compared my lunch with the person sitting next to me (a non-vegetarian). Same lunch, except her sandwich had two slices of ham and one slice of cheese where mine had two slices of tomato, some sprouts, and three slices of cucumber. We both got mayo and lettuce. Quite a lunch for $15.

A week ago, my wife and I joined some friends at a large cabin up in Townsend, TN for the weekend. Two couples were responsible for Friday night supper, two for Saturday breakfast, and three for Saturday night supper. For each meal, there was a great abundance of food, probably enough to handle another four couples. The first meal centered on several big pots of soup and four types of sandwiches, but included a great variety of other items. Dessert consisted of large brownies covered with thick, rich chocolate over either a mint layer or peanut-butter. There was far more food than could be eaten.

Breakfast the next morning centered on breakfast burritos, with all sorts of things for the stuffing. One of the men involved prepared several types of fresh-fruit smoothies. Plus the leftovers from the night before were brought out (and enjoyed a second time). Again, there was much more than we could finish.

Supper that night? Burgers, chick-patty sandwiches, hot-dogs, salads, chips…and leftovers from the night before and from breakfast. The point is, there was a great abundance of food the whole weekend, and I suspect that we did the whole thing for less than $15 per person for the weekend. A lot less than I’d spent seven years earlier on a box lunch.

A banquet up in heaven for the redeemed is referred to several times in scripture. Sometimes it is called a wedding feast. In Revelation 19:9 it is called the marriage supper of the Lamb. Do you suppose there’ll be box lunches?

What about my daily spiritual food? Am I satisfied with an almost-empty box lunch (a quick prayer and a text as I dash out the door), or do I really fill my plate with spiritual food by digging into the scriptures to find out what they really teach? Is there spiritual junk-food – sort of God-related, but not really expanding my relationship with Him? How much of that do I put into my system?

Now there's some food for thought.

Have a great day!

Dr. G

False Accusations

2009-04-08T21:50:00.006-04:00

Years ago I would make an annual pilgrimage to one of the continent’s spring birding hotspots. I first started going there while teaching biology at a school about 20 miles to the east of Toronto, Ontario. I continued for each of the next fourteen years after I became a professor of biology at a college in central Massachusetts. I even worked it out so that this week-long trip coincided with the week of field work in a class in ornithology that I taught. Yes, Point Pelee National Park on the northern shore of Lake Ontario was the place to be in early May.

While I have many great memories from the times I was there, one has recently come back to mind. I spent an extended weekend there with a friend who was willing to go birding, but wasn’t what I would call an avid birder. But he was a good companion, and we had a fun time. One day we were working the woods south of the nature center, looking for warblers and vireos. We were just off the trail in some dense second growth that opened up into the lower branches of some larger trees.

I had learned the calls of most all the eastern woodland birds, and did much of my initial bird-finding by ear rather than watching for birds. As we crouched there listening, I heard a ruckus headed our way, up about the level of tree tops. It was a flock of crows, and I knew right away that they were harassing some sort of raptor, possibly a hawk. Then, suddenly, crashing down through the small branches and perching about eight feet from us was a great horned owl. Here was the crows’ sport. Angry, fluffed up, out of breath. The crows quickly spotted my friend and me, and stayed at the tops of the trees. The owl sat where it had landed and glared at us.

Have you ever been falsely accused? The look on the owl’s face seemed to be one that peered into our souls, as if we were responsible for its situation. So intense was the look that I was tempted to respond, telling the owl that we had nothing to do with its plight. While this may have been true, the accusing look could not be ignored. Even our actual innocence could not remove the feeling of condemnation placed upon us.

How do you deal with false accusation? Or, perhaps, is this something you’ve never had to deal with? Most of the disciples had to deal with it at one time or another. If you read the book of Acts, and even some of Paul’s epistles, we find that many times he was badly treated on the basis of false accusations.

Stephen was falsely accused, and stoned.

Most terrible were the false accusations that were hurled at Christ during His trial. The accusations were even contradictory. But those in charge were so determined to be done with Him that they ignored the laws regarding fair trial, and condemned Him anyway. I wonder how they will feel when they have to look into His face when He returns (check out Revelation 1:7). The accusations they will face will not be false. Far better to face false accustions in behalf of our Lord than to face true accusations from Him.

This weekend, Christendom will celebrate His death and resurrection. Keep in mind that even as He promised to die for us, He has promised to return for us. Every eye will see Him. Some will see joy on His face. Some will not.

Have a great weekend.

Dr. G

Bus 4!

2009-04-05T18:52:00.004-04:00

One of my colleagues was walking down the Kindergarten hallway the other day when a little guy in a door way greeted her with, “Bus 4!”

A little explanation may be in order to understand what was going on. At our school, at the end of the day, certain support staff walk the length of the Kindergarten-First grade hallway collecting children for the various buses. As we go, we carry a sign with the bus number and call out the number as we pass the rooms. We then lead our lines out the doors and onto the buses.

Apparently, this fellow above recognized the teacher involved as someone who would take him to his bus, and he was either imitating her by calling out his bus number, or he was reporting for duty. In any case, he saw her as someone connected with his bus.

After this story was related to me, I wondered, what else do these children see in us? Do they see me only as the man who wears funny ties? Do they see me as someone who has time to return a wave as we pass? In their eyes, am I someone who responds to their needs?

Or do they see me simply as someone who is always telling them to sit down and be quiet? Stay in line, and quit talking! Pay attention to your work! Is that the me they see? Am I a friend, or someone to be endured during the day? What do they see in me?

In a passage in Matthew 25, Christ relates the connection between how we treat and respond to the least of those around us (children, perhaps?) to how we treat Him. “(I)nasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.” (Verse 40)

Perhaps I’ve been focusing on the wrong question. Instead of only asking, “What do they see in me?” I should also be asking, “What do I see in them?”

Yes, it is important for me to act in such a way that they will see Christ reflected in my life. Wait, that is poorly worded. I shouldn’t be acting. May my life be under Christ’s control to such an extent that they see Him, rather than me.

At the same time, it is also important for me to see them as Christ’s lambs, for such they are. Hmmmm. How can I do that? Let's see. If He’s in control....How will I see them?

Have a blessed day.

Dr. G

Watery Eyes?

2009-04-01T21:02:00.004-04:00

Well, it is that time again. Trees in bloom. Maples bloomed almost a month ago, and then came the Bradford pears. Now we have a whole bunch of trees in bloom: red buds, ashes, dogwoods, hickories, pines. The oaks and flowering crab apples can’t be too far behind.

The human body has a protection mechanism that involves the immune system. This system is designed to counteract foreign protein; in particular, proteins on invading parasites, bacteria and viruses. It is this mechanism that brings about the aching, fever, inflammation, watery eyes and runny noses that come with colds, flues, etc. But the system will also respond to other, non-dangerous proteins, perhaps more in some folks’ cases than in others. And that is where the trees come in to play at this time of year.

Most trees are wind pollinated. To be successful, they must spread their pollen over broad areas in the hopes that the pollen will make contact with a corresponding flower of the same tree type. Part of this strategy is to produce extra-large quantities of pollen. Sort of like the shotgun approach. For the trees, this is a great strategy. For those sensitive to (read allergic) to the proteins on the pollen grains, it can spell misery. My eyes have been red, watery and itchy since the maples began blooming in early March.

What is happening, as in other allergies, is that my immune system is over-reacting to the harmless pollen in the air. At my expense, yet. Yes, there are medications that can help. Some I can take, others not. Of those I can take, some make me drowsy, others don’t. Unfortunately, in my case, the ones that don’t make me drowsy don’t seem to work on the symptoms. On the other hand, the ones that do make me drowsy work quite well on the symptoms. This would be great, except it doesn’t pay to be too drowsy when at work, if you know what I mean. So I have to settle for the lowest common denominator – suffer through the problem without pharmaceutical help. Until my body undergoes a change and no longer responds to invading protein, I guess I’m stuck with it.

I wish I had an immune system that would respond as strongly and naturally against sin. But my human nature welcomes in the invading temptations. I’m extremely susceptible on my own. Fortunately, however, there is an “over-the-counter” medication available. The Great Physician is willing to step in, any time I ask, to help against the infections. In fact, the way I understand it, as long as I am under His direct care, I won’t get sick. Not only will He work on healing me from the inside out, He’ll help me stay away from those places where I might pick up some strange “sin” protein. I think I’ll give it a try.

Yes, I know my eyes are red, and, No, I haven’t been crying. Pass me the tissues, please.

Dr. G

Post Notes:
1. Redbud and crabapple trees are insect pollinated. Little of their pollen gets in the air. Therefore, they’re not generally allergy-causing trees.
2. Pine trees, while wind pollinated, produce pollen that is non-allergenic for most people. So they don’t mess up your system. Only your car if you park near a pine tree this time of year.
3. The Great Physician’s remedies are free.

Got Pain?

2009-03-26T20:01:00.000-04:00

Got pain?

Physical pain: as in sciatica, or a severe burn, or migraines. Severe pain as in degenerative hip disease. Severe pain as in terminal cancer.

Got pain?

How about mental pain? As in having been rejected by one who had pledged undying love? Or the anguish of a loved one lost due to an accident. What about the mental pain from depression or loneliness?

Got pain?

What about spiritual pain, the pain of having let the Lord down? Of not having taking that chance to witness, now gone?

Got pain?

God Pain.

Try carrying a heavy cross on your back that’s been lacerated by Roman soldiers. Or the pangs of 40 days of hunger. Pain of iron spikes driven through your hands and feet. Thorns you've created tearing the flesh of your forehead and scalp.

God pain.

Deserted by those who pledged to stand beside you and fight for/with you. Stabbed in the back by one who said he had Your back. Pain of being ridiculed by family members who’ve misunderstood you. The pain of hearing those you loved crying, “Crucify Him, crucify Him.” The pain of feeling abandoned by the Father you’ve served.

Got pain?

Is it burdening you down? Give it to Him. God knows pain. Let yours become His, because He can help carry yours. And in the end, no pain!

Got pain?
God pain.
God’s pain.
No pain.

Have a better day!

Dr. G

Ring, Ring

2009-03-19T19:49:00.003-04:00

It goes something like this:

“Ring-ring. Ring-ring.”
“Hello?”
“Hello! This call is for Dr. G. If you are that person, please stay on the line.”

The alternate form is:

“Ring-ring. Ring-ring.”
“Hello?”
“Hello! This call is for Dr. G. If you are not that person, please hang up now.”

Sound familiar? Such a warm, positive voice. Friendly; you can almost feel the smile on the other end. You’ve got about five seconds to respond. As you know, it isn’t a real person speaking to you. If you don’t hang up, somewhere in the world a computer screen will begin flashing, “WE’VE GOT A LIVE ONE!” And a REAL PERSON will come on the line and begin their spiel.

It may be from your insurance company, letting you know that you’ve just become eligible for a new service you simply can’t do without. Or, perhaps, the alumni office from a school you attended for one term. They want you to contribute to the new building for the Performing Martial Arts and Sciences program. If you’ve done business with the Fire and Rescue service, they may be looking for funding for new tires for the ambulance you helped purchase ten years ago. Again, it is possible that it may be a collection agency looking for a past due payment on a credit card you cancelled several years ago. Or a student loan re-finance offer. Or….

No matter who it’s from, one thing is sure. They want access into your pocketbook. Do you stay on the line, or hang up? If you hang up, they’ll be back. It’s like they want your very soul.

God has an automatic calling system, too. Conscience, we call it. He promised to whisper from behind, letting us know whether to turn to the right or the left.

Have you noticed that there isn’t any qualifying, “if” when the call comes? It’s always for us, and if we hang up on Him, He’s persistent: you know He’ll call back. However, unlike the other callers, He doesn’t want our money; He is after our souls. Have you let the Heavenly computer screen flash, “We’ve got a live one!” recently?

Can someone catch that phone for me? I’ve got my hands full here.

Dr. G

It's All In The Timing

2009-02-06T22:29:00.000-05:00

Timing. It’s all a matter of timing.

If we’re standing ten feet apart and you toss me a football, there isn’t too much of an issue in timing if I’m to catch the ball. But if I’m running down the football field with two defenders at my heels, and you throw the ball to a spot 30 yards away, there has to be excellent timing if I’m to catch that ball without breaking my stride. Timing.

Or consider a toad flicking its tongue out and catching a passing housefly. What about a diver getting his or her body into just that right position to split the surface of the water with hardly a ripple? Timing.

The Scriptures are full of promises the Lord has given us. Promises of protection. Promises that He will supply our need. Promises that He’ll come again. Promises. Timing. The two go hand in hand.

I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe in circumstances. I am convinced that the Lord plays an active role in our lives daily. He arranges opportunities for us to nurture and to be nurtured, to encourage and to be encouraged, to find examples and to be an example. It’s all in the timing.

Jesus didn’t just “happen” to be passing by the entrance to the village of Nain. He timed it to bring relief to a grief-stricken mother. It wasn’t happenstance that He was in town the day Jairus needed Him, either.

Nor was He at the well in mid-day by accident. If He had come in the middle of the morning or the middle of the afternoon, the Samaritan woman wouldn’t have encountered a Jewish male who treated her with respect, something she didn’t receive from the other women in her village. It was all in the timing, and a whole village accepted the Messiah.

The men’s chorus I sing with makes appointments to do church services, especially in smaller churches that may not attract larger performing groups or more important speakers. A number of years ago, we’d tried to arrange an appointment out west of Cleveland, but didn’t seem to be able to find a date that was suitable. Finally, one fall we set a date for late the following spring. Two months before we were to go, the church got a new pastor who wanted to organize his own program and we were dumped. We tried again the following year, and again had our appointment cancelled.

Two years after that, we tried again, and, somewhat to our surprise, we actually kept the appointment. During the preliminaries, it was announced that a member had passed away during the week. None of us knew the gentleman, and didn’t give much thought to the announcement. After the service, our group was standing around in the foyer visiting with the members of the congregation when four or five of us had the same experience. A small, white-haired lady in a shawl came up and said to each of us, “The Lord knew what I needed this morning. My husband passed away last night.” Timing.

Those of us who were there are convinced that the Lord didn’t “need” us at that particular church two and three years earlier. He needed us there that morning.

Timing. It’s all in the timing. It’s all in HIS timing. Who needs more than that?
Dr. G

On Green Pastures

2009-01-17T17:44:00.004-05:00

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures...
- The 23rd Psalm

Our Shepherd has all of our needs in mind. He knows of our need for rest. But I would suggest that the word "maketh" runs more along the line of "encourages, bids, provides opportunity for, or invites" than "forces, requires, mandates". He is such a loving Shepherd that, even though He may know of our need, He won't force His will on us. But the opportunity for rest is there.

Have you ever given thought to the fact that the pastures are green?. Green is such a calming, relaxing color to the human eye. Perhaps that is why a walk through the woods or in the park can be so restorative. Can you imagine lying down in a yellow pasture, or red, or even orange? No, green is the restful color. Easy on the eye, calming to the soul. I'm glad He bids me lie down in a restful place ("Come unto me...").

Have you ever laid down on the lawn, gazing up into the sky? Have you ever laid down on barren rocks, gazing up into the sky? Which was more comfortable? The pasture, of course. Pastures are serene, nutritive for the animal's needs. The "pastures" spoken of by the Psalmist were not neatly mown, fenced spaces, but sheltered, grassy, well-watered spots to which the shepherd knew he could lead his sheep. Rest, relaxation, rejuvenation, cogitation, meditation, rumination. Words that should connect our souls to the Shepherd at the green pastures He leads us to.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures...

The summer I was sixteen, my older brother and I spent some time hiking the Wonderland Trail that encircles Mt. Rainier in Washington State. From above, the mountain is not dissimilar to a spoked wheel, with alternating ridges and valleys radiating out from the central mountain's mass. As a result, any trail circumnavigating the mountain will have plenty of ups and downs - up a ridge, down into a valley. Up a ridge, down into a valley.

One day on our trip, we were going from a shelter in a meadow (green pasture) on Klapatche Ridge to another in a meadow known as Indian Henry's Hunting Ground. We'd gone down into our first valley of the day, and were cresting out near tree-line on the first ridge to climb when we began to notice that the low shrubs were festooned with shaggy white banners, not unlike the Spanish moss that is found on the live oaks of southern Georgia. Then, as we broke out into a smallish meadow, we found a small herd of mountain goats, lying placidly and chewing their cuds not far from the trail. Amazingly (we'd tried to get close to mountain goats before, to no avail), these goats simply continued their activities (or nonactivities) and paid us no mind. They were secure in their "green pasture". My brother and I joined them for a brief breather before moving on. The Lord had ( and still has) a different pasture for us. But many times during the years since that day, when I've heard or read the 23rd Psalm, my mind's eye has gone back to that windy ridge with the mountain goats.

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures..."

Have you found one of His pastures?

Dr. G

Did I Sleep Through the Alarm Again?

2009-01-16T22:49:00.003-05:00

I really sleep best in a cool room. For me, there is something about the cool air that makes/allows a deeper sleep. In fact, if I’m going to sleep through an alarm, it is most likely going to happen when I’ve got the room below 60 degrees F. Maybe I’m part bear, and I approach torpor (a good biological term) - the deep sleep of hibernation. I don’t know. But the other morning, the room temp was at 58 degrees F, the alarm went off at 4:00, and I was awakened at 5:05. Perhaps I need more alarms, or for my one alarm to be much more obvious.

In Matthew 24, Christ described some alarms that would go off shortly before His return. There are also suggestions throughout the New Testament that near the end of time, His followers, or perhaps, would-be followers would have a tendency to sleep. Such are given a strong warning – Wake up! It’s time to be ready!

I don’t know about you, but does it seem like some of the alarms are going off? True, there have always been wars. There have always been earthquakes and other natural disasters. There has always been social strife and commotion. Tribulations are not new to the human experience. But did you know that the word translated “tribulations” in Matthew 24 actually literally refers to labor pains? Surely you’re aware that as the birth approaches, the labor pains become more frequent and stronger. Is there a chance that I’m in torpor, and sleeping through the spiritual alarms?

Interestingly, Christ didn’t tell His followers to start getting ready when the signs became apparent (Does an expectant mother wait for the labor pains to come before getting the nursery ready?). He told His followers to be ready. That involves having an active relationship with Him now. If He’s my best friend – if I am putting Him first in my life – I’ll be spending time getting and staying ready, whether the alarms are going off or not.

Right now the world looks like it is in a real mess. It sounds as if we’re at the brink. I don’t know if we actually are or not. That’s not really the question before me. The real question is whether I’m cold (in a torpor, deeply asleep spiritually), lukewarm (awake, but not really doing a whole lot with my spiritual life), or hot (out of bed and ready to go).

Anyone want an extra blanket?

Dr. G

2008-12-24T11:41:00.004-05:00

T’was the week before Christmas in schools ‘round this nation,
Midst lots of clear evidence of our secularization.

Songs about snowflakes and riding in sleighs,
High blood sugar in children – my head’s in a daze!

There are songs about Kwanzaa and Hanukkah’s there, too –
But no songs ‘bout the Christ Child – I tell you it’s true.

We heard songs praising Santa and his little elves.
But songs about Jesus were kept on the shelves.

In the name of diversity, to avoid any fights
True Christian believers have yielded their rights.
(JWasmer Dec 18, 2008)

I read an editorial on the internet a few days ago. The writer had atten
ded a “Holiday” program at a local school the previous day. He described it as “90 minutes of music”. The editorial was aimed at the content of the music, and how cultural changes over the past 20 years or so dictated the thrust of the music. There were lots of songs about Santa, the winter season, silly songs about snowmen, Grinches, and reindeer – but not one song about Christ, or the true meaning of Christmas.

After the program, he asked the music director why there had been no Christmas carols included. “But there were!” replied the musician, who went on to name Santa Claus is Coming to Town and Winter Wonderland.

We sometimes see signs that urge us to “Remember the Reason for the Season.” Some folks continue to try. But in a nation with a populace that doesn’t really think of Christ the other 364 days of the year, what can you expect?

Scattered as we are, I want to tell each member of the Flock – Have a wonderful Christ-oriented Christmas. Say a prayer. Think of His birth. Let His love for you shine all over this earth! His day will come; then it will be our turn.

Dr. G

Soon and Very Soon...

2008-12-03T19:04:00.001-05:00

A short time ago, maybe two weeks, maybe three, I was reading a publication from some organization. At this point in time, I don’t recall where I was, how I ended up reading the particular magazine, or even which organization had put it out. About the only thing I recall was a short article describing how some employees of the organization had been encouraged within the organization to develop their musical talents. Three of the individuals had gone on to become part-time professional performers, and the article discussed their successes. One had gone into bluegrass music; the other two had become competent in the blues.

Down through the years I’ve heard a number of blues musicians interviewed on the radio or TV. I’ve heard examples of blues music. It seems that the focus of both the singers and the songs sung is the great trials in life. Perhaps that is why the music genre is called “the Blues” – the tribulations of life always keeps one’s spirits down – as in “I really feel blue today.”

In the Bible, Martha and Mary of Bethany were experiencing “the blues” after their brother Lazarus had died. There was much lamenting and wailing, focusing on the loss and the disappointment brought on by the fact that the family friend, Jesus of Nazareth, hadn’t come in time to do something about their problem.

Even when Christ did arrive, both sisters kept looking over their shoulders, lamenting, “If only you’d been here…” The focus was on the problem, not the solution. In a sense, I think they were blaming Christ for their crisis. How short sighted, but how much so like many of us today. We’re in the blues by choice.

There is a gospel song I’ve heard a number of times. I’ve even sung along to snatches of it while driving down the highway. After reading that article in the magazine, I realized that the song I’ve mentioned contains the solution to the blues. The main thrust of the words is, in a nutshell, “No more problems there, we are going to see the King.”

Soon and very soon – we are going to see the King!
Hallelujah, hallelujah – we are going to see the King!

No more crying there – we are going to see the King!
Hallelujah, hallelujah – we are going to see the King!

No more dying there – we are going to see the King!
Hallelujah, hallelujah – we are going to see the King!

Perhaps, maybe, perchance, there may be a time and place for the blues in this life down here. But for my money, there is ALWAYS time to go see the King. And when that is the focus of our lives, hoo-boy!

Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King!
Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King!
Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King!
Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King!
Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King!
Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King!..........

Have an uplifting day!

Dr. G

What a Change

2008-11-11T05:22:00.004-05:00

Let me tell you about a friend of mine. We’ll call him Sam. Sam grew up in a small town in the Bible Belt, but the Bible Belt didn’t grow up in Sam. Early on, Sam started drinking, and soon progressed on to various drugs. As he has mentioned several times in public gatherings I’ve attended, he ended up with several sons, none of which bear his name.

As Sam became more and more involved with drugs, he eventually began dealing drugs. It didn’t take long before he was the major supplier for this small town in the Bible Belt. He was well known in town for his activities, and eventually ending up serving time. Not just once. Not just twice. His record finally showed seven felony convictions. Yet he continued dealing drugs, and using anything he could get his hands on – recreational drugs, horse tranquilizers, prescription drugs cleaning supplies. If he could get it into his veins, he was willing to try it.

He’s not sure how he managed to hold any job, but he worked fairly regularly in one of the manufacturing plants in his town. On his breaks he could always be found out back using pot. He didn’t really have much of a future.
But there was a little old lady there that kept telling him that she was praying for him (that sort of thing happens in the Bible Belt). She would also offer him tapes of sermons to listen to from time to time. While he might take the tapes occasionally, he never did listen to them.

Then one day, Sam did happen to listen to one. And the Lord broke through the fog. He gave up dealing drugs, joined the twelve-step programs for both alcoholics and for drug addicts. He recognized his condition, and decided to do something about it.

During his somewhat frequent trips to the courthouse he’d become acquainted with a young Christian woman. He joined the church and married her. He was in a situation where not many people in town would offer him a job (most townsfolk considered him an employment risk). So he started his own lawn business. Did fairly well, and soon had a number of employees. At least during the summer he had employees. Once fall came around, lawns no longer needed mowing, and Sam needed something to bring money in for the winter. He decided he might try working for a mall security company. He made a call to one in a city about an hour away.

A man answered, and Sam introduced himself and said he was interested in working as a security guard. The voice on the other end said, “You wouldn’t happen to be the Sam I know up in Bible Belt Town, would you?” Immediately feeling apprehensive, Sam replied, “Yes, sir. How do you know me?” Sam never forgot the answer.

“I put you in jail at least six times when you were growing up.” The owner of the security firm, unbeknownst to Sam, was the former police chief from the little town up in the Bible Belt. After some conversation, Sam was offered a job. Some months later, he began to realize that the company had better paying jobs running security for sites of the “night life.” But he would need to carry a gun for those jobs, and for that, he’d need a gun permit. That was something not normally given to convicted felons. But the former police chief spoke to the county judge up at Bible Belt Town. To Sam’s amazement, the judge expunged his record of all convictions. Sam got his permit, and worked the rough shifts for several years.

About six years ago Sam joined the men’s chorus I sing in. That is where I got to know him. About three years ago he gave up the security guard business, and was appointed animal control officer for his town. He did a great job taking care of strays, getting them back to their homes or getting them new homes. He went out of his way to keep from putting animals down. But this didn’t please the town fathers. They’d prefer it if he’ get rid of the dogs as soon as possible. But Sam insisted on keeping animals for the full two weeks allowed by law, and, if necessary, took them out to his own property while he continued to look for homes for them.

Ultimately, the town fathers gave Sam an ultimatum: start getting rid of the dogs or give up the job. This made Sam mad. He figured there was more than one way to fight City Hall. About four months ago, Sam quit as animal control officer. But on the first Tuesday of November 2008, Sam was elected mayor of that little town up in the Bible Belt.

There are two quick lessons I’d like to draw from this true story of Sam. First of all, if you’re a little old lady up in the Bible Belt and you’re praying for someone, don’t quit. Intercessory prayer sometimes is the only thing some people have going for them this side of heaven. Come to think of it, it doesn’t matter if you’re a little old lady, or not. If you’re praying for someone, keep it up.

Secondly, if you happen to read this, and you’re at the end of your rope, if you feel you’ve reached the place where you no longer have any future at all, remember that with God anything is possible. If the Lord can take the town’s major drug dealer, clean him up and set him up as the town’s mayor, the same God can do something for you. As it says in scripture (paraphrasing just a bit), “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor entered into the minds of man the wonderful things God has in store for them that love Him.”

As Sam might say, “Give the Lord the best you have as early as you can. Don’t wait until there’s only leftovers.”

Have a Great Day!

Dr. G

There ain't nothing free, and there's no "away"!

2008-11-04T21:58:00.011-05:00

A number of years ago, while I was still a professor of Biology, I team-taught a class entitled “Life in the Balance.” It was an environmental awareness course in which we tried to look at the pros and cons of both sides of a number of environmental issues. Our purpose was to provide students with sufficient background to make informed decisions without our directly telling them what decisions to make. Because of differing life views, what is an acceptable cost to one person may be totally unacceptable to another.

One point that we tried to clarify was that, in the big picture, there is no “away”. In other words, just because I throw something away doesn’t mean it has gone away. In reality, it typically means, out of site, out of mind. Burying nuclear waste doesn’t eliminate nuclear waste. It simply puts it in a less annoying and, hopefully, safer place. But it is still there. Building a tall fence around an unsafe swimming hole doesn’t make it go away. Flushing excess fertilizer out of fields and down the river doesn’t eliminate the fertilizer. It only moves the problem: it is simply out of sight. Hiding a ghetto behind fancy office buildings doesn’t eliminate the ghetto or its poverty. When a large corporation buys out a faltering competitor, the competitors’ debts don’t go away. The larger corporation absorbs the debts, and charges them against their own profitability, and, ultimately, to either share-holders or customers. “Out of sight, out of mind” gets rid of things only as long as the mind doesn’t work.

A similar concept we tried to dispel was that “free” things exist. There is a law in the physical realm that states, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” In other words, everything has a consequence, a cost. And this holds true in every aspect of our everyday life. “Free” items offered on TV aren’t free. The manufacturer gets paid for them. The supplier gets paid. There is a cost paid by someone somewhere. In the movie “National Treasure,” the hero, in a tight spot, tells the head of the FBI detail, “I really don’t want to go to prison.” To which the FBI agents replies, “Someone’s got to go to prison.” It doesn’t matter what it is, someone pays the cost for “free” items. There are no free lunches, no free banking accounts, no free medical care (do we really think the doctors won’t get paid?). Even in basketball, there really aren’t any “free throws”, since the other team pays the cost with a foul charged to them.

Have you seen the ads by “credit” counseling companies? “Come to us, and we’ll eliminate your debts. You’ll be debt free!” But guess what! The creditors I owe end up paying my debt by charging higher prices to other costumers (like you, maybe), and I end up owing society a moral debt. There is no away; there is nothing free.

But wait a minute. Salvation is free! At least that’s what I’ve heard. I don’t have to pay anything. Jesus did it all. I know this is true. However, that which Jesus did pays my debt, a debt which I can never repay in twenty lifetimes. That is what the parable of the ungrateful servant is all about. It may be free to me, but it cost Him everything. In His grace, He freely forgives me all my debt. The only thing I owe Him now is my gratitude and undying love; to be a grateful accepting servant.

And what about the “There is no 'away'” idea when it comes to my sins? It says in the scripture that in the earth made new, there will be no sin. So my sins (and yours, if you have any) must no longer exist when we get to the other side. Is it possible that, with our sins, there really is an “away”? Since He’s the Creator God, He must supercede the laws of nature. If He knows how to call things into existence, He no doubt knows how to call them out of existence. He truly is an awesome God.

I learned early as a child that hiding peas under the edge of my plate didn’t make them go away. Someone had to “go to prison.”

Dr. G

I Don't See What's Wrong With...

2008-11-01T16:22:00.004-04:00

I’m defective. I don’t recall for sure when I first discovered the problem, but I know that by the middle of my college years I knew it was there. Perhaps I made the discovery in General Biology lab. It may have been several years later when I became a lab instructor in Anatomy and Physiology. At any rate, I remember seeing Ishihara plates for the first time, and discovering that I was red-green colorblind. All that time in high school while I was identifying plants and animals, the problem was there. In spite of the fact that I enjoyed drawing and painting, I hadn’t noticed anything wrong. But sure enough, once I got those plates of Mr. Ishihara in my hands, there could be no doubt.

A few years later I had an amusing experience involving my colorblindness. I was in the process of applying to several universities for my doctoral program. For some reason, one of the schools required a physical examination, and that examination asked the doctor to evaluate my color vision. A year earlier I’d gone for a pre-induction physical for the Selective Service. I’d been able to correctly identify a pattern in only one of the twelve plates they showed me. In the doctor’s office a year later, upon coming to that question, the doctor proceeded to go around the room pointing to various objects to see if I could identify their colors. He wrote in the answer space: color vision normal.

Of course, looking directly at the colored object proved no problem. You see, red-green colorblindness involves an inability to pick out a pattern of dots of varying shades of red embedded in a field of dots of varying shades of green. If you put a red ball into my hand, I can see that it is red. Toss the same ball out into the middle of the lawn, and I probably won’t notice it if I scan the yard with my eyes. Unless I happen to look directly at a red bird sitting among green leaves, I won’t see it as red. I might see the shape, but won’t notice that it is red. I’m defective, and have been from birth. Until my body is made new when Christ comes for me, I just won’t be able to see the patterns on Mr. Ishihara’s plates.

One evening, a distinguished leader called upon Christ for an interview. The first response the Lord gave Nicodemus was that this member of the Jewish Sanhedrin needed to be born again. Of course, what Christ was referring to was a spiritual rebirth.

Have you ever heard anyone say, “I just can’t see what’s wrong with…”? The scriptures point out that spiritual things must be spiritually discerned. Since the fall of mankind, we’ve had vision problems when it comes to spiritual things. Just like my colorblindness will be with me till my body is made new, so our spiritual blindness will remain with us until our spirits are made new through the rebirth by the Spirit. Paul refers to this when he speaks of our becoming a new creation when we yield our lives to the Lord.

I can get along with my colorblindness, and have for many years. I can’t get along with my spiritual blindness; it’s a life and death matter.

By the way, does this tie go with this shirt?

Dr. G

Momma Don't 'Low...

2008-10-30T19:03:00.009-04:00

I have been sleeping with the windows open for a few days now. Fall may be my favorite time of year – the pollen count is down, the temperature is down. With windows open in late October, one can sleep in a cool room without allergy problems or the expense of air conditioning.

On one of those mornings early this week, I went to close the windows as I got up. For some reason, a random thought popped out of the caverns of my mind. I said to myself, “This is one thing I won’t have to do in the earth made new.” Then, suddenly, a line from a song I heard way back in my Neolithic childhood came to mind. Not directly connected to the earlier thought, but somehow my still half-asleep brain thought there was some association. The line? “Momma don’t ‘low no ____ round here”. I can’t remember what it was Momma wouldn’t allow – seems like it was singing and dancing.

The next thing I knew, as I stood at the window in the dark, there ran across my mind many things that won’t be allowed in the earth made new. Works of the flesh, they might be called. Somewhere the apostle Paul lists some of them. There is a similar list toward the end of the book of Revelation, as I recall. As I pondered this, I began to wonder if, in fact, the reality of the list isn’t so much that God “don’t ‘low” it up there, but that with His love dwelling in our hearts, there will be no desire at all for the things written. Murder? If God is love, and our hearts are filled with His spirit of love, there can be no hatred. If no hatred exists, there can be no murder. Envy? If our hearts are filled with His love, and our every need is filled to overflowing, what will there be to envy? Lying? Cheating? Do you follow my thinking?

If you are familiar with that old song which the line came from, you can be sure it didn’t originate in heavenly places. How do we know that? The final refrain went something like this: “I don’t care what Momma don’t ‘low; Cause I’m gonna do it anyhow.”

I then thought, thankfully, it will be so nice to live in a place where what we do will always be in harmony with His will. I really do look forward to it.

Finally, my mind came back to the original thought about not having to close the window when I get up. Up there, I won’t get tired. There’ll be no night. I most likely won’t sleep. So I might not even have a bedroom. But if I do, there probably won’t need to be any glass in the window (if there is one), because there would be nothing to be kept out or in (I’m supposing). I began to see why my heavenly home is beyond my limited comprehension. With that, I shook my head and went off to start the day. It was way too early for such deep thoughts. Choosing a cereal for breakfast would be challenge enough.

Have a great day – practicing here what we’ll be doing there. One final thought – stay away from the sugary stuff. It’ll give your eyes the jitters.

Dr. G

That Was Big of Him

2008-10-23T04:10:00.003-04:00

“That was big of him/her/you.” Have you ever heard those words, said in a good way? Generally they imply that someone has had the opportunity to commit an (unrequired) act of kindness and has followed through.

Over Columbus Day weekend my wife and I went to Florida to visit our son and daughter-in-law. While there, they related an experience they’d enjoyed shortly before they’d moved from southeastern Michigan. Some good friends of ours and theirs had taken the two of them into Chicago for a program of some sort. Much of the trip was over toll roads. It seems that the other couple, at each toll booth, had also paid the toll for whichever car was behind them. Random acts of kindness. Being big, in the good sense.

Have you ever heard those same words said in a sarcastic manner? Thus said meaning, of course, that the person has had the opportunity to commit an act of kindness, but out of selfishness or thoughtlessness (Random? Habitual?) had not followed through.

The Bible relates the story of a small man. At least tradition has him being small. He wanted to see Jesus, but couldn’t see over the crowd. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree so he could see. In children’s’ divisions of some churches I’ve heard the song, “Zaccheus was a wee little man; A wee little man was he.” Perhaps you’ve heard it, too.

In the eyes of the Jews, Zaccheus was a little man. In fact, they looked down their noses at him. He was a tax collector, a traitor. You see, tax collectors were employees of the hated Romans. And while they were required to collect a certain amount of tax for the Romans, tax collectors were allowed to collect as much extra as they could for themselves. Legal thievery, an opportunity for self-aggrandizement. So while Zaccheus may or not have been small in stature, in society’s eyes he definitely was small by behavior.

On our way back from Florida that Monday, we stopped at a truck stop/service center somewhere south of Tifton, GA. As I entered the men’s restroom, I noticed a person about the height of one of the first grade boys I serve this year. Not a whole lot over three feet tall. At first I thought it was a boy of about six or seven. Then I noticed the stubble on his face and the earring in the ear. Properly proportioned, but a grown man about as small as I’ve ever seen. He was headed over to wash his hands.

To my amazement, he leaped up onto the counter, lying on his belly. It was the only way he could reach the soap and faucets. He stayed there while washing, feet sticking out into the room. When finished, he went to dry his hands. It was then that I realized that the crank on the towel dispenser was about eighteen inches higher than his outstretched hand would reach. Then I noticed an older gentleman, who’d apparently been watching sort of out of the corner of the eye as I had been. He had already rolled out and torn off a supply of paper towel which he handed to the smaller man. That was big of him.

Random acts of kindness versus random acts of selfishness. Being big versus being small. How will your colleagues and those you serve see you today? How will mine see me? More importantly, how will God see me?

You have quite a load there. Can I carry one of those bags for you?

Dr. G

I Can't Do It!

2008-10-22T22:06:00.022-04:00

One day as I entered one of the classrooms I serve, the teacher was presenting a mini-lesson. I sat down to the side and watched. One student, who is not doing
well in class, was not struggling to keep from bothering other students (read it carefully). He clearly wasn’t paying attention to the lesson. At the end of the short session, the teacher started explaining an assignment, to be done in teams of four. Immediately the student I’d been watching blurted out, fairly loudly, “I can’t do it!” The teacher overlooked his statement, and continued with her group instructions.

As the students dispersed toward their assigned work areas, I signaled for the young boy to come over and join me at the side table where I was sitting.

“I heard you say you can’t do this assignment,” I said softly. “Can you tell me why not?”
“I can’t do it,” he repeated.
“Why not?” I asked again.
“I just can’t,” he replied with down-turned corners of the mouth.
“Do you know what it is she asked you to do?” I probed.
“No.” he admitted
“Then how do you know you can’t do it? Sit down here with me and let’s see if we can do it.” I offered.

“The first thing she asked you to do was to number from two through twelve on the edge of the (large) sheet of paper she gave you. Can you do that?”
“OK.” Which he did.

“Next she asked you to think of some things that come in sets of 2’s, 3’s, 4’s and so on. Can you think of anything like that? I know she gave you some examples during the lesson.” (Blank look).

“Do you remember her talking about your face? ‘Things that come in two’s.’ Does anything come to mind?”

And thus we started the list. As we went down the page, he was able to come up with a few things on his own. In many places I had to give some (occasionally, obvious) hints. Three times I had to come right out and tell him. But after about ten minutes, he had something written after each number. Then I asked him to look at his paper.

“Did you finish your assignment?”
“Yes!” The look on his face suggested it may have been the first one in some time to be completed. I admit he didn’t do it all on his own. But he did get a surge of self confidence and encouragement. (The next day as I came in he came running to tell me he’d thought of one for the number thirteen – stripes on the US flag.)

There are times when I review all of what God expects of me, and I think of my abilities and former failures. Know what I sometimes do? I cry out, “I can’t do it.” Or, maybe, I say “I won’t do it.” Or, even, “I don’t want to do it.”

When such times come, I can act like my young friend had done so many times before. I can just throw up my hands, shout “I can’t/won’t/don’t want to do it”, give up, and focus on keeping others from doing their God-given tasks. Or, I can look over at the Teacher, and ask Him for help.

In some cases, just His encouragement will be sufficient. At other times, He may need to prod or probe to bring things back to my memory that have worked before; or He may lead me to new clues as to how to do it. Finally, there may be some things in my life that I’ll end up having to let Him do for me all by Himself. Come to think of it, He has done it all for me (and you) already! If I put my name on the page beside His, I’ll get full credit.

Now for the next one: How many legs do spiders and octopuses (octopi?) have?

(OK… So octopi/puses have tentacles, not legs. It got the point across)

Dr. G

Don't Blow the Horn Yet

2008-10-02T19:26:00.003-04:00

This time last week I was still dealing with the sudden news that I was being transferred to another school. As I have a number of times in the past, I accepted the situation as the Lord’s leading in my life, and I still do. However, as soon as the previous Flock message went out I started receiving many expressions of sorrow on the part of my colleagues at Roan School. On top of that, by Friday morning the word had pretty much spread throughout the student body.

As a consequence, on Friday, beginning when I unloaded the buses, numerous children (even some who I’d never taught) came up to me for hugs and expressions of affection. There were tears in a few eyes. It is so hard to say goodbye to children who so openly express their appreciation and sadness. Therefore, I went home on Friday with plenty of fuel for a pity party to be attended by only one.

And while I never did throw the party, occasionally certain questions would crawl across my mind: “Why me, Lord?” “Why now, Lord?” “Why not someone else, Lord?”

Then, early into the weekend, I was watching one of my favorite religious broadcasts on TV, and the speaker made reference to a passage in Isaiah that stopped me in my tracks. I’m sure I’d read it before, but it certainly hadn’t been in my mind recently. Yet I’m sure the Lord had it delivered just at that time, just for me. The passage was Isaiah 43:18, 19, and reads:

"Do not remember the former things, nor consider the things of old. 19 Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it?”

The Lord wasn’t telling me to forget my friends (colleague and student, alike) and the good memories from my former school. Instead, I believe, He was saying, stop pining for what has happened in the past. Don’t even being to think about a pity party. Instead, look forward to the good things that can happen in the new situation. Just think: New situation, new experiences, new good times. That’s my God!

It never would have been much fun sitting in a room by myself wearing a silly pointed hat and blowing a noisemaker. But then, pity parties never are much fun when all is said and done.

Have a great day.

Dr. G

Now Where?

2008-09-24T20:05:00.005-04:00

The Lord instructed Jonah to go to Nineveh; he fled for Tarshish instead. The Lord sent Elijah to King Ahab; he went, but fled into the wilderness after the victory at Mount Carmel. The Lord told Philip to go down to the road leading to Gaza, from whence, after witnessing to the Ethiopian, the deacon known as “The Evangelist” was flown without discussion to the town of Azotus. Why are you where you are? Why am I where I am? Have you ever really pondered the issue?

For many years I’ve had a strong sense of the Lord’s active leading in the direction of my life. My wife and I have seen so many doors open unexpectedly. Houses and property have suddenly become available to us just at the right time. Several times it was as if jobs came searching for us. Friendships have developed that have been continuing blessings. I am convinced that the Lord brought me to my current school almost eleven years ago for a purpose.

This afternoon I was called to the principal’s office, and was startled to discover the District’s Human Resources person there. I was told gently that I was being transferred to another school. As in the accounts of Jonah, Elijah and Philip, it wasn’t put to me in the form of, “Would you be interested in going?” It was just like “I need you at Nineveh,” or “I want you to work before King Ahab,” or “I’m putting you in Azotus.” It was a plain “We need you at a different school.” So I’m going.

Only a few hours later now I’ve already been asked several times by friends, “Are you OK?” I’ll admit the news was a shock, especially coming more than six weeks into the school year. There will be sadness at saying goodbye to many friends. It may not be what I’d prefer right at the moment. But like I told both my wife and a friend who called only moments after I had first said it, I may work for the School System, but I serve the Lord. Apparently another door has opened. I will go assuming that the Lord has greater need of me there than where I was this morning.

Fortunately, it’s close enough that I won’t have to run through the wilderness for a day, or go by whale, or even take the “whirl-wind” express.

Dr. G

Repairing the Damage

2008-09-01T22:51:00.005-04:00

This past weekend was Labor Day weekend. Right after school on Friday my wife and I headed north out of Georgia to Silver Spring, Maryland, where we spent a few days with family. We were welcomed, and cheered hearts with our visit. When we left, where we had stayed was at least as clean as when we arrived.

Shortly before we headed home, about a 10-hour drive, another visitor arrived in Louisiana. However, Gustav was not invited, and certainly was an unwelcome visitor. He did not cheer the hearts of those he visited. In addition, when he left, there was debris and destruction all around. What a contrast.

On our way home today, we passed a number of convoys of large cherry-picker trucks from a variety of electrical contractors, mostly out of Pennsylvania, but also some
from New York (I even saw two trucks from Indiana!). They were all south-bound on I-81, and onto I-40 as far as Knoxville. When I first spotted them, I guessed they were headed to Louisiana to help clean up after Gustav. I became very sure when, just north of Bristol, Tennessee, we caught up with a large truck from one of the six companies I’d identified pulling a trailer marked “Disaster Emergency Response Command Center.”

Next to rescuing and helping victims in direct danger, re-establishing a region’s infrastructure is most important. Clearing roads and restoring power are the most important first steps. So it only made sense to see a large contingent of trucks and workers headed south.

In ways, sin causes a similar need in our lives. Sin disrupts our connection with the power we need to withstand further attacks by Satan. Like Gustav in Louisiana, sin in our lives creates damage, some immediately noticeable, some only to be noticed later on. Some damage can be repaired; sometimes, even though lives are healed, permanent scars are left. The folks without power in Louisiana are incapable of restoring their own power. Likewise, we are unable to clean up the mess of sin in our own lives. We are in need of the Heavenly Electrician to restore the sin-preventing power in our lives, and to clean up the mess left by sin. And we don’t have to wait for Him to arrive by truck from New York or Pennsylvania. He can be there as soon as we call.

And remember, if you see the hurricane of sin coming, don’t wait to evacuate the area.

Dr. G

Ready or Not,

2008-08-31T11:13:00.003-04:00

As a group, we teachers have to put up with an awful lot of stuff that can wear a person down. Headstrong Pre-K children who want to run their own programs; Kindergarten children who are still crying in the morning after three weeks of school; First through Fourth graders who you have to wonder how they got as far as they have, and back again to headstrong Fifth-graders who want to run their own programs. During the day, it is not unusual to see a momentary grim look on more than one teacher's face.

On the other hand, I would ask you to think about all that the Lord has to put up with from us. As Paul says, ain't none of us perfect. What grief we must give Him from day to day. I wonder if He's ever had a grim look on His face. Somehow, in spite of our records, I don't think so, not from the God of love. One of my favorite passages is found in Lamentations 3, where the writer points out that, except for His great mercy, we would cease to exist. And those mercies are renewed every morning. We can trust on it, He won't let us down. No matter how much I mess up, He'll still receive me with a smile when I come to Him.

If God is love, and I can't think otherwise, and we are to be like Him, what responsibilities does that put upon us when it comes to the children as they come in the door each morning? When I unload the buses, do I, can I, reach out in mercy to each child, even those I know will push the envelope to the limit during the day? When they enter the cafeteria for breakfast, move on to their classrooms, on to specials like PE, Music, Art or Media, is mercy waiting for them?

It is my prayer that each of us feels the warmth of His mercy and love, and are able to pass it on to the ones we rub shoulders with today.

Have a great day.

Dr. G

Don't Plug the Drain

2008-07-10T19:28:00.004-04:00

When we had our house built a few years back, we included an apartment in the daylight basement. We’ve had a variety of tenants, mostly students or recent graduates from the nearby university. So far we’ve not had any problems, and things have gone well.

Our current tenant, a young nurse, asked permission to get some large planters to put alongside her parking space so she could grow some flowers and a few vegetables. We gladly gave our permission, and soon there were a half dozen or so planters, each with its own special crop. One holds cucumbers, another has a tomato plant and there is one with a couple of pepper plants. Then there is one with marigolds and some impatiens. One planter had summer squash, and another had petunias. I say had, because they don’t any more.

A few weeks back, while mowing the lawn, I looked closer at the planters. Other than the cucumbers needing water (which I took care of), most of the plants looked healthy. Except, of course, for the squash and petunias. I noticed that the soil around the squash was quite wet. The petunias were almost swimming. There seemed to be as much water in the planter as there was soil.

Yesterday I saw our tenant, and asked how her garden was doing. She smiled as she told me of the seven cukes and two tomatoes she’d harvested. Then I asked if her planters had drain holes (I’d seen similar planters at a local store, and didn’t remember seeing a way for excess water to drain out). She said that they did have holes; she’d had them drilled. Then I asked about the two water-logged planters, and she admitted that, apparently the drain holes had become clogged somehow, and that she was going to have to fix that and replant.

In a way, our spiritual lives are like those planters. We can receive the “water” from the Holy Spirit, but if we don’t have an outlet, it doesn’t do us any good. We must pass on what we receive. In the last part of Matt 10:8, Christ told His disciples, “Freely you have received, freely give.” We are to be a conduit of the Lord’s mercy, not a storehouse. His love does no good if we try to bottle it up inside of ourselves. Let it flow out; let it water other hearts.

Water-logged petunias aren’t a pleasant sight for anyone. So much so that I couldn't even find a picture of any on the Internet.

Dr. G

(W)hile They Are Still Speaking...

2008-06-23T23:00:00.004-04:00

About two years ago, our daughter had gone for a doctor’s appointment some distance from her home. Being into crafts, she stopped in at a large craft store on her way home. The first thing she saw on entering was a display of umbrellas. She couldn’t remember ever seeing umbrellas in a craft store before. She had plenty of umbrellas at home. In fact, she had one in the car. And while the sky was overcast, the forecast had only mentioned possible light scattered showers. But she picked up an umbrella anyway, not knowing why she felt she should.

After returning to her car with her purchases, she headed for the exit out of the shopping plaza. Just then it started to rain. She got to the stop light, and it began to pour. That is when things took an unusual turn. From the back seat came an urgent male voice that said, “Help him!” First, she looked in the back seat, and found to her relief that she was alone in the car. Next she looked around the outside of the car, and saw no one. Then the voice repeated, “Help him!”

She glanced around the car again, and saw an elderly man waking up behind her car in the middle of the roadway. He was pulling one of those collapsible grocery carts, filled, as our daughter described it, with all his earthly possessions. When he reached her door, she rolled down the window and handed him the new umbrella. Astonished, the man thanked her and began to unwrap and open it.

Then the voice in the back seat again said, “Help him!” Not sure what to do next, our daughter thought maybe she should look in her purse for some money for the man, but knew she didn’t have any. She never carried any cash; she used check cards almost exclusively. But she decided to look anyway. She had used her coin purse at the crafts store and knew it was empty. But she dug down deeper to see if there might be something there. At the very bottom she found a $20 bill. Not just an ordinary bill, but a crisp one that looked as if it had just come from the mint. She handed it to the man, who looked at her and said “Bless you. You’re a direct answer to prayer.”

In Isaiah 65:24 the Lord says “It shall come to pass that before they call, I will answer; and while they are still speaking, I will hear.” Our daughter had no need for a new umbrella and didn’t know why she was buying it. She knew there was no money in her purse, yet at the bottom was an unexplained $20 bill, inexplicitly unwrinkled.

But the Lord knew before the rain started that the elderly man would be calling, and was working to meet his need even before the man knew he was in need. What a beautiful experience. As our daughter said that night while relating the story to my wife and me, she had seen her own prayers answered before, but, to her knowledge, she had never before been a direct instrument in helping the Lord answer a prayer.

I see two lessons to be garnered here. First, the Lord is true to His promises. He does answer prayer. Secondly, He wants to use us as His hands in answering prayers, and will do so if we are willing. What a wonderful Lord.

Have a great day, and listen for a voice from your “back seat.”

Dr. G

Who Touched Me?

2008-06-21T10:37:00.004-04:00

For the past four years, my office has been right off the school cafeteria. When Kindergarten and First Grade classes line up to return to their classrooms after eating, they line up right outside my door, often banging or kicking it; there is no question that they’re there.

Also most of my years at this school, I’ve had a planning period on one side or the other of my lunch period. So I have the opportunity to eat a little more slowly as I work at my desk or on the computer. That makes the rest of the day go by a little easier.

However, it is not uncommon for me to spend part of this time out with the students who are eating. Except for the Kindergarten classes, the classroom teachers do not eat with their students at lunch. Instead, in half-hour shifts two other staff members will “ride herd” on the seven or eight classes of students as they eat. Each staff member has several assigned duties outside their normal teaching responsibilities. Lunchroom duty lands on many people’s plates. So, if I finish eating early, I go out to help whoever has duty when I’m finished.

Lunchroom duty has several aspects: dismissing classes after eating, retrieving forgotten utensils or condiments, getting a custodian when things get spilled, and, most importantly, keeping the hum of voices from becoming cacophonic bedlam. Theoretically, the children are to talk to their immediate neighbors. When, from my office, I start identifying individual voices, I know it is time for me to come out. I’m sometimes referred to “the bear that lives under the stairs.”

As I roam between tables, I try to interact gently with many students, encouraging them to eat, greeting them by name, generally trying to keep things moving softly and quietly. From time to time, as I pass groups of students, I’ll hear someone call out my name. Often I recognized the voice, sometimes not. In any case, I turn around frowning, and say, “Quien me toca?” which literally means, “Who touched me?” And the children all laugh, for they know the drill. The child who called me will proceed with whatever they wanted. I’m always willing to listen and learn. I’ve learned that so many of our children need someone to talk to. And you never know what you’ll learn. The important thing is that I listen and give as good a response as I can.

Of course, the saying “Who touched me” is scriptural. In both Mark 5 and Luke 8 we find the story of the desperately ill woman who, through the throng of people was able to reach out and touch the hem of Christ’s garment to receive healing. And as soon as it happened, Christ turned and said, “Who touched me?” Not because He didn’t know, but because he wanted to recognize her great faith.

We can’t overlook the question the disciples asked Him. “Lord, with this great big crowd of people who’ve been jostling you all day, why do you suddenly want to know who touched you?” There is an important point to this question that is often overlooked. If touching the hem of His garment could bring the woman immediate healing, where was the healing for all the multitude that had rubbed shoulders and clasped His hand the rest of the time? The answer lies with the praise Christ gave the woman – “Your faith has made you whole.” The rest of the crowd was satisfied with touching Him, or perhaps just seeing Him; believing in Him wasn’t high on their priority lists. Too bad.

When I turn around and ask my question, it isn’t uncommon to see two, three or even four hands shoot up, all claiming to have been responsible. They know I’m their friend and that they can trust me. And Jesus is an even better friend.

We need to believe in Him, and reach out to touch Him, too.

Dr. G

There's a Mouse In The House!

2008-06-13T22:51:00.007-04:00

Mice: the animals which stereotypically frighten housewives and terrify elephants. While the house mouse is probably the species which immediately comes to mind at the mention of the word, there are actually many types of mice. There are deer mice (shown at the right), grasshopper mice, harvest mice, meadow mice, and Mickey Mice. I even featured a deer mouse in an earlier article (see “The Terror By Night”, June 6, 2007)

The summer between my sophomore and junior years in college was spent at the Rosario Beach Marine Station (see photo at “When the Waves Get Too Big”, August 1, 2007). The station is on a small bay facing west, and has a small island in the opening. When I was there, the island had significant stands of prickly pear cactus and hordes of deer mice. I spent a large number of afternoons trying to verify the idea that the mouse population could have come from mice stranded on drifting debris which reached the island. After drifting around the bay for up to four hours, three of my twenty navigators were able to get within 5 feet of the goal line. Only one abandoned ship early in the procedure.

But let’s move on to the house mouse. First of all, it is nowhere as cute as the deer mouse. Dingy gray, compared to the nice, neat two-colored coat of the other. It has been in close association with man since time immemorial. The sight of one in the house can bring on a variety of responses: anger, fear, disgust, embarrassment, even dread. They chew on things, they get into things, and they soil things. No one wants a house mouse around.

I started thinking about mice, and realized I really didn’t remember any mention of them in the Bible. We all know to go to the ant, that leopards can’t change their spots, and camels can’t pass through needles' eyes. Dogs eat crumbs from the masters’ tables, and oxen fall into the ditch and are used as excuses not to attend banquets. Fish provide temple tax money; whales redirect wayward prophets, ravens feed repentant prophets, and donkeys can talk.

But what about mice? To my mind, they should be an excellent symbol of sin. Just think of it. They slip into our lives so easily; unless we are really watchful, they can reside with us without our even knowing it. Every mouse that gets into the house must be a pregnant female; if one mouse gets in and isn’t immediately removed, others soon come exploding out of closets, from under beds and behind refrigerators. Let one sin into your life, and if it isn’t removed quickly, others follow in its path.

A single sin can eat you up, destroy what you have. How fitting, I thought, for a mouse. So I decided to look in my Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance. The word mouse appears twice; the Bible lacks the word mice (that’s as close as this blog gets to poetry). The two passages where we find this creature are Lev. 11:29-35 and Isaiah 66:17. And guess what the Lord says about the mouse: it is unclean, and its dead body contaminates (defiles) anything it touches. In other words, the mouse does symbolize or represent sin.

To be sure we are rid of mice and sin, we need an exterminator. Praise the Lord, there is One!

By the way, have you been nibbling my cookie, or should I look behind the couch?

Dr. G

What Am I Doing Here?

2008-06-12T18:10:00.005-04:00

The Olentangy River runs through Columbus, Ohio, in a north-south direction, joining the Scioto River close to downtown. Back when I was attending The Ohio State University in Columbus, much of the western bank of the Olentangy north of Columbus (north of Route 161) was undeveloped, and accessible from the road running parallel to it.

We had developed a group of friends, who, one Sunday afternoon, decided to go canoeing on the river. There were to be three canoes, with me and a doctor friend, Walter, in the middle canoe. Walter seemed to have confidence in his canoeing skills.

When I was about nine years old I had received a book entitled “Paddle-to-the-Sea,” about a model canoe and paddler carved by a young Native American up north of Lake Superior. It told the story of how the model had traversed the Great Lakes and on out to the Grand Banks where it was picked up by a fishing boat. A few years later, when I was about eleven I received a book about three brothers (the Waltons) who had adventures as they took a canoeing trip down the Penobscot River in Maine. Its title was “Rapids Ahead.” At the end of my freshman year in college, my maternal grandfather drowned while canoeing alone on the McKenzie River near Leaburg, Oregon. That was the extent of my experience with canoes.

Let’s see. When I did reading remediation a few weeks back, I emphasized that proper stories have a Who, What, Where, When and Why. I’ve got the Where, the Who, and the What. It is time to add the When. Not infrequently, during winter, the Olentangy freezes over. This particular year, it had also frozen, but in early January we’d had a thaw, and the river was running free. Because of recent rains and the melting of snow, the river was a little higher than usual. One of the men in the group, who always seemed to be very precise about such things, announced that the river water was at 37 degrees Fahrenheit. This from a man who had been known to take the temperature of his coffee, so who was I to doubt him?

I was a little concerned when Walter put on his wet suit. I had a dry suit (blue jeans, several sweat shirts, a stocking cap and tennis shoes), and I wanted to keep it dry. We pushed off into the river several miles upstream from Route 161, planning on shooting a low dam somewhere downstream (a couple of the wives had parked several cars for us there and had then gone home). The water was running a little swifter than any of the experienced group expected, but we figured that would just make the trip to the dam that much shorter.

There were standing waves in the middle of a normally calm and peaceful river that day. I tried to paddle as fast as I could from the front, but somehow Walter’s end of the canoe caught up with me and passed me as we turned broadside just as we came to some rather larger waves. My dry suit lasted for about 100 yards of the trip. Needless to say, the experience was shocking. And I remember thinking almost immediately, “What am I doing here?”

We were able to work the canoe to shallow water where we emptied it, climbed back in and continued downstream. I was quite blue and shaking rather violently when we reached the cars. I was put into one with the heater running full blast while the others shot the dam for a while. Then I was taken home and put in a tub of warm water to finish thawing out. Since then I’ve avoided people who go canoeing.

“What am I doing here?” Do you suppose Jonah asked that question while hiding down in that boat? Maybe some of the Israelites asked it when they went up to do battle when the Lord had specifically told them to stay home. After the crucifixion, Peter went back to his fishing boat. Do you suppose he asked himself, “What am I doing here?” Such an important question; important enough that it must be asked before making major decisions, rather than afterwards, when we find ourselves in a difficult situation. But why leave it with only the major decisions? Don’t leave home without it at any time.

The “Why” of the story? Easy. We didn’t ask first.

Dr. G

Remediation

2008-05-28T20:22:00.007-04:00

Students have always had to take tests, and probably always will. How can researchers and administrators quantify learning without data? One end product of “No Child Left Behind” is “No Child Left Unassessed and Untested.” In the past eight years we have seen a tremendous increase in the emphasis on end-of-the-year testing. In Georgia, we have what are known as the CRCT’s (Criterion Referenced Competency Test – which is a fancy way of saying, ”Now we’re going to test you to see if you learned what we said we were going to teach you!”)

As in most (if not all) states, children in the 3rd, 5th and 8th grades must achieve a certain score on at least some portion of the test in order to be promoted to the next grade. In the 3rd grade, the students must pass the reading portion. In 5th, it is reading and math. Those children who do not pass the test the first time it is given are provided a two-week “re-delivery” of the basic points of the subject, and then are given a second chance to pass the test. The process is also known as REMEDIATION.

Some schools wait until school is out before giving the re-delivery. Testing then follows later in the summer. At our school, we do the remediation before school is out, and the retake of the test(s) occur the last week of school. So, for the past two weeks I’ve been involved in redelivery of 3rd grade reading: Inferring, main ideas, synonyms, antonyms, homophones, opinions vs. facts, details, genres, author’s purpose, and on and on. Some students only seemed to need a fine tuning. For others, it was as if they’d never heard of any of the material before. On top of this we saw a variety of attitudes toward the experience, ranging from a real desire to learn to an almost allergic reaction to the subject, with guffaws somewhere in between.

In addition to the actual material, the colleague I was working with and I tried to imbue in our charges a better understanding of test-taking. You know, like “Read the questions before you read the selection so you have an idea of what to look for.” Or, “Know why you’re rejecting answers. Don’t just grab the first thing that comes along.” That type of thing. Even, “Take your time and read each item carefully. You have plenty of time on the test.”

Well, today we gave the retakes. And we even noticed some of the students applying the tips we’d given them. Nevertheless, there were still those that were finished, including rechecking their answers, in less than half the allotted time. What are you going to do (besides see the same students again the following year)? There are second chances, but no third chances.

As I thought about this while roaming the classroom this morning, I came to realize that my work as a “remediator” for these children is nothing compared to what the Lord has to go through with me. There are so many lessons I have to go over time and again, because I just don’t seem to be able to pass the competency test. It isn’t that the stuff is too hard, I just don’t seem to choose to put into action that which I’ve learned. I guess I understand too well Paul’s frustration – that which I want to do, I don’t do; that which I don’t want to do, I do.

My only hope is to throw myself into the arms of the Supreme Teacher. If I give total control over to Him, He’ll even help me on (through) the test. What a deal! There have been so many times I’ve had to fight the urge to lean down and move a child’s pencil, or to scream out, “NO!” when I see him or her getting ready to mark an obviously incorrect response. In the spiritual world, God can do that for me if I’ll only give Him permission.

Remediation. Through His mercy He’ll keep going over it until I finally make it. Second chances, thirds, fourths…hundredths. Whatever it takes, as long as I show an interest. What a God!

Dr. G

Love Through Me

2008-05-28T19:24:00.000-04:00

Our men’s chorus sings a song that has become quite special to us. In fact, we sort of consider it our signature piece. The wife of one of our second tenors and the young daughter of one of the first tenors stand on either side of the chorus and do the song in sign language as we sing it. The basic theme of the song is a prayer asking the Lord to serve others through us. The name of the song is “Love Through Me.”

One of the lines goes “Somewhere somebody needs Your love today. Oh, Lord, Love through me.” It is something all believing Christians should do, although it is sometimes a little hard, especially for those of us who teach in public schools. But even there, opportunities arise. And it probably isn’t as hard as our minds might make it seem.

This coming Friday at my school we’ll be having Awards Day. Most schools have such events at year’s end. Numerous prizes, certificates and awards are presented to the children. Typically, the parents of those receiving the awards are notified so they can be present when their child is publicly honored.

Today was Awards Day at the school where my wife teaches. There is one little girl she has been working with on the side for over a year. The child comes from a broken home, and a difficult one even at that. She receives very little support or encouragement from any adult relative. Today, the child, who I’ll call Ana, received an award. She was hoping that her Grandmother, with whom she often stays, or her father (who is not employed) would be there. But no one showed up. So she sat alone crying, while the other children celebrated and shared their books with parents. Seeing what had happened, my wife went over to “Ana” and asked if she would share the book with her... As the song goes, “Love through Me.”

Some who read this today may be in a similar situation in the next few days. Is there someone at your work site that needs an encouraging word, a smile, or, perhaps, a brief prayer? What does it take to show love to a neglected soul? I think this is what the Lord meant in Matt 25 where he referred to the righteous as those who will take the time to care for the needy, those in the hospital, jails, those with no parents.

The Father appreciates such actions as if we’d done it for His Son. How many lives can you or I touch today?...tomorrow……next week….

Dr. G

Got Any Useless skills?

2008-05-21T20:08:00.006-04:00

I was sitting at the desk a short while ago, taking stock of things. You know, asking myself questions like what are you doing, what have you done, what can you do, what should you do? Taking stock of abilities, assets, weaknesses, and the general direction of my life – something we should all do from time to time.

The bronchial asthma I’ve been fighting for three weeks had sort of gotten me down. It’s been pretty rough this time – especially the violent coughing spells. I’d have to say it’s been the worst I’ve had. Something had happened during one of the coughing fits that made me aware of something – I’m pretty good at biting my tongue, as in drawing blood! In fact, on a good day, I can get both sides at once without trying. Of what value is it to be good at something that has no use?

Useless skills. Do you have any? If not, how about unused skills? Like in talents? It is amazing what the Lord can do with the little skills we each have. I am reminded of the time Peter and John were entering the temple and a beggar asked for a handout, and the disciples responded, “Silver and gold we do not have, but we’ll give you some of what we do have.”

Are we willing to give of what talent and skill we do have to bring a blessing to others? Or do we sit back and say, “I really don’t have anything to contribute, so I’ll keep my mouth shut. After all, what good are a couple of barley loaves and a few small fish? I’ll just keep them to myself.”

Conversely, have we said to the Lord, “I don’t have much, Lord. But what I do have is yours to use as you see fit. Don’t let the least of my abilities go to waste.” Is it possible that unused skills are worse than useless skills?

By the way, I’ve found a use for my “useless” skill. I’ll put it to work the next time I get around some folks who are gossiping.

I guess I'll bite my tongue!

Dr. G

Looking Up is Better than Looking Down

2008-05-15T19:15:00.008-04:00

At the beginning of my Musings, almost a year ago, I mentioned that this project was the outcome of something I’ve been involved with at work: The Flock. I teach in a public school, and for at least the last ten years a handful of us have been sending out daily e-messages of hope and encouragement to a fairly large group of teachers and administrators. A number of my Musings have been used in the Flock and vice versa.

Some time ago a Flock reader asked me how it was possible to see spiritual applications for so many events, situations, and happenings in my life. As most readers will recognize, that is the type of message I like to send out. My response at the time was that I felt I saw connections because I genuinely felt the presence of the Lord and His leading hand in my life and the life of my family. I guess when I know the Lord is there, I expect to see the effects of His presence and expect to have spiritual insights. So I give praise to Him for any good thoughts that have come out through these musings.

But the past few months have been a little heavier on the heart than I might desire. Things at work have been piling up. Things at home have been piling up. Don’t ask about the light at the end of the tunnel. At times I’ve not been sure I was even in the tunnel. Related to this, for the past few months I've found it hard to come up with sufficient ideas for my Blog. Have you ever felt discouraged or overburdened?

Maybe that is connected to the malaise I’ve been feeling lately: I’ve also been experiencing a spiritual malaise. I don’t mean I have been having doubts; I’ve not been questioning Him. I guess (No, I know) the problem has been that I’ve not been spending as much time with Him as I should. When I’m not putting Him in my life, I’m not seeing Him in my life. Does that make sense?

Having recognized this, there is only one solution: grab onto Him again and hang on. Life hasn’t changed, so there are still lots of things to be seen and written about, whether it involve children at my school or animals or plants out in the wild. God is still in control, and can bring the insights. It is so comforting to know that He has promised to always be there when we're struggling, to support, to guide, to comfort. All I can say is praise His name. He has never failed me yet (He never will!).

By the way, did you notice in the news earlier this week that a hand-written letter by the famous Dr. Einstein is up for auction, a letter in which he derides the scripture and idea of a personal God? I just checked things out today. God is still there, alive and well. I talked to Him. Einstein? He’s been dead about fifty years.

I know in whom I believe.

Dr. G

Anybody You Know?

2008-05-08T19:47:00.015-04:00

This past weekend my wife and I flew up to SW Michigan to attend our son's graduation. The trip went well, and he was "thoroughly graduated." During our trip, several events occurred which, to me, seemed to be linked together spiritually.

The school he attended has an agriculture program, with orchards, dairy, and stuff like that. Interspersed on the grounds are woodlots linked together by small valleys, gullies, and tree-lined fence-rows. There are walking paths throughout, and Monday afternoon my son and I went for an hour's walk. It was a beautiful day; the trees are about three weeks behind where I live, and the wild flowers are just coming on, also. As we walked, my son asked about various plants we saw. He knew I used to teach systematic botany, and thought I might know some of the plants.

After a short while he expressed his amazement at the fact that I was able to name so many of the plants, especially in light of the fact that I've not had a scientific thought for the past twelve years or so. I explained that I had grown up learning to identify wild flowering plants, and tried to know them well enough that whenever I saw them in the woods, I would be seeing them as old friends. Many of the spring flowers in Michigan are found from Massachusetts to Washington State (both places where I've taught systematic botany), so I did, in fact, meet many old acquaintances. It was an enjoyable experience. Having said that, I must admit that if someone picked me up and dropped me into a forest in South America, or Africa, or Australia, I probably wouldn't know "anyone." I might see some similarities in a few plants, some vague resemblances, but for the most part, the plants would be strangers.

In the scriptures, Christ tells of a group of people who would come to Him at His second coming, pointing to their many works. I can see Him in my mind's eye, saying, "Those works sort of resemble those of my friends, but I don't know you. Sorry."

When our flight home arrived in Nashville, we were 20 minutes early. ("A miracle!" you say. Perhaps, maybe even worthy of its own blog posting in due time). Our early arrival was not due to any action on the part of the folks on the ground at the Nashville airport, but it was their activity on our getting there that caught my attention . The folks with the little orange sticks knew we were coming, and they were there to guide us into our gate. The folks with their little carts knew we were coming and were there to receive our luggage. The folks that run the jetport knew we were coming, but had made no preparation for us to come so soon. So we sat there for about ten minutes until someone was found to move the jetport about four feet so we could deplane. Just knowing we were coming wasn't enough.

Again, Christ told a story. This time, ten virgins had gone out to meet the bridegroom. They all knew he was coming. Some made the proper preparations, others didn't. So when the cry went out that the bridegroom was arriving, five had to scurry off to finish preparation; while they were gone the bridegroom entered in, and the door was closed. When the five finally came to the door, they were refused entrance. Not because they'd fallen asleep. Not even, directly, because they'd run out of oil. Again, the bridegroom said, "I don't know you."

I'm convinced that Christ is returning soon. I don't know all there is to know about it, but I know He is coming. And I want to go home with Him. The key to my going appears to be the necessity of knowing Him and Him knowing me. Do I know Him as well as I do my flowers? Do I spend as much time studying Him, getting to know Him, as well as I do my birds? If I really love Him, I will want to know as much about Him as I can. Won't you join me?

How many of the flowers shown above can you identify? Let me know by sending me a comment.

Even more important, how well can you identify the bottom picture?

Have a great day! -- Dr G

Sobering Thoughts

2008-04-21T00:09:00.005-04:00

I learned long ago that students love spring breaks. So do teachers. This past Tuesday my wife and I drove to Michigan to see our son and his wife. We have recently purchased a new (to us) minivan, and wanted to take it on the road to see if it was as comfortable on long trips as it has been going back and forth to work. It was.

The only real problem with the van was that the CD player in the dash did not function. Upon learning this, our son suggested that we replace the entire radio unit with a new one that would also allow us to play my I-pod through the car’s stereo. I liked that idea. I’ve had the I-pod (nicknamed Boris for the short, incompetent spy on the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons) for about two year and a half years, and in an older vehicle could play it via the cassette deck. The new van lacks a cassette deck.

While in the store we happened to look at GPS (Global Positioning System) units. Our son twisted my arm into buying one (Actually, all he said was “Have you ever thought of getting one of those for you and Mom?”). It is a nice unit: good maps, and a pleasant voice that announces instructions. Since my I-pod is named Boris and the new device has a female voice, what could I do but name the GPS unit Natasha, after the cartoon character’s smarter other half?

We toyed with the unit for several days locally around our son’s place, but today was the real test – driving home from southeastern Michigan. When I first put in the destination, the selected route took us from Indianapolis down to Cincinnati and I-75. I prefer going via Louisville and Nashville and over to I-75 at Chattanooga. I told Natasha to go through Louisville, but forgot about Nashville. At every major road south of Louisville, she tried to get me to turn east, to head over to I-75. I kept ignoring her. This continued until we were about 60 miles from Nashville, when she finally gave up and recalculated our route via I-24 like I wanted all along.

I saw several things during our trip that re-enforced the fact that out on life’s highways, one needs more than knowledge of where to go. There are many risks on the road, and every decision a driver makes carries with it a certain risk. Some risks we can’t avoid. Other risks we run at our own choosing, sometimes basing them on foolish decisions. Early Friday evening the four of us were headed south on US 31 just north of South Bend, IN. In the north-bound lanes, my son and I saw three motorcyclists going slightly faster than the accompanying traffic. One of the cyclists was standing up on his bike, with the front wheel about five feet off the ground, doing a “wheelie” at a speed in excess of 70 miles an hour. I'd say that constitutes high risk behavior bearing fairly good odds of bad consequences. Then, today, for about 40 miles between Indianapolis and Louisville, we encountered a young man in a small, fancy pickup, weaving in and out of traffic - never signaling, following closely and then tearing into gaps in neighboring lanes. He obviously assumed he could handle anything the other drivers might throw his way. This was another example of high risk behavior with good odds of bad consequences. The only funny thing was that he never got much more than 100 yards ahead of us in all that time.

As I listened to Natasha on the way home, continuously trying to re-direct me to the most favorable path, I thought of the passage in scripture where the Lord promises to whisper behind us whether to turn to the right or to the left. You see, God also has a GPS – a “Godly Positioning System” – which He provides each of us. Like Natasha’s text and maps, God’s GPS also has text and a map showing us the preferred routes (as well as consequences of poor decisions). His GPS also includes a voice-system. The Holy Spirit speaks to our hearts continually. And, like Natasha, whenever we go off course, or make poor behavioral decisions, God’s GPS recalculates the way home from wherever we are. Neat! It’s too bad so many of us continue to choose to add high-risk choices to our lives.

There is no way for us to know what happened. Whatever it was, the end result was terrible. There is a rest area on south-bound I-65 just south of Bowling Green, KY. The road has three lanes in each direction; the speed limit is 70. It had obviously just happened. Cars and trucks were just pulling over to the side of the road. I could see it up ahead of me in the outside lane, but because of the suddenness and heavy traffic, could not get out of the middle lane to the inner lane, and had to pass by very closely. A motorcyclist had run into something (or something into him, we couldn’t tell). Unfortunately, the state of his body indicated that the end came quickly and violently. He had accepted to run the normal risks of riding motorcycles in heavy traffic. I have no idea if he had added unnecessary risks. In any case, he’d run the risks, and the odds caught up with him. He didn’t make it home tonight.

For the final 200-plus miles, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had been running any spiritual risks at the time. If so, did the odds catch him there, too? Or will he make it home?

Don’t go anywhere without God’s GPS. And please use it!

Dr. G

I Can Even Do It Without Thniking!

2008-04-11T19:38:00.004-04:00

Routine. Route –ine: the habit of following the same route or path consistently, without variation or change. As in, I had a routine day, or, it was a routine play for the shortstop. Always the same – monotonous, boring. Something I could almost sleep through and still get it done.

I suspect you know exactly what I’m talking about. So much of what we do, especially as adults, is routine. We’ve learned the process of our job so well that we can almost do it without thinking. We’ve eaten pretty much the same meal before; we don’t give the food much mind as we sit there. The fork almost moves automatically.

I’ve noticed that as I get ready to shave in the morning, I follow a routine. I put the hot washcloth to my face the same number of times, shake the shaving cream can the same number of times, and spread the shaving cream onto my face in the same pattern every day. The razor makes contact with my face at the same point every day.

Do you have any routines? I bet you do. Having routine lives may be somewhat boring if you take the time to think about it, but it isn’t necessarily bad or dangerous. But it can lend itself to inattention or daydreaming, since we don’t have to (or perhaps, better said, don’t think to) pay attention.

Driving to work has become routine for me. It has reached the point that I don’t pay that much attention as I drive in the mornings.

The problem is that this morning I was unattentative to the extreme. We were about two-thirds of the way to her school, breezing along in the dark, when I asked my dozing wife, “Where are we?” I had suddenly noticed that nothing seemed “routine.” Of course, she had no idea at all where we were; she’d been asleep for about ten minutes. As we continued down the road, I tried to see familiar landmarks as my mind backtracked to the last known landmark I’d seen.
That would have been the shopping center with the traffic light, I decided. I knew I’d made the correct turn there. After that, I didn’t remember anything. I didn’t know if I had made the next turn. I didn’t remember passing what should have been the next major landmark. My routine had become unroutine.

I decided to turn around at the next intersection, and head back to find my route. As it turned out, I had flown by what should have been my next turn and continued beyond by about two miles, where I finally came to my senses. I was able to get back on my route, and, paying close attention this time, get us to work safely.

During the last part of my drive, I considered the routine nature of life. It doesn’t have to be that way. We can intentionally vary the way we do things, the way we approach things, the routes we take daily. I can intentionally interact with people I might otherwise let go by (routinely). I might rearrange things on my desk rather than let everything sit where it is (routinely).

Then I began to think of my spiritual life. Has it become only a routine? Do I go to church as a routine? Or do I go intending to praise, share and receive? Is my prayer life routine to the point that I continue to pray for overseas missionaries, even though those folks returned to the States several years ago? Do I read the Bible as a routine, or do I attempt to put myself into the passage, trying to make it come alive in my mind?

I’m going to start doing a few things to try to break the routine. I will intentionally interact with a co-worker daily on a spiritual basis. I know enough of them who’ve got heavy loads. A word of encouragement and cheer to help break the monotony of their routines, that will be step one. As I drive, instead of letting my mind wander, I’m going to start praying for the people in the houses we pass. And I’m going to make sure I ask the Lord to direct me to someone in need daily. That will surely break the routine. If your life is routine, maybe you can think of some things to change, too.

Have we been at this intersection before? I don’t recall that blue house with yellow shutters!

Dr. G
(and, yes, I know the word "thinking" is misspelled in the title)

There Was This Cactus, You See....

2008-03-19T19:27:00.009-04:00

One of the field courses I taught during my last two years as a college professor was entitled “Biology of the Baja.” It was a desert ecology class, focusing on central Baja California del Norte (the northern half of Baja California). My students were continually amazed at the many adaptations plants can possess that enable them to live in a very arid environment. And, of course, there were the cacti. The most numerous were the many species of the genus Opuntia, the jointed cacti known as prickly pears and chollas (choyas). What all members of the genus have, in addition to the jointed stems and branches, is the arrangement of heavily barbed spines on disk-like structures.

The disks bear large central spines and a number of variably smaller spines in a circle at the edges of the disks. Covering much of the disc are short, fine fuzz-like glocchidia. If these get into your skin, they are worse than any glass wool fibers I’ve ever found. The presence of the barbed spines along with the fact that the joints quite easily break off of the plants make walking through a patch of such cactuses a bothersome event.

Some Opuntia have only a few, widely dispersed spine clusters. Others, like the “Teddy Bear” cholla common in southern California, Arizona and on into Mexico, have densely packed spine clusters and actually look furry from a distance.

But the species to watch out for is Opuntia molesta. It doesn’t have a common name to my knowledge, but its Latin name is very fitting. The clusters of spines are moderately close together; but worse, the central spine is between 2 ½ and 3 inches long, hard as steel, and as sharp as any needle around. Everyone in my classes had their turn experiencing this cactus up close.

A little over three years ago my son and I drove down to Arizona to visit my folks. One day while there, we were driving around and stopped at a garden center that specialized in native desert plants. I was looking for a small thick-leaved yucca to bring back home to plant in our flower bed. I happened to glance over the large lot, and exclaimed to the owner, who was with us, “You’ve got some molesta!” Sure enough, I’d recognized about six O. molesta plants on the other side of the lot.

The owner explained he’d harvested them (with special permits) from a big lot that was being developed down near Yuma, AZ. He mentioned how much pain (literally) he’d gone through to save the plants. The central spines easily pass through leather gloves. In fact, one spine had once gone through a fourth-inch of rubber on a running shoe and about as far into the end of the big toe of one of my students. Because the spines are barbed, we had to use pliers to extract it. The gardener could not have been exaggerating his pain.

More recently, I’ve come to realize how much we humans are like those Opuntia molesta plants. Christ approaches, and our natural sinful tendency is to lash out, all prickles. And yet, He wanted so much to save us, He decided we were worth the pain, even when we drove our spines through His hands and feet and into the cross. The neat thing is that He has promised to change our hearts and natures if we turn them over to Him. It is possible in this life to become like the almost-spine-free prickly pears seen in many gardens. Yes, we may continue with a few spines here and there while here on this earth. But the day will come, Paul tells us, when we’ll be changed in the twinkling of an eye to become just like Jesus in nature (1 Corinthians 15:51, 52). I really look forward to that day.

I’ve often wondered what a spine-free cholla would look like.

Dr. G

Octopus Ahoy!

2008-03-15T19:15:00.009-04:00

The section of beach on Puget Sound that my brother and I frequented when growing up experiences about a twelve foot difference between extreme high tide and extreme low tide. We’d always hit the lowest tides, constantly probing in the sand and mud, turning over rocks, looking everywhere for marine invertebrates. We spent considerable time at this during our high-school years, to the extent that by the time we headed off to college (both to become biologists), we had almost as complete a collection of intertidal species as did the marine station of the college we attended. Needless to say, we had a tremendous advantage when we took the course in marine invertebrates.

One summer, probably between my sophomore and junior years in high school, the two of us were at the beach at low tide, as usual. My brother had been diving in water about 20 feet deep, contributing things to our collection that were normally out of our reach. It being warm that day (summer water temperature in Puget Sound is typically in the mid- to upper 50’s), I was paddling around in an inner tube. I was in water about four feet deep over a submerged sand bar, when I looked down and saw a humongous octopus. I immediately called my brother who swam over quickly while I stayed above the slowly moving octopus. Together we jumped on it, caught it, and dragged it to shore.

Some folks in one of the nearby houses had a Polaroid camera (new to the market at the time) and took a picture of us holding the octopus up between us (my brother may still have that photo). The “head” was about even with our faces; the tips of the tentacles barely cleared the ground. We had no way of measuring it accurately, but it was between nine and ten feet from tip to tip, possibly more. Large octopuses actually do exist, especially in the northern Pacific. The record span for this species is about 25 feet with a weight of 400 pounds (larger ones have been reported but not verified). With such a reach, the eight sucker-clad tentacles could really make life interesting for something trying to escape it. Sort of reminds me of the carnival game where you stand in front of a table with a dozen holes, out which a head will momentarily pop up, and you’re supposed to hit it with the padded mallet in your hand.

I picture Satan, in his attacks on us, as a sort of octopus. More slithering tentacles than a human can watch at any one time. That is why we need to trust in the Lord. There is no way you or I can deal with so many attacks. And the idea of suckers on his tentacles is pretty fitting, too. When one of Satan’s tentacles gets hold of one of us, we really need help in getting rid of it.

I am so glad the Lord is there when we need him. Playing with a live octopus may not be harmful (did I mention they can, and often will bite?). Playing with Satan, thinking we are too quick for him, or powerful enough on our own so that we won’t get entrapped is foolish. Diving into the water with him is not something we should ever do. We need to stay on the shore with the Lord.

My brother and I didn’t take this treasure home. It probably wouldn’t have stayed in that galvanized tub of Mom’s.

Dr. G

Being Well-Grounded is My Plan

2008-03-14T17:05:00.006-04:00

In 2 Thessalonians, Paul talks about the second coming and how the dead in Christ will rise first and then we who remain will be caught up into the air to join them and Jesus to reign with Him forever. I am really looking forward to that day. But I would warn any of you not to stand too close to me on that day. I may choke you. Let me explain.

My mother loves Ferris wheels. Down through the years she has told the family of the time she took me on my first ride on one. We lived in Austin, Texas, at the time; I was about three years old. From the moment the chair began to move until we got off, I clung to her neck for dear life. Nearly choked her, I did. I didn’t like my feet being off the ground.

About two years later we were living in Belgrade, Montana. Our neighbors had several blue spruces in which some Brewer’s Blackbirds had built nests. One nest was at about the height of my mother’s head. She thought she would share the sight with her boys by lifting them up to peer into the nest, one at a time. My older brother got his chance. Then it was my turn. She lifted me up, and I nearly choked her again. I couldn’t feel anything under my feet. Personally, I think that if our Creator had intended us to be peering into birds’ nests, He would have had them all build their nests on the ground.

Shortly before this my mother, a WWII widow remarried. That is another story to be shared at some later time. My adopted-father-to-be happened to have his private pilot’s license. For my fourth birthday, about a month before they married, he took me, my mother and older brother for a flight around the greater Bozeman, Montana area. I don’t recall being upset by flying. It is possible I was so intrigued by all the gadgets in the plane that I didn’t notice what wasn’t outside the plane.

As I’ve grown older, my dislike for heights has abated a little. I enjoy flying. I can stand at the edge of observations decks on tall buildings, and even at the guardrails of tall bridges. But if I’m at the edge of a cliff, or on a ladder, I still get weak knees. I don’t like climbing on rocks; what goes up must come down. I don’t do roller coasters. I’ve had to go up on roofs several times; never a happy event. I’m always afraid that if I start to slip, in my panic I’ll automatically go into the drill we teach the children to do if their clothes catch on fire: drop and roll. Not a good idea when on the roof. So on that great day, be a little wary if you’re close to me. I may grab for something when my feet leave the ground.

On the other hand, the scriptures do say “Perfect loves casts out fear.” It would be nice if that would take place before that day, and not after it starts. Maybe what I need to do is keep my eyes on Jesus when it happens, and perhaps, like that day in the little Piper airplane, I won’t notice what isn't around me. That won’t be too bad.

I just need to be the opposite of Lot’s wife: keep my eye on where I’m headed, and forget about where I’ve been.

Have a great day.

Dr. G

Choosing a Place to Eat

2008-03-12T20:39:00.004-04:00

Fast-food restaurants seem to thrive on poor college kids and vice-versa. As you approach a campus the number of such eateries seems to increase exponentially. At least that’s the case in most areas.

I attended college in a small town in south-eastern Washington State. The county is not what you’d call heavily populated (less than 60,000 in 2004); in fact that works out to about 43 persons per square mile. When I first attended, the nearest shopping mall was four hours away in Portland Oregon. The city of Walla Walla, right next to the town in which my college was located, had about three drive-ins back in the early 60’s, with the A&W the only franchised one. To my knowledge, there were no others in the whole county.

When I returned in 1991 as Registrar at my alma mater, the city could now boast one Pizza Hut, Two McDonalds, one Burger King and a few locally-based fast-food drive-ins. There was no Taco Bell, no Wendy’s, no Arby’s, and no choice. And again, as far as I knew, that was it for the whole county.

I soon discovered that there was a small coterie of Taco Bell fanatics from a certain college department which dealt with living organisms that, on Saturday nights, would load up in a couple of cars and make a “Taco Bell run,” as they called it.

The nearest Taco Bell was an hour away in the town of Pasco, WA. You’ve got to be pretty desperate to drive two hours to get a couple of burritos. I discovered that this behavior had been going on for several years, and it continued for my first three years in town. I joined, mostly as an observer, only one time. Then, could you believe it! A Taco Bell opened up in town.

For more than the first week of operation, the line to get through the drive-thru wrapped all the way around a city block. The parking lot wasn’t exactly small, but you normally didn’t think of parking your car unless you were there at an odd hour. Talk about fast-food junkies! The franchise paid for itself in a matter of months.

My issue is not directly with the quality of food at such places. That is for someone else’s blog right now. But I wonder why in society in general there is such a disparity between the rush for fast food, and the seeming lack of interest in spiritual food. Is it possible that the same ignorance that blinds people to the effects of fast food on the body blinds the mind to need for the spiritual? Fast food is cheap, that’s true. But the life-giving spiritual food is free. It lasts for an eternity. And no Taco Bell runs are necessary. You can get it without even leaving home! It’s hard to beat a deal like that.

And take it easy on the hot sauce, OK?

Dr. G

Unexpected Answers

2008-03-11T19:29:00.003-04:00

In a few weeks, all the students in Georgia will be taking their “end of year” tests. I put that in quote marks, since the tests are taken about two months before school is out. But that is the way it is. It gives the officials time to score the tests and schools an opportunity to remediate for a retest before school is out. Anyway, teachers have been working very hard all year, but especially hard the past few weeks getting kids ready for the tests. While all grade levels take the CRCT’s (as they’re called), they are most important for students in grades 3, 5 and 8. Minimal scores must be achieved by the student in order to be promoted.

A little over a week ago I was talking with one of our third-grade teachers. She was telling me of a math quiz she’d given her students. A section on the quiz included a graph summarizing a survey taken among some students as to the most popular color of tennis shoe. The first question asked how many students participated in the survey. One would assume the students would simply tally up the total number of votes to achieve the correct answer. And most did. My colleague shook her head, however, as she related the responses of two students. One wrote “Black”, the other wrote “Purple.” One has to wonder what question they had read. It was obvious which one they hadn’t read.

Unexpected answers. Life can be full of them. Occasionally, when working with adults, if someone says, “I have a question” and follows up with a long pause, I’ll suddenly blurt out something like, “849!” or “457!” That usually helps kick-start the other brain into gear and we can get on with the conversation. With my little kids, I’ll often name a farm animal.

Have you noticed in your religious experience that the Lord often comes up with unexpected answers? Noticeably, however, His are always meaningful; they’re also always the right ones. They are just different than we expected.

“Lord, it is getting late. Shouldn’t we be sending these folks home?”
“No, give them something to eat.”

“Lord, we pay temple taxes, don’t we?”
“Peter, go catch a fish.”

‘Lord, if you had been here, Lazarus wouldn’t have died.”
“Roll away the stone!”

“Jesus of Nazareth, by what authority do you teach these things?”

"I’ll tell you a parable.”

“Lord, Hezekiah here. The enemy is approaching Jerusalem. What shall we do?”
“Send out the choir and stand still.”

“Lord we’re boxed in between the Egyptians and the water. Have you brought us out here to die?”
“Step into the water.”

How has it been in your life? Have you had any unexpected answers? I sure have. Mostly because I’d already planned out how I wanted the Lord to respond to my requests. The problem is that His vision is so much better than mine. I’m so blind, I rarely see the start of my problems, and certainly can’t see to the end. How silly of me to think that I know what is best. How much better to rely on Him who not only can see everything from the beginning to the end, but also loves me enough to always put my feet on the right path. What a God we serve!

Personally, I would have voted for the black-cherry cowboy boots.

Dr. G

What Lights Up Your Life?

2008-02-24T13:09:00.008-05:00

Most of the light that enters our eyes comes from a source heated to a point that it gives off light – the sun, light bulbs, stars, forest fires and candles are good examples. Little of that light, however, enters directly. Rather it is reflected – off of clouds, walls, papers we’re trying to read. You recognize this. Few things in our lives produce light on their own.

And yet there are a few living organisms that do produce their own light. When the word bioluminescence is mentioned, those who recognize the word typically think of glow worms or lightning bugs – actually a type of beetle. Both male and female beetles have an organ at the rear of their abdomen that chemically produces flashes of light – without the production of measurable heat. It is often referred to as cold light.

There are other organisms that have this capability, – a number of molds that decompose rotting logs in the forest, a few other insects,
some jellyfish, and a handful of bacteria species – all able to bioluminesce. There is also a group of one-celled marine organisms (phytoplankton) that has some members that can do this. These are the dinoflagellates – so-named because the cells all possess a pair of flagella with which they can achieve a modicum of locomotion. While there is a fairly long list of those that bioluminesce, the three genera that I became acquainted with while in college were Noctiluca, Gymnodinium, and Gonyaulux, since they are a major source of bioluminescence in Puget Sound in Washington State. In fact, while I was in attendance, the Marine station had a forty-foot fishing boat name the Noctiluca. As a footnote, I might mention that this same group is often responsible for the “red tides” at summer bathing beaches.

For the most part, the organisms which luminesce have the ability to control when their lights are on and off. Most of them don't glow all the time.

Anyone who’s gone for a night-time cruise in the tropics has seen evidence of the presence of the dinoflagellates. They are largely responsible for the glow in the wake and bow waves as the ship moves through the water. And those who’ve gone night-diving in the tropics often come back with wondrous tales of sparkling water as they swam. The glow is real. It’s not just the emotional effects of some mid-night cruise.

Back in the mid-90’s I co-taught a course on the Biology of Baja California. One of our days would be spent going out into the Sea of Cortez (politically known as the Gulf of California) to see some islands that had sea bird and sea lion colonies. We would time our trip so that it was dark as we returned to Bahia de Los Angeles, where we had our base. The captain would turn out all the lights except for his running lights so we could see the bioluminescence. And the students were always given a treat. You could tell where schools of fish were because you’d see a sudden star-burst down in the water as the fish scattered. Porpoises swimming toward the ship looked like torpedoes, or fast-moving water snakes. But the greatest thrill of all would be when a deep-feeding whale would pass by.

A few deep-water fish have bioluminescent patches on their skin. But the fish themselves are not bioluminescent. Specific locations on the skin harbor colonies of bioluminescent bacteria. Somehow, the fish are able to cause the bacteria to fluoresce on command. Why the fish have these patches is only a guess. It is hard to have a conversation with a fish that lives at the bottom of the ocean. By some means, these fish do something, or produce something at these specific body locations that support the bacterial life. I suppose that, potentially, a fish could become sick and lose the attractiveness of its skin patches. Then its light would go out.

In the spiritual realm, we are like those fish. Paul tells us to “Let your light so shine…” But we’re not bioluminescent. What light? Of course, Christ is the “light”. We can only glow spiritually when the source of light is dwelling in our hearts. Christ is to shine through us. But in order to keep the luminescence thriving in our lives, we have to keep our relationship with its source healthy. When we do this, we’ll be like the city on the hillside, a light drawing all to Him.

Have a great day.

Dr. G

What Will You Give Me?

2008-02-22T23:06:00.004-05:00

I was in the mall the other day when I saw a mother trying to deal with what one might call a recalcitrant child. Let’s just say that the little girl (perhaps three years old) didn’t think much of any of her mother’s suggestions, requests or demands. While not giving forth a temper tantrum, her feet were firmly planted and the lower lip projected quite noticeably. It was a pose that probably every normal child has been in at one time or another. But it wasn’t the child’s behavior that really drew in my attention as I watched from the bench on which I was sitting. What I really took notice of was what the mother finally resorted to. Bribery.

Having exchanged her cooperation in trying on another pair of shoes for a newly promised ice cream cone, the little girl pulled in her lip and began walking with her mother quite pleasantly. One might even entertain the idea that the two of them had been through the routine at least once before.

Buying people off. That is what it amounts to, and it happens all the time. It may happen between parent and child. Sometimes it is boss and employee. It is all too frequent between politicians and lobbyists or politicians and voters (and vice-versa). Sad to say, but it can occasionally happen between teacher and students. There are probably a number of reasons it happens, but it seems unfortunate that it happens at all. At its core it almost always amounts to the selling out of one principle or another for some immediate gratification.

One of my favorite authors once wrote, “The greatest want of the world is the want of men-- men who will not be bought or sold, men who in their inmost souls are true and honest, men who do not fear to call sin by its right name, men whose conscience is as true to duty as the needle to the pole, men who will stand for the right though the heavens fall. “ E. G. White, Education, p. 57.

To my mind, there must be a corollary: The second greatest want of the world is the want of men (and women, of course) who will not attempt to “buy” the cooperation, influence or support of others.

Standing up for principles – what a novel thought. Cooperation bought with ice cream today will require the addition of sprinkles eventually, probably sooner than later.

I’ll take double-dip dark chocolate fudge with that!

Dr. G

Ever Need A Shovel?

2008-02-13T18:47:00.009-05:00

I began singing in school choruses and choirs in the eighth grade, and continued through high school and on into my senior year in college. In the ninth grade, I had a barbershop quartet that sounded pretty good together. Barbershop harmony is quite close, and it takes a good ear to keep the group on pitch, especially since the music is almost always done a cappella. We looked pretty nifty in our straw hats, white shirts, red bow ties, and red,white and blue-striped vests. But the group ceased to exist after that year since two of the members went to different schools.

My senior year in high school, I asked our choir director if I could get a quartet together for one song at our spring concert. He agreed to let me try, so I convinced the lead first and second tenors and a friend who was a baritone in the choir to give it a try. None of them had sung barbershop before, but with some diligent work, the one song sounded fairly good, as long as we had accompaniment. But at the program, we'd have to go it alone.

The big night came and, about half way through the program, we were in the spotlight. The first note sounded pretty good, but it went downhill from there. The tight harmony was just too much for the baritone, and he pulled both tenors flat. On top of that, their senses of syncopation left something to be desired. Fortunately, we had our music in front of us, and, as we neared the end of the first verse, I desperately pointed to the final ending. The others understood; we finished our cacophony, and exited stage right.

We rejoined the chorus on the risers, and prepared to sing our next piece. Everyone came in right on time. Unfortunately for me, I was still so flustered that I started singing a different song. I quickly rejoined the rest of the group, aware of a certain look from the director. Have you ever seen one of those Southwest Airline ads that asks, "Feel like getting away?" I sure did that night. Where's a good shovel when you need one?

For the next number, I was to join our regular pianist at the piano for a four-handed accompaniment to a piece by Mozart. As I slid onto the piano bench next to her, she whispered, "At least you had good stage presence." Unbelievable. Someone in the group wasn't totally down on me and was willing to give me a reprieve, a kind word. Feeling somewhat better, I got through the Mozart without a hitch. The rest of the program was a breeze.

When Peter denied Christ in Pilate's palace, he suddenly wanted to get away. I suspect that, after Christ responded to the mother of James and John when she asked if they could have the best seats in the house in His kingdom, the two boys wanted to "get away." And there were other times, I'm sure, that the whole group felt like I did that night so long ago.

Have you ever blundered in public to the extent that you wanted to crawl into a hole? Did you wish for someone to come along and let you know things weren't totally ruined, unrecoverable? That is how Christ dealt with His slow-to-learn disciples, time and again. That is what Marlys, our accompanist, did at the piano for me.

From time to time, we'll have a student make a real mistake in our presence. When it happens, how will we respond? It is so easy to jump on the unfortunate, erring child and squash them like a bug. But if we do that, what have we really accomplished? More than likely they'll already be aware of their mistake. How much better to relieve their anxiety and lift them up so they are willing to try again. We're all human, and we certainly must allow for the mistakes of children. We've got to keep their interest in succeeding thriving and growing. LORD, allow me to be gracious with them in the same way you are with me.

Now, get your nose out of the music and watch the timing of the entrances this time!

Dr. G

Learning Can Be Fun

2008-02-07T20:03:00.001-05:00

As I walk the halls of my school, I really enjoy reading the wide variety of student compositions on the walls. I keep in mind that much of our student population is in the process of learning English, so I have to allow for fractured English and convoluted sentences from time to time. It is amazing what one can learn. Sometimes it is new, correct information I’ve never heard of; other times it contradicts things I already know. The other day I noticed in one composition the fact that cactuses eat lots of rats. Having taught a course in Desert Biology, as well as English as a Second Language, I think I know what the author really meant.

The inventive spelling is also very interesting. Many of the missteps arise from the fact that some sounds in English are missing in the Spanish language. It is also possible that, in our rush to get the words out, our pronunciation doesn’t hit their ears all that well, and the students end up writing what they hear, which isn’t what we think we said. Another possible source of error comes when we use new words that sound similar to words they’ve already learned. Not really homophones, but approximate homophones, if there is such a thing. Of course, this latter situation occurs with any child learning a language, whether it be the first, second, or even third one learned. And it is this situation that can lead to some of the more hilarious comments.

Last night, as she was getting ready for bed, our granddaughter asked her father if she could learn a new bed-time prayer.

“OK,” he answered. “Would you like to learn the prayer Jesus taught us?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Repeat after me,” he said.

“Our Father,” he began, and she echoed his words until he had said, “Hallowed be thy name.”

At which point she said, “Howard is his name.”

The two were eventually able to finish the prayer.

Sometimes, what the Lord says to us is totally new to our understanding, and instead of asking for clarification, we use “inventive” hearing, ending up with the wrong response. Other times, we aren’t paying attention, and we hear things that were not said. And again, we end up with the wrong response. And then there are the times that what He says sounds like something we’ve heard before; we assume that it is the same old message, and once again, we end up with the wrong place wrong action, or wrong time.

I have so often wished my students could focus so clearly, and that I could/would speak so clearly, that my message would always get through to them, and vice-versa. Do you suppose God ever feels that way about us?

Watch out for them there cactuses, man! At least now we know why they grow so well.

Dr. G

I Want To Be Like You

2008-02-05T22:16:00.000-05:00

I’ve been at my current school for a little over ten years, and must say I’ve enjoyed it very much. If you had told me when I was finishing up my doctorate all those many years ago that I would end up working mostly with Kindergarten children who speak very little English, I would have suspected you’d been working with too much formaldehyde. But, as it turns out, that is where I am, and, while any job will have its ups and downs, I must admit my work with the little ones has been refreshing and rewarding.

Every morning I unload the buses as they come to our school. I try to greet as many children as I can by name. There are 8 buses, each with between 50 and 60 children. I probably know half of the children by name, but with the rush going past me (we unload two buses at a time), I usually am lucky to spot and name about a third of the children. It is important for them to know they are not just a face in the crowd, that they are recognized as individuals. When they know their teachers accept them, they are much more receptive to what we try to give and do. For the most part, the children respect and look up to the teachers at our school, and I frequently see evidences that show they identify with us.

I’ve mentioned in a blog a number of months ago that I wear western boots to school. They are comfortable, and give my ankles good support. Many of our students or their families, at least, originate in the rural parts of Mexico. It isn’t uncommon to see boots and western-style hats (which I also wear on colder mornings) on the parents and grandparents. Once in a while, a little boy will show up with boots. On quite a few occasions, I’ve had some little guy sidle up to me and put his boot beside mine, look up, and grin.

I’m also known at my school for my neckties. Of the approximately 80 staff (not including cafeteria workers), there are only 7 men in the school. I’m the only one who wears neckties. I’ve always worn them to this school, in part to let the students see that one can dress a little nicer without being on the way to church, a wedding or a funeral. I suspect many of the students don’t see ties around the house all that much. More than once, I’ve had a child come up, look at my tie, and say, “My dad has one of those.”

The ties I wear are what one would call novelty ties – cartoon characters, animals, etc. And I have quite a few of them. There are several children that, as soon as they get off their buses, stop by to see what tie I have on. I’ve had to laugh more than once when a little boy, especially kindergarten boys, get off the bus on Picture Day all gussied up in vest, white shirt and tie. As soon as they catch my eye, they reach down and wave their tie at me, much like Oliver Hardy of Laurel and Hardy silent films used to do all the time. Identifying with me. Wanting to emulate me. That is one of the great sources of joy I get. But the responsibility of it all. I must be careful to give them something to emulate.

As I was thinking about this earlier today, my mind moved on to the idea of emulating Christ. I’m sure He enjoys it when we “sidle up” to Him, as it were. Do we want to be by His side? Are we willing to show Him the parts of us that are like Him? How much we should want to be a lot like Him. How much we need to be totally like Him. Do we want Him to call us by name, to indicate that we’re important to Him? I hope so.

There’s an old spiritual that has the line, “All God’s children got shoes.” I wonder if some of them will have boots.

Have a great day.

Dr. G

It's All Black and White

2008-01-30T20:44:00.001-05:00

When our family moved from Massachusetts to the southeastern corner of Washington State in 1991, one of the things we missed most was the variety of birds in the yard. In Massachusetts we’d been in the midst of mixed deciduous forest with its multitude of niches, hence bird species. In Walla Walla, we were on the edge of the Great Basin Desert, most of which had been turned in to agricultural land with the advent of irrigation, thanks to the many dams on the Columbia and Snake rivers. While the nearby Blue Mountains did have lots of bird species, down in the Walla Walla Valley there weren’t a large number of species.

There were several species fairly common around our three-plus acres: Western Meadowlark, Barn Swallows, and Black-billed Magpies. The latter are members of the crow and jay family, tend to form small flocks, and are quite garrulous. Like the American Crow, they are quite inquisitive, and, to be a little anthropomorphic, sly with a bit of sense of humor.

A few months back I mentioned our cat, Momma Kitty. Well, she had a brother, Kitty Boy. Kitty Boy was a large, solidly-built black-and-white cat. I mean, Momma Kitty is a normal-sized cat. Kitty Boy stood almost two inches taller at the shoulder. Solid, heavy. I guess I’d have to say he was mine. Anytime I was outside, he was by my side. He would follow along as I mowed the lawn, moved irrigation pipe, and dug out thistles in the pasture,…or whatever. He was always there. He wanted to be petted all the time, and welcomed visitors. He did, however, have one drawback. He loved to lie in laps. Did I mention he was big?

You might ask why this would be a problem. Well, as I said, he loved to lie in laps, and once he got in one, he didn’t leave until he was ready to. If you tried to pick him up to set him on the ground, he’d hiss terribly, and, if you actually persisted, bite your hand. If you tried to dump him by standing up, he’d just dig in his claws, and stay in place. Your lap may have disappeared, but Kitty Boy didn’t.

What, you may ask does a big, black-and-white cat have to do with black-and-white Magpies? They didn’t get along. If Kitty Boy would see one out in the pasture, he’d try to sneak up on it (he wasn’t capable of understanding that a mostly white cat will stand out in a green field). If there was only one bird, it would fly away. If there was a pair, Kitty Boy was in for some torment.

One of the two birds would walk toward the cat, as if unaware of his presence. Meanwhile, the other bird would circle around behind, and dive-bomb Kitty Boy. He never learned. He’d whirl around and head for the one that had just hit him from behind, giving opportunity to the first bird to repeat the process. This would go on for some time, until finally Kitty Boy realized he’d never win and would take off running for the barn, followed by a pair of scolding Magpies.

It has always seemed to me that Satan attacks us much in the same way as those birds attacked Kitty Boy. If you keep your eye on him from one direction, he’ll hit you from behind. No matter how hard we try, we can’t beat him, nor avoid the torment when we are out in the open on our own. The only safety is to run to our Master. You see, never, ever, was Kitty Boy bothered by the Magpies when he was in the yard with me. The birds stayed away.

Also, I have to admire Kitty Boy’s tenacity for staying in a lap. Do we try as hard to stay within the Lord’s safe arms? Or are we like the other cat I wrote about a couple of months ago, the one that displaced Momma Kitty in our garage? Louis refuses to be held, and will end up biting if you try to hold her. Two extremes. Which one represents our relationship with our Master, Kitty Boy or Louis?

Dr. G

I Never Was Much of a Fisherman

2008-01-29T21:00:00.004-05:00

The earliest fish I remember catching was when my older brother and I were probably 7 and 6, respectively. We were living in Belgrade, Montana at the time. Our house was on the outskirts of town (truth is, at that time, if you were more than three blocks off the main street of town, you were in the outskirts). In the fields behind our house, I remember there was a small irrigation/drainage ditch, in which we caught a fairly large sucker about 10 inches long. We carried it home triumphantly, and put it in water inside our mother’s trusty galvanized wash tub.

I remember fishing at a county park a few years later, in Washington State. My brother and I were on a dock that went out into the lake, and we had our new fishing poles. We didn’t know much about fishing, but we could see some fishermen out in boats near the lily pads, casting their bait towards the pads. Figuring that was how you fished, we’d lay out our lines with bait on the dock behind us, and whip our poles over our heads, trying to get the hook out as far as we could. We never did catch any fish, although once my brother did catch our grandmother who was standing behind us.

When I was twelve, we were visiting relatives in Monte Vista, Colorado, and stumbled into a fishing derby at the town’s new fishing pond. We caught a couple of small fish there, but nothing else. A few days later, we went up to a private lake near the summit of Wolf Creek Pass, and I caught two fish, one a ten-inch trout.

The only other fish I remember catching was maybe two years later. My brother and I had gone to visit our mother’s parents, who were living in the small town of Marblemount, Washington. This town was a wide spot in the road surrounded mostly by secondary growth forest. Some distance out behind the trailer court our grandparents lived in was an abandoned railroad bed. We hiked it a number of times.

Toward the end of our stay, we looked down from a bridge that crossed a small stream, and saw a fish almost three feet long. We quickly got down to the stream and caught it with our bare hands. I don’t remember where we got it from, but we came up with some fishing line, and hung the fish from a pole between the two of us. We returned to the trailer court in triumph, only to learn about the condition of salmon that have already spawned. The flesh was unfit to eat, unless you were a bear.

To the best of my remembrance, that is my fishing experience. About like Matthew, the tax collector, I suspect. Now, Peter, there was a fisherman. For him and his brother Andrew and the other brothers, James and John, fishing was a way to make a living. When Christ called them, they were fishing. And after the resurrection, Peter talked several of them to return to fishing. Christ had told them that they would become fishers of men, but it seems like they kept returning to the fish. Finally, after all this, Christ told Peter to feed His lambs. "Stop fishing. Feed my lambs. I know you love me, feed my sheep. Take care of my flock." I don’t recall any mention of Peter ever going back to the boat after that.

Teaching in a public school has its limitations when it comes to witnessing for the Lord. We certainly can not be involved in fishing for men (children). But, I’m convinced, our words and actions, our kind attention and smiles can certainly feed the lambs. And I think He expects us to.

And we don’t even have to deal with smelly worms or other types of bait!

Dr. G

Feel Like You're Living In A Waste Basket?

2008-01-27T15:44:00.000-05:00

The desert areas of North America are populated by a large variety of rodent species. In my opinion, the most attractive of these (remember, I’m a biologist) are the Kangaroo Rats (genus Dipodomys), of which there are 22 species. The truth is, these are not rats, but are actually more closely related to the squirrels. They are called Kangaroo Rats because of their long hind legs and long tails, which they use in the same manner as kangaroos in locomotion.

Kangaroo rats are nocturnal animals, and are actually relatively easy to catch. When my brother and I were in graduate school in southeastern Washington, it wasn’t uncommon on Saturday nights during late summer or early fall for small groups of biology majors to head down toward the confluence of the Walla Walla and Columbia Rivers where there was still a significant amount of desert scrub: sage brush, grasses and various herbaceous plants. Driving the dirt trails, students straddling the headlights of a car and armed with insect nets could sweep up “dippies”, which is what we called them, as the animals hopped down the road in front of the vehicle. The animals are relatively docile, and I don’t recall anyone ever being bitten by a specimen when it was being handled, even when freshly caught.

In August of our second year, the two of us had brought a dippy back to the office we shared. We had a nice-sized metal waste basket (about 24 inches tall) that we filled with papers, and placed our new co-resident into it as his new home. We got a Petri dish, filled it with a variety of seeds, and placed it along with a second dish filled with water beside the container.

In a short time, the paper in the waste basket had been shredded; we added more. Over time, the basket was completely filled with shredded, fairly compacted paper into which our dippy had fashioned tunnels and a burrow. It would come out in late afternoons and evenings, ignoring our presence, and hop around the room, eat some seeds, sip water occasionally, and then return to its burrow. After a while we introduced a 2 inch diameter Super ball, which Dippy learned to push around the room.

All of the biology staff and other graduate students were acquainted with our pet, as were the janitors. We made sure they knew not to empty that container, no matter how full it looked.

After about five months, my brother returned to the office from a lab one afternoon, only to discover, to his horror, an empty waste basket. Unknown to us, a new janitorial worker had been assigned to our building. Not realizing that the full wastebasket wasn’t a trashcan, she had dumped the whole thing in the large trash container behind the building.

Rushing outside, my brother pulled the lid off, and looked down. There, on top of all the trash was a small, forlorn-looking kangaroo rat, small front legs folded as if pleading for help.

Over the years, the vision of that small animal, seeming to implore the viewer for rescue has remained in my mind. In fact, there have been times that I felt like I was in the same position. Have you ever wished that someone would come along, lift the lid off the trash heap we live on, and rescue you? Oh, how much I wish the Lord would come back to take us to the nice home He’s preparing for us. I believe the promise, don’t you?

Dr. G

Whose Mess Is It, Anyway?

2008-01-23T20:14:00.001-05:00

While driving to work this morning, I saw something that brought back memories of a situation from a few years back. Then, as now, I was an ESOL teacher in an elementary school, spending the majority of my time working with Kindergarten children.

A young boy at a table in front of me was struggling to color a picture. The crayons weren’t quite the right colors he wanted. When he pushed them, they tended to not stay inside the lines. Several crayons broke; the paper got wrinkled. I could sense the frustration rising, the tension building. I asked if he would let me help him.

He quickly said OK, so I slipped into a chair next to him, and asked him which part of the picture he’d like to work on, and what color he’d like. I don’t recall exactly today which part or color, but I remember he did respond. I got the color he suggested, and put it in his hand, and began to guide his hand, showing him that coloring slowly and smoothly helped the crayon stay inside the line.

But he wasn’t happy with the speed at which the picture was being colored, so he began to apply pressure to the crayon, trying to force my hand to move it more rapidly. I had him look at the part we’d colored together, and compared it with where he’d worked alone. His response? “I can do it.”

So I backed off, and instead of intervening, decided to only give suggestions. He tried to follow a few of them, but found he couldn’t quite do it. Perhaps there was a maturity issue. Perhaps the frustration was flooding his system. At any rate, after a few minutes, he announced unhappily, “I can’t do it.,” tossed the crayon into the basket and crumpled up the paper, threw it into the waste basked and went to get a book to look at.

Now, what on earth can you see at 6:15 in the morning, driving down a dark country road in a light drizzle that could bring back such as memory as I had? Easy.

We pass several churches on our way to work. Most have small reader boards that announce pastor’s names and service times. A few have larger boards on which are displayed various messages. And it was one of these that caught my attention this morning. A small country church offered up a great message:

“If you give God your mess, He’ll turn it into a masterpiece.”

How true it is, but how difficult it is to do, sometimes, too. Like that little boy, we frequently ask God to help us, but we try to hang onto the crayon, hoping to have some influence on the outcome. Sometimes the Lord doesn’t act directly, but tries to give us suggestions, perhaps in something we’ve read or heard. But we try to do it on our own. And what happens when we reach the point that little guy did, wailing, "I can't do it!" and thrusting our hands into the air?

History is full of people who came to that realization, and they quit trying. They walked away from the potential victory, and focused on something else. I could have helped that little boy produce a nice looking picture, but he wouldn’t let go. God can do something wonderful with my life, and yours, if we’ll just let go. As long as I hang on to it, it will remain a mess. Only when I release my grip and let Him take firm control can it become the masterpiece He has in mind.

Have a great day, and don’t push the crayons so hard that they break.

Dr. G

When You Call Upon Me

2008-01-05T19:20:00.001-05:00

It was almost time to leave for the airport yesterday morning, and I was going through my final check of necessary items. My wife and I had flown into Baltimore on the evening of December 27 to spend time with family. While flying I had kept my boarding passes and driver’s license in my shirt pocket to have them readily available for security. Now, the morning of January 4, I had my boarding pass and had reached for my wallet for my license, only to discover it wasn’t there.

The last time I remembered having it in my hand was when I rented our car at the Baltimore airport. Perhaps I had placed it in the inner pocket of the jacket I had been wearing. Going to the closet, I checked every pocket. No license.

Perhaps it was with the rental documentation in the glove compartment of the car. I hurried out there in the hopes of finding it. “Sorry, only rental documents here,” the envelope seemed to say. Now what? I voiced a brief prayer to the Lord to help me find it. I searched the small backpack I had for carry-on materials. I didn’t find it there. I dumped my wallet a second time. Where could it be?

Aha! Maybe it was in the pocket of the shirt I had been wearing on the 27th. I mean, that is where I’d gotten used to putting it as we had traveled from Nashville to Phoenix, back to Nashville and then on to Baltimore. That must be it. I hadn’t worn the shirt since arriving, and probably hadn’t noticed it when I folded the shirt to put it in the suitcase hours earlier.

The suitcase was hauled out of the car trunk and taken back inside the house. Dirty shirts were toward the bottom, so almost everything had to come out for that one shirt. The pocket was empty: no license. Another quickly breathed prayer was offered, as I announced the situation to my wife, son-in-law and granddaughter. “I can’t find my driver’s license anywhere!”

So I proceeded to totally empty the suitcase, going through every pants pocket, every shirt pocket (including those I’d not worn). Nothing. Then my granddaughter came running, shouting. “Grandpa, Grandpa! Daddy and I prayed that Jesus would help you find your license.”

Grateful for her attempt at helping, I thanked her, and hurried out to the car to look one more time. It wasn’t in the glove compartment. Nothing was between or under the seats. I returned to the house, where my wife was now on the phone with the airline, looking for guidance. She’d already contacted the car rental company to see if I’ left it there.

One last look in the oft-checked wallet. I took everything out, including the photo wallet. Then I noticed a crevice underneath the license holder. And there it was! “I’ve found it,” I yelled. “He found it,” the airline folks were told. Our granddaughter came running, eyes wide open.

“Jesus helped you. I prayed!” she exclaimed. I gathered her into my arms, thanking the Lord for a trusting little girl.

I remember a passage in the scriptures where the Lord thanked the Father that what was going to happen would strengthen the disciples’ faith. And I thanked the Lord that He had waited until that little girl had prayed so that her faith might be strengthened. We serve such a loving God!

Don’t leave home without your license, and don’t leave home without Him!

Dr. G

Have I Seen Those Hands Before?

2008-01-03T18:43:00.000-05:00

The gifts were being passed out around the Christmas tree at the house of my wife's sister up in Maryland. Her husband had dressed up as Santa for the benefit our our granddaughter. With a full beard and hearty belly-laughs, "Santa" went person-to-person, distributing the gifts. When he came to our four-year-old granddaughter, she paused as she took her gift. She looked carefully at his hands, and then at his eyes. A small smirk appeared on her face, but she said nothing.

After the gifts had been given to their rightful owners, "Santa" withdrew quietly and went upstairs to change. Shortly thereafter, my brother-in-law came casually into the room and joined in the conversation and the exclamations over the presents. Upon seeing him present, she looked again at his hands, and let out a noticeable "Mmmm-Hmmm." She knew his hands.

When I was told of this event (I had been in Arizona for Christmas), the thought came to my mind, "DoI know my Lord's hands well enough that I can recognize His workings in my life?" I am a firm believer that He is active in people's lives, so it only makes sense that I should be able to see things that He does for me every day.

The men's chorus with which I sing has a song entitled "Love Through Me." The basic thrust of the song is a prayer that the Lord use us to reach others. It goes with the passage in Matthew 24 where Christ offers recognition to those who serve those less fortunate, "the least of these," in His name. When we do such things,we are serving as His hands. Has anyone recognized the Lord's hands through my actions, or yours?

If a little child can recognize someone by their hands, shouldn't we be able to see His hands in our lives? Furthermore, shouldn't we provide others with the opportunity to see His hands in action?

May you have a wonderful New Year, and may the Lord hear lots of "Mmmm-Hmmm's" as we reach out to others.

Dr. G

May We Sing A Song For YOU?

2007-12-26T16:04:00.000-05:00

T’was the day before Christmas, when up to the house…
There walked two young girls, forget the old mouse!

About seven or eight, they clutched in their hands
A sheet with penciled words; there wasn’t a band.

They rang the doorbell, smiling and serene.
My father opened the door; t’was a pair he’d before ne’er seen.

“May we sing a song for you?” they collectively asked. Expecting a carol, my father said “Yes.”

And they proceeded to sing: “We can be anything we want to be, anything. We can be, we can be. We can be anything we want to be.” The refrain continued for about three verses worth of listing of things they could be if they wanted to.

At the end of the song, my father sort of expected a request for a cookie, or a donation, or something. The girls, instead, stated they had written the song themselves, and admitted, “We can’t sing very well. We can’t carry a tune in a bucket. But we’re having fun.” With that, they marched back to the street to head for the neighbor’s house.

What a time of year for such a wondrous thought. I can be anything I want. Brings to mind a passage written by Paul “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” You know, the girls weren’t half wrong. Through Him, we can be anything He wants us to be!

Hope your Christmas brought you some cheer.

Are there any of those fudge Santas left?

Dr. G

Beware of Unintended Echoes

2007-12-20T23:52:00.000-05:00

The grade school I attended from grades four through seven was an L-shaped building, with one wing on a ridge, slightly higher than the other wing. The playground extended outward from between the two wings. If one faced the spot where the two wings came together from a distance of about 100 feet, you were, as we kids soon discovered, in a delightful echo chamber. One could holler at the building, and it would faithfully answer back. It didn’t matter what you said; that is what came back. It didn’t matter how you said it; that is what came back. Echoes.

Almost two years ago, my wife and I were visiting her sister and brother-in-law. Also there that day were our daughter and granddaughter. I was sitting in the living room, reading. Daughter and granddaughter were in the family room, at the other end of the house. My daughter’s voice came through the air, “Grandpa, are you ready to eat?” Immediately following was a much younger voice saying, “Grandpa, are you ready to eat?”

“What are my choices?” I answered back.

My daughter quickly gave a short list of choices, only to be followed by the little voice providing the exact same list.

“I hear an echo!” I said.

“You do?” queried the little voice from afar. Moments later she was in the living room, big eyes looking for the echo. It was amusing the way she had echoed her mother so clearly.

While teaching my kindergarten students, sometimes when one does something very well, or in a surprising manner, I’ll lean back and say, in an astonished voice, “Mercy!” One of the classroom teachers I serve told me yesterday of an experience they'd had the day before. A boy and a girl, neither of which are my students, were sitting at a round table with the parapro (teacher’s aide) working on a project. The boy did something (I wasn’t told what) and the little girl leaned back and exclaimed, “Mercy!”

Many of the words which we hear from our students, especially the younger ones, are actually echoes of things they’ve heard at home, the baby-sitter’s, or at abuelita’s house. We need to be careful not to judge the little ones by the echoes they produce at school. We don’t know under what circumstances they’ve heard the words they repeat, or the attitudes reflected by what is said.

We must work hard to provide positive, re-enforcing “echo” material to these minds that come to us daily. We have to be so careful in what we say, even in a joking manner. Walls that produce echoes, like the walls at the grade school I attended, don’t take into account attitude, situation, or intention. They just bounce back what they’ve heard. The same is true with little children.

Mercy! I forgot my lunch choices. What were they again?

Dr. G

He's Making a List, Checking it Twice!

2007-12-12T18:37:00.000-05:00

Rev 11:27 "But there shall by no means enter in ..., but only those who are written in the Lamb's Book of Life."

This time of year, we hear songs about Santa making a list. He’s not the only one!

A number of years ago, my wife taught Spanish on the college level while I taught Biology. Occasionally she would organize study tours to Spain, sometimes including one or two other European countries along the way. One year we had gone to France for several days before heading down to Madrid for about eight days. One of the students we had along was from Brazil and was in the US on a student visa. His family was originally from Italy, and, prior to the Second World War, was of minor nobility in Italy. We'll call him Dino.

After our first day in France, Dino asked permission of my wife to travel overnight to Italy to see if he could regain some of his family's earlier rights and holdings. After going over our schedule carefully with him and making sure he understood that he was to be in Madrid to meet us several days before we were to leave for home, she let him go. Once into Europe, it is very easy to move from country to country (the whole of the continent is smaller than the contiguous US, and the area is, essentially, border-free). The rest of us continued on to study the culture and see the sights.

The day came for Dino to meet us at the hotel in Madrid, and, as my wife had feared, he was nowhere to be found. He’d given her a contact person in Italy. When she checked with them, they’d not seen or heard from him. We had no idea where he might be.

The morning we were preparing to load the bus for our trip to the airport, Dino pulls up in a taxi. I’m not sure we ever got the complete story as to where he’d been for a week, but at least he was back with us. While not able to regain the title of Duke, and unable to regain title to any land, he had at least obtained assurances from the government that he would receive a full scholarship for the rest of his college career. So the trip had not been a complete waste.

After a brief discussion, we headed for the airport for our return flight. With groups like this, my wife always made sure we had plenty of time before boarding, so we were there to check in several hours earlier than required. As she gathered everyone's travel documents and tickets prior to checking the group in, it was discovered that Dino did not have his I-20, which is the written student visa.

Any time a student in the US on a student visa leaves the country but is planning on re-entering, the written I-20 must be with them. And Dino remembered leaving his on his bed back in the dorm in Massachusetts. Without that paper, Dino would not be able to re-enter the US. In fact, without it, he couldn't even get on the plane.

Knowing she had about two hours for the Lord to work miracles, my wife checked the rest of the group in, and then phoned the US Embassy in downtown Madrid. The first hurdle to cross was to deal with the fact that it was a national holiday in Spain, and the Embassy was closed. Fortunately, someone 'happened" to answer the phone, and agreed to let her through the gate to see what could be done. The next question was how to give credence to her claim that she represented a college from the US. She never traveled abroad without letterhead stationery from the school. So she promptly wrote a letter on a sheet of the paper, signed it, and headed downtown in a taxi, Dino in tow.

At the Embassy, step one was convincing the Marines at the gate that someone was expecting her on a holiday. Finally a phone call was made from the guard post, and the door was opened. Inside, after a brief conversation, a temporary travel document was provided for Dino, and it was back to the airport. Our plane was about to start the boarding process when they returned. Dino quickly checked in, and we all made it home safely.

Having claim to an I-20 wasn't sufficient. Dino was supposed to keep it with him. Having my name written some time ago in the Lamb's Book of Life is only the beginning. I've got to keep it there (keep the Lamb with me). There are a number of warnings in the scriptures about "not losing your crown" or “falling away”, or "losing my first love." Retaining our passports into heaven requires constant attention; it is a continual process.

Don’t leave home without it.

Dr. G

Be Careful What You Grab!

2007-12-10T20:33:00.001-05:00

My wife and I have a satellite dish that provides us access to five religious TV channels. We get a lot of enjoyment out of all of them. Several of them, at the hourly breaks, often have short musical interludes with video clips of nature that have Bible texts superimposed on them. There is one clip that I see quite frequently that catches my eye. It has a flower with an insect with a yellow and black-striped abdomen. I suspect that many people who see it think, “There is a bee/wasp on that flower.” However, in reality, the insect is a species of hover fly (Family Syrphidae). Most members of the family mimic stinging insects. Not because they are dangerous like the bee or wasp, but because the mimicry causes other creatures to leave the flies alone.

I used to teach an environmental awareness class while I was a biology professor. We’d take occasional walks in the spring, learning how to “see” nature, to become more observant, and I used to enjoy catching these “bees” with my bare hands. It helps to know the difference between the real and the mimic.

Another insect I would do this with was somewhat larger, and to the casual observer, appeared to be a bumble bee. This one, however, was a member of the Sphinx moth family. Unlike most moths, this creature had only a few scales on its wings, and they were in a pattern like the veins in the bumble-bee wing. With the body colored like the bumble-bee, this moth, which could have made a tasty meal for a bird, was able to probe among the petunias with impunity. I still remember hearing students gasping in surprise when I’d reach down and casually cup one in my hand.

Mimicry. In both these cases, the mimic was disguised as a more harmful creature to gain protection. But mimicry can also go the other direction: the harmful can be disguised as a benign creature to gain surprise over its prey. Some of the praying mantises of the tropics are great examples of this: disguised as leaves so the unsuspecting prey insects wander close and never know what got them. Another example would be the predacious caterpillars that mimic twigs, and snatch passing flies.

In the spiritual realm, Christ warned His followers to be on the watch for mimics. Not the harmless disguised as the dangerous to gain protection; rather, the harmful disguised as the harmless to more readily catch prey for Satan. Of course, we’ve all heard of “wolves in sheep’s clothing.” Some of us have even seen such.

Even though the syrphid flies and sphinx moths resemble bees or wasps in their appearance, they still behave like flies and moths, not bees and wasps. Likewise, wolves in sheep’s clothing may appear like sheep, but their behavior is still that of wolves. “By their fruits ye shall know them.” Nature is full of deceit; so is the human experience. Satan doesn’t always roar; sometimes he buzzes, and sometimes he lies quietly in wait. Tragically, “I don’t see…” might be the last thought the prey has.

Don’t be fooled by leaves with legs, or sheep with pointed ears.

Dr. G

I Hope I Don't Get Tossed Out Onto The Deck

2007-11-26T21:29:00.000-05:00

Momma Kitty has been with us since she was born in our barn in Walla Walla, Washington, about 14 years ago. There, she basically lived outside and in the barn except for the occasional “sneak” into the house to play with the kids in one of their bedrooms (She was our daughter’s cat). You see, my wife is allergic to cats. And she doesn’t care for their hairs on everything. Or scratched furniture. So it was that Momma Kitty didn’t become an inside cat.

When we moved from Washington to the south, the family and belongings preceded me because of my job situation. I followed three weeks later in a pick-up truck filled with bicycles, lawn equipment, one Australian Shepherd dog… and Momma Kitty. MK (as I’ll call her) got out of her traveling cage to be held in Boise, ID, Boulder, CO, and St. Louis, MO. She’s a gentle cat and a great traveler. However, when she reached our new home, she found a change of affection had occurred – our daughter had come across an eight-week old kitten, and Momma Kitty had been replaced.

The new cat, a female dubbed “Louis” (pronounced Louie) was allowed to live in our daughter’s downstairs bedroom for about five years. The two cats never did get along. MK was relegated to the garage and the outside. About five years ago, our daughter (and Louis) moved away, and the cat eventually became our granddaughter’s. We were up in Maryland this past weekend, and, because of some required moving into housing that doesn’t allow cats, a crisis had arisen. What to do with our granddaughter’s cat?

Of course, Louis came home with us yesterday. The rule still stands: no cats in the house. Louis is de-clawed, and there would be a significant price to pay if anything happened to her. We couldn’t just put her on the front porch and expect her to stick around. So MK got moved out of the garage for Louis’ benefit. I’ve made a nice insulated box on the covered deck for Momma Kitty. Her food and water are right there. But last night the wind blew, and the rain poured. And even though her spot on the deck stayed nice and dry, Momma Kitty was one bummed-out cat this morning. You might say she got moved out of her comfort zone, and was none too pleased about it.

I wondered today how I would feel if the Lord moved me out of my comfort zone abruptly. Seems like He’s done that a few times in the past to a few folks, if I recall my Bible stories right. Why has He left me in this comfortable situation? Why haven’t I moved out of it on my own? Does Satan want me to stay in the garage, in my comfort zone, out of sight? Am I any good to the Lord there, I wonder? I guess these are some things for me to think about over the next few days.

By the way, has anyone seen my clothes brush?

Dr. G

Don't Base Your Faith on Models

2007-11-24T15:43:00.000-05:00

I was about 8 years old when I got my first model airplane. I’d been out to a hobby store that had a large model train layout with my father and brother, and discovered that there were models young boys could build. What I got was a balsa-wood model of an F-86 fighter jet, at the time being used in Korea by the US forces.

Of course, a balsa-wood model for young hands wouldn’t have many details, but I didn’t realize this. I was happy, and ran around the house shooting down enemy planes with my jet.

Few years later, I got a newer model; this time it was plastic, and had far more details. And many more pieces. A couple of which I broke. Plus a few I didn’t know where to put. But I was happy, and thought I had the best model there was. So once again, I ran around the house shooting down enemy planes with my jet. Whenever someone noticed or mentioned that one of the pieces was damaged or missing, I got upset. They were criticizing my model, with which I’d shot down many enemies.

One of our neighbors was an Air Force test pilot assigned to the Boeing Airplane Company in Seattle. One day he took his son, my father, brother and me down to Boeing Field to tour several Air Force planes that were on display for a few days. There was a big tanker plane, which was used for mid-air refueling. We enjoyed it. Next to it was a B-47, the US’s first active jet bomber. Now that was cool. To exit the bomber, we had to climb down out of the bomb bay. When I got down, my father turned me around to see what was sitting next to the bomber.

It was a real F-86. By now I was old enough to recognize that my model could never really show every detail about a real jet airplane. But I still was amazed at how much more detailed the real thing was than my humble model.

Some time ago this series of events came back into my memory as I tried to grapple with something in the scriptures. I’ve found there are a number of events or concepts in the Bible that the Lord hasn’t fully explained. As a consequence, various individuals besides me have tried to come up with models to try to show how God accomplished what He’d done. And I noticed that sometimes these folks got so attached to their models that if someone else pointed out a problem, the model maker would get upset as if the other person had attacked his reality. Much like I got upset when someone noticed a missing piece on my model.

From this I learned that when God gives only partial information on how He did something, or how He will do something, it’s OK to conjecture up to a point. But I need to keep my model separate from reality. It says in the scriptures that the Lord has a thousand ways of doing things that I can't even imagine. So as a scientist or a Christian, I can make models all I want as to how Creation took place, or how the Flood came about, or how Christ walked on water, or how He changed the water into wine, or…

What is more important than my models is that I have faith in God’s reality, and leave the details to Him. I recognize that any model, any explanation I can come up with will fall far short of His reality. Criticize my model? Go ahead. I have my faith set on the real thing.

Now if I can just get this glue off my fingers…

Dr. G

NEXT!

2007-11-17T22:32:00.000-05:00

It’s something we are forced to do repeatedly every day. We get to do it at many intersections. We have to do it when we go to the bank. Go to MacDonald’s? Gotta do it there. Get gas in the car? Often have to do it there. I guarantee you’ll do it at an airport. It is something we struggle to teach our children here at school and at home. And yet it is not something we are inclined to do automatically. What is it? Waiting for our turn.

On my way to school every morning, I have to deal with several intersections where I’ve got to wait my turn. One involves a traffic light where, chances are I’ll have to wait to make a left turn. At the intersection adjoining my school, there is a four way stop where I have to take my turn. And quite frequently I meet those drivers (as you probably do, too) who never learned in Kindergarten, “Take your turn!”

When our children are leaving school and heading for the buses in the afternoon, they have trouble staying in line, often because they can’t wait and take their turns. When children approach the teachers to turn in papers or to ask questions, do you think they can quietly line up and take turns? Not on your life!

Have you ever wondered if there are going to be lines in Heaven? Now there’s a frightening thought – an eternity of waiting (I get practice for this one every time I go to the doctor’s office!). Somehow, I think God will have a mechanism so that waiting won’t occur. I sort of smile when I see the many paintings of children with the lion and lamb sitting at Jesus’ feet in the earth made new. Have you ever noticed there’s never a crowd” Only a handful of children? Where are the multitudes of the redeemed? And yet the concept of only a few with Jesus at any point in time is so appealing.

In our understanding of space and time, and the laws of physics, we can’t conceive of such a thing. Yet those same laws would reject the possibility of Peter, yet alone Christ, ever walking on water. What about floating axe-heads in the Old Testament? It couldn’t have happened under the laws of physics which apply to us. Yet somehow, the Lord made it happen. I am convinced that the Lord must have access to yet another set of laws, and probably another time-space dimension, that science-fiction writers can only dream of.

Fortunately, I don’t have to explain how God will deal with such issues. I only have to have faith that He is able. Which brings up a chorus we used to sing ( you may have, too) many years ago: “He’s Able.” But I won’t sing at you. Instead, I will only encourage you to believe. I don’t know how, but I believe that the Lord will find a way to eliminate the “wait-your-turn” issue in heaven. But if He doesn’t, I guess I’ll just put to practice all the experience I’ve had waiting my turn down here. Sure beats the alternative.

“We are now serving number Forty-seven.” Number Forty-seven? I’m number Eighty-three!

Dr. G

GODIENCE

2007-11-14T18:18:00.000-05:00

It was a word I’d never heard before. I was listening to a preacher speaking before a Youth Congress in Baltimore a number of months ago. He had been speaking about the night Herodias’s daughter, Salome, had danced before King Herod and others at a banquet. If one reads the record carefully, it is quite plausible that John the Baptist probably would not have been in prison except for Herod’s fear of Herodias. Herod enjoyed listening to John, and considered him to be a good (even holy) man. Herod protected John, in a sense, and perhaps wanted to release him. But his fear of Herodias was too great.

During the funeral service for President Gerald Ford, about the same time last year, I heard Tom Brokaw, the former NBC news anchor, say of Ford, “He always tried to do the right thing. He didn’t play to the gallery.” Ford wasn’t used to doing what was expedient. The English language has many euphemisms for choosing to do the wrong thing even when we know what is right. “Going with the flow”, ‘Not sticking one’s neck out”, “Going along with the crowd,” “Giving in to peer pressure.” “Playing to the gallery.” “Afraid to take a stand.”

Thinking to impress his guests, Herod promised the tantalizing dancer that she could have whatever she wished, up to half of his kingdom. He never counted on Herodias, and soon found himself in a very tight spot because of his self-centeredness. We all know what happened. We read in Mark 6:26, “And although the king was very sorry, yet because of his oaths and because of his dinner guests, he was unwilling to refuse her.” NASB

I’ve had to take a closer look at how I choose my actions. When faced with taking a stand for right, am I willing to do what is right, or do I find it easier to play to the gallery? Do I base my actions on how I think others will respond, afraid to lose face to them, or do I choose

to perform for the audience of one, my Heavenly Father? He may be the only one in the audience, but His approval outshines everything else.

GODIENCE.

May your day tomorrow be the first of a long run of solo performances on His stage.

Dr. G

Know Your Territory

2007-11-10T22:33:00.000-05:00

My father was an explorer. I don’t mean that he would take off on trips to the Antarctic, or jungles of South America. He was the type of person who believed one should follow a road to see where it went. He liked to study maps, and we went on excursions almost weekly on Western Washington’s roads “less traveled”, or at least not previously traveled by our family. Back roads were his specialty.

After all of us kids grew up and left home and the folks retired, we’d get frequent reports of overnight trips over back roads (including logging roads) to places we’d never heard of, even though we’d all grown up in Western Washington. Since my father was also a railroad buff, it was not uncommon for us to hear of trips over logging roads to explore for abandoned railroad trestles left by logging companies before the 1950’s. About ten years ago, they moved from Washington State to Arizona where they’ve continued, at a slower pace, their ramblings until recently. They’re both now in their mid-80’s.

Not long ago I went to visit them and Dad and I started talking about some of the places we’d been years ago. He used to have a road map, the kind you used to be able to get from the precursors of convenience stores, known as service stations. It was obviously an old map. On it, over the years he had marked every road in Washington State he’d ever driven on. He’d even made the attempt to include all the logging roads, none of which had been printed on the map. With the exception of the far northeast corner of the state, there were virtually no printed roads devoid of his pen. Obviously, he knew that state.

Later, I was reading the Bible and read in 1 Corinthians where Paul said he was determined not to know anything but Christ among the church at Corinth. And I thought of the many times where Paul described his knowing the Lord. I thought of John, often referred to as the “beloved” apostle, who in his short epistles emphasized over and over again our need of knowing Christ. And I wondered, if a “map” of Christ, His nature, character, and life was available, would their versions be covered the way my father’s map of Washington had been?

One of my favorite authors once wrote, “We would do well to spend a thoughtful hour each day contemplating the life of Christ, especially the closing scenes.” My father and I were able to reminisce of the many times we’d spent together on the roads of Washington. If I laid the road map of my life out, and spread over it the map of Christ, could I find many places we’d been together? Or would it be like that one corner of my father’s map of Washington, a place we didn’t really spend much time together?

May your day today be a wonderful experience walking with the Lord, and may your map with Him continue to grow daily.

Why can’t they make road maps that re-fold themselves?

Dr. G

Who Needs Winter?

2007-11-10T18:20:00.000-05:00

During our mid-winter break last February, my wife and I drove to Michigan to see our son. Anyone who drives in that direction from the south at that time of year can expect weather more wintry than what we are used to around here. So, by the time we reached Louisville, there was snow drifted in ditches and areas out of direct sunlight. By the time we reached Indianapolis, the ground in the open fields was mostly covered, and piles and ridges remained where snow plows had been. At South Bend, the ground was completely covered by 3-5 inches of snow, and piles several feet high were common in the parking lots. When we reached the small town where our son is going to school, side roads still had 2-3 inches of frozen slush in the center of each lane, and there was 9-12 inches of crusted snow on the ground

Our son lives about 12 miles inland from Lake Michigan. When the lake is not completely frozen over (typically) and the wind is blowing form the west or northwest (almost always), the moist air condenses to form clouds over the colder ground. Consequently, it is unusual to have sunny days during the winter. If the temperature is below freezing, one can expect frozen stuff to come from the clouds. So we were not surprised when we arrive to find it overcast, temperature at 31 degrees F, and quite windy. The first place we went was the women’s dormitory to pick up the key to our guest room. My wife’s only words as she got back into the car were, “I don’t miss this weather at all.”

Our first four years of teaching were spent near Flint, Michigan. Winters brought frequent snow, and sub-zero temperatures were not uncommon. Our next two years were in Oshawa, Ontario. Same story (we saw -19 F in both places). After that we moved to central Massachusetts for 14 years. Our second winter we had close to four feet of snow fall in one 24-hour period. It was typical not to see the bare ground for months at a time. From there we moved to SE Washington, where again we’d get snow storms for 8-16 inches at a time, and sub-zero temperatures. So we had seen winter before the trip to Michigan last February. Even the 3/8 inches of freezing rain we got while there was nothing new to us. But between the two of us, my wife and I repeated the same refrain (“I don’t miss this weather at all”) at least a couple dozen times during a four-day visit. It is great to have a warmer place to come home to.

During the past few months, if a person turned on a TV news program, they would find themselves bombarded by coverage of Britney Spears, and if not her, O.J. Simpson. And if not him, some other celebrity who had misbehaved. Or the wild-fires in California. Or never-ending news of the carnage in Iraq. Or Darfur. Or some mall or school here in the states, or Finland, or Venezuela had experienced tragedy. Or the collapse of the environment. Or…

Revelation 21 and 22 have several verses which come to mind: “And I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea…And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying; and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” ”Then He who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’ And He said to me, ‘Write, for these words are true and faithful.’…And the city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it, and the Lamb is its light…And there shall be no more curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, and his servants shall serve Him…And there shall be no night there; They need no lamp nor light of the sun, for the Lord God gives them light. And they shall reign forever and ever.”

Harsh winter weather is only one thing to move away from. I don’t know about you, but I won’t really miss this old earth, either. It’s time to go home.

Now, if I can just keep the slush from freezing on the wipers…

Dr. G

There It Is Again!

2007-11-09T23:25:00.000-05:00

Back when I was a biology professor, the class I enjoyed teaching more than any other was Ornithology, the study of birds. The school at which I was teaching held graduation on the first weekend in May, and I scheduled my class to begin as soon as spring exams were finished. This allowed us to travel from central Massachusetts to Pt. Pelee National Park in Ontario, Canada. Pt. Pelee is one of the premier birding spots during spring migration, and the first ten to fifteen days of May are the peak of activity. So we were able to be there at the best time to do the field portion of the class.

The first day we’d spend looking at most every bird we saw, helping the students to learn a bird’s body regions, feather arrangement, and basic behavior which might be useful in identifying birds. An attempt was also made to teach students how to use binoculars properly – keeping the eye on the target and lifting the glasses into place. The next three days consisted of intensive birding from about 5:30 in the morning till dark. Not only did we work on learning birds by sight, but the students were also taught to recognize the calls/songs of at least the more common birds.

Days five and six were for the students to practice what they’d learned, since on day seven there was a field exam. While I encouraged them to work with me at least on day five, students could go throughout the park on their own, or stay with me as they wished both days. I gave them a general schedule where I’d be so they could decide how to use their time. Most students came to realize during the first few days that they had a greater chance of confirming their sightings and seeing unusual birds if they stuck with me.

One year it was kind of funny. As soon as a particular student would go into the nature center to use the restroom without me going inside also, something “good” for the list would pass overhead. One day it was a single Sandhill Crane; the next, a Peregrine Falcon. A year later, she was with a small group of former students that joined me on a pelagic (open ocean) trip to see some sea birds. The one time she went inside without me going in, we saw the only Sabine’s Gull recorded on that trip. Some folks never learn.

One year, the class included an engaged couple, neither of which were Biology majors. On day six, they decided they’d rather spend the day studying their field guides than looking at birds. So they stayed in camp, memorizing the details of the birds we’d seen the previous five days. Of course, when the final test was given, they realized that most birds don’t look exactly like the pictures in the book, nor do they always sit in the same position as the models used by the artists. It was not a pleasant experience for them.

And then there were the bird songs included in the test. I would choose only the more common ones the students had heard many times. And every time I heard one during the test, I would give them another chance: “There’s number #52 singing again.” Or, “You can hear #17 singing over in that clump of trees.” In fact, #52 became a rather frequent fixture in the department for several years.

I’ve drawn several spiritual lessons from those experiences. First of all, we’re more successful in our Christian walk if we stay with the Master. In fact, I would suggest that success apart from the Master is impossible. We’ll definitely miss something vital if we leave His side.

Secondly, knowing ABOUT Christ is not the same as KNOWING Christ. In fact, there are several passages in scriptures where some folks who thought they should be accepted by Him were rejected. As He Himself put it, “I do not know you.” We’ve got to have the personal experiential knowledge of Him. I guess I would put it this way: Christianity isn’t something we are to do; it is what we are to be.

And finally, we’ve got to learn to recognize His voice. How else can we be sure it is Him we are following? Parent penguins can pick their offspring out of a humongous flock of chicks by voice alone. Can I pick His voice out of the clamor and din surrounding me each day? I must practice listening until I recognize it every time.

It is my hope that each time you see a bird from now on, it will remind you to stick close to Him. Happy Birding! Dr. G

Good 'ol # 52

Know the Situation

2007-11-09T04:20:00.000-05:00

It was early April, and I was headed west on US 83 along the Rio Grande River in Texas. I was scheduled to attend the national Registrar’s convention in Dallas, but had flown down early to spend a few days birding the lower Rio Grande Valley (between Laredo and Brownsville). I was using the town of McAllen as my base, and that is where I had rented the car at the airport the night before. This day I wanted to be just south of Falcon Dam (about halfway to Laredo) by 8:00 a.m.

I had set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. When it went off, I arose, got some breakfast next door to the motel, and was on the road as quickly as I could be. Now I was coming into the small town of Roma, where the speed limit dropped down to 35mph. Driving carefully (you can never tell how closely the police watch speed limits in small southern towns), I followed the highway as it became a twisting, turning main street of the town. I saw the “School Zone – Speed Limit 25 MPH – 7:30-8:30 am” sign, and saw the school on a triangular block to my right. I quickly checked the clock on the dashboard: 7:23. Good. The reduced speed limit didn’t go into effect for seven minutes. I continued on my way sure that all was well.

Moments later, I noticed a car behind me with flashing lights. Puzzled, but noticing there were no other cars headed our direction, I pulled over. A pleasant sergeant came to my window and thanked me for holding my speed so closely to the posted 35 mph. He said he’d clocked me for about three blocks. Next he asked me if I had noticed the School Zone sign. I assured him I had, and mentioned that I was a teacher, and that school zones were important to me. He next asked me why I hadn’t slowed down.

I told him I had checked my clock, and I had plenty of time. He suggested I re-check the clock. That is when I really got concerned. As it turned out, the clock on the dash was about 15 minutes slow. When getting into the car the night before and, again, that morning, I hadn’t compared it to my watch. I had just assumed it was right.

Have you ever been in a situation where you assumed you were doing “the right thing”, only to have it end up not being the right thing? My intentions were good, and, based on my understanding of the situation, my actions were right. The problem was that I simply didn’t fully understand the situation, because I had been deceived about the time. In John 13:17, Christ is quoted as saying, “If you know these things, happy are you if you do them.” While He was speaking of a different set of “things”, I think the concept applies to what happened to me that day. I knew how fast I was going. I knew what a “School Zone” was; I knew how it was supposed to affect what I was doing. But I didn’t know the time. So there I was, NOT happy at knowing these things.

Of course, in the spiritual world, the concept has multiple applications. It is imperative that we always know what the spiritual time is, and what the situation is. Only then can we truly be happy; only then can we be safe spiritually.

Have you checked your spiritual clock recently?

Dr. G

Twitchers

2007-11-08T20:24:00.000-05:00

In the birding world, they’re sometimes referred to as “twitchers.” Now, anyone who is actually into birding will keep lists of birds they’ve seen. Life lists, continent lists, country lists, state lists, year lists, month lists, trip lists, Big Day lists, yard lists. There was a time when I kept all sorts of these lists. And I still have them, on a couple of the old floppies we used to use with Apple 2e+ computers. The only list I even attempt to bother with these days is my yard list.

Back when I was an active birder, I was on several hot-lines that would provide me with information of unusual or rare sightings, and I’d have my choice of going off to chase a possible new bird for my list(s) or not. Usually I didn’t. Oh, there were times. Like driving three and a half hours from Walla Walla, Washington to north of Spokane, Washington, in the hope of seeing an owl from the north, not commonly seen in the states, sitting in the top of a tree a hundred yards from the road (it was still there when I arrived!). Or driving two and a half hours southward from Central Massachusetts onto Cape Cod, and then taking a one-hour ferry ride out to Nantucket Island and hiring a taxi to take me to the far end of the island in the hope of seeing an accidentally situated African Egret (it was nowhere to be seen when I got there). It is very useful to keep in touch with the hot lines, because they can also inform you if the bird has flown off, been eaten by a cat, or more correctly identified as an abnormal common bird. This can save gas and nerves.

Birding can be quite competitive. There are a number of organizations on the national, state, and local levels that regulate, judge, and accept/deny claims of individual sightings as well as record lists. There are well defined rules as to what can and cannot be included on the lists. And those who really wish to be at the top of the birding world subscribe to many hot-lines, each of which is checked regularly. When a bird not on their current lists shows up on a hot-line, such birders will drop everything to go “collect” the sighting. And if, horror of horrors, they’re not able to go (job is in the way, no transportation, spouse put a foot down, etc.), they begin to twitch. It’s a type of nervous tic. Hence the term, “twitchers”. I’ve known and associated with several such individuals (at least one of whom lost his wife due to his constant running off to see birds).

The other day, while reading my Bible, I came across a passage that made me wonder if there aren’t some twitchers in the Christian world. In Matt 24:23, Christ said, “Then if anyone says to you, ‘Look, here is the Christ!’ or ‘There!’ do not believe it.” And in verse 26, “Therefore if they say to you, ‘Look, He is in the desert!’ do not go out; or ‘Look He is in the inner rooms!’ do not believe it.”

It seems that many of the birding twitchers who miss their targets haven’t really studied up on the characteristics and habits of their “prey”. Sometimes they miss important pieces of information in the directions. Are there individuals in the Christian realm, who’ve likewise failed to study up on the characteristics and habits of Christ, missing a piece of information, and thus are rushing around trying to get a confirmed sighting?

Allow me to provide you with a reliable hot-line tip. There are at least three places where any individual can find Christ at any time:
#1 John 14:2-3 In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. Christ urged His followers to believe Him when He said H was returning to heaven to prepare a place for them. By faith, we can see Him there. He has promised that He is there.

#2 John 5:39 You search the Scriptures, for in them you think you have eternal life; and these are they which testify of Me. Christ testifies that we can find Him in the Scriptures. We can find Him as often as we wish; we can learn about Him, study Him, and listen to His voice.

#3 Rev 3:20 Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him and he with me. If I have accepted Him as my Savior, He dwells within me. He has promised, and he is faithful.

So, you see, for the Christian there is no need to dash about willy-nilly, not knowing for sure where the treasure is. He isn’t here today, gone tomorrow. There is no reason to be unfamiliar with Him. We don’t have to travel great distances to find Him, nor do we need binoculars. We don’t even have to leave the house!

The only reason for Him to be a rare sighting is if we don’t look for Him.

Dr. G

There Are So Many Sounds ...

2007-11-01T22:09:00.000-04:00

The school at which I teach has one self-contained classroom for students with special needs. There are about a dozen children in the classroom. One child has been here two years. He is a very pleasant boy, but had a habit last year that, for reasons I did not understand, caused an inner distress to me. He was learning to vocalize, and frequently would sing out on a single pitch. My office is just off the cafeteria and he would do this frequently and for extended times during both breakfast and lunch. If one only heard him, you might think that he was distraught. But the fact was he was happily enjoying the sound of his voice. And in spite of my knowing this, it bothered something deep within my soul. It took me almost the full year to place the origin of my discomfort.

The summer I turned 15, my older brother and I had gone to visit my mother’s parents for two weeks. My grandfather had led a colorful life. In the late 1930’s he was a forest ranger in New Mexico. By 1940 he was ranching outside Dolores, Colorado. Then toward the later 1940’s he’d become a carpenter on large construction projects such as McNary Dam and Chief Joseph Dam on the Columbia River, and other dams on other rivers in the Northest. When we went to see them that summer, he was working on the Oxbow Dam on the Snake River, just upstream from Hell’s Canyon. My grandparents lived in a little town called Halfway, Oregon. In my teenage wisdom I was sure they’d misnamed the town. It wasn’t halfway to anywhere. Anyone could see it was all the way to nowhere!

As it happened, the union laborers at the construction site went on strike while we were visiting, so our grandfather was free to go places with us. He’d heard that the ranches in the region of Burns, Oregon were overrun with jackrabbits, and the ranchers were pleading for people to come shoot as many as they could. Hunting was one of my grandfather’s greatest pleasures, so he gathered us two boys, my grandmother, several changes of clothing and some 22-caliber rifles into the pickup and off we went. He figured we could make our destination in about four hours. Alas, that was not to be.

He’d gotten my brother and me baseball caps to wear, since we’d be riding in the back of the pickup and he wanted to keep the sun off our faces. I’ve never really like baseball caps, so I wasn’t too concerned when the wind blew my cap off several times. The problem was I didn’t tell my grandparents when I lost my hat. By the time one of them noticed it was gone, we’d be several miles down the road. I remember us back-tracking at least twice, looking for that light-blue head adornment. After the second time, I was strongly encouraged not to let it happen again. So, because of me, we only made it as far as Vale, Oregon. There, while getting gas, my grandfather learned that the sage-brush covered ranches in that area were also plagued by jackrabbits. So we quickly pulled into a motel, and after a brief supper, went out to start shooting.

When teaching my kindergarten ESOL students, I’ve used a song that begins “There are so many sounds that you can hear, down on the farm.” As we work through all the typical farm animals we go through the sounds each makes. When I bring up the rabbit, I ask the kids what kind of sound a rabbit makes. And I get blank expressions, because none of them have ever heard a rabbit make any sound. Nor have any adults I’ve asked.

Between us two boys and my grandfather, we probably killed upwards of 300 rabbits in a little over two days of shooting. I didn’t say hunting, because the rabbits were so thick, you could turn in almost any direction at any time and probably see a rabbit within shooting range. And that is when I made a discovery that was to haunt me for many years. You see, rabbits can make sounds. When they’re badly wounded, that is. It sounds like a mid-range pitched wail, unwavering, unnerving. I never enjoyed shooting animals after that. And that was the sound that our little student was bringing back to my memory. To him, it was a joyful noise; to me it was a sound of inward sorrow.

When Christ approached the Temple mount that week before his crucifixion, the children sang out in joy, welcoming the Son of David. When the religious leaders asked Jesus to make the children stop, His response was that if he did, the very rocks would cry out. Who’s ever heard a rock cry out? Probably as many people who’ve heard a rabbit cry out. But this old earth is waxing old, and nature is beginning to cry out for deliverance. All of creation is looking forward to the end of sin, for relief from the terrible burden. There are so many sounds that we can hear, especially if we listen through spiritual ears. May He come soon.

Have a great day!

Dr. G

Touchdown!

2007-10-25T20:44:00.000-04:00

I don’t know about you, but I watched a little football this past weekend. I don’t really have a “favorite” team; I just like to see well-executed games. Besides, I learned long ago that, no matter who wins, the sun will still come up, my dog will still love me, and I’ll still have to pay the electric bill.

One of the things that amuses me as I watch games, be it professional or college, are the fans that are compelled to decorate themselves with masks, wigs, hats, costumes, face paint and/or body paint (don’t these people ever catch pneumonia?). These are the folks that one might call “rabid” fans of their teams. During the game, one tends to see certain ones over and over. I like to notice their composure as the score tends one way and then the other. While they have their heroes, and cheer lustily when things are going well, it is not uncommon to see/hear negative responses if their team/heroes are not doing well.

I’ve tried to find comparisons between sports fans and Christians. The Christian, too, has his/her team and Hero. Like the sports fans, we have our “pep” rallies – but we call it church. There we are clued into the game plan, and hear exhortations to “hold that line”. But it seems we approach ”the game” a little differently.

First of all, any sports fan knows that on any given day, any given team might beat the other. So each game is approached with at least a little bit of fear of defeat. But for the Christian, each game day (that is, every day) can be faced with the knowledge that our Hero has already vanquished the foe, and as long as we stick with the team, there can be no defeat for us.

Again, like the sports fan, we have our “game” face. But instead of painting our faces red and white, or bright orange, and running around “half-nekked” as the more rabid football fans do, our game face comes from the inner-dwelling Spirit. We need only think of our Hero to have our faces covered by smiles of love.

And, finally, during the game, instead of chanting about destroying the other team, or worse yet, booing our team and Hero from time to time if things look like they might be going badly, we need only believe, praise our team, and speak words of encouragement to one another. That doesn’t mean that the game won’t have its rough moments. It doesn’t mean that from time to time it may not seem the other team is about to win. But we have a fast-forward button that has allowed us to see the end of the contest. And our team wins! What a game.

Now, go down and out. I’ll get the ball to you. On four!

Dr. G

No Problem!

2007-10-22T20:44:00.000-04:00

I apologize for the length of this posting, but feel it is a story that must be shared.

At the end of the previous posting, I was stranded at the Belize City International Airport with four young Biology majors in my care. We had missed our flight out of the country, and now four sets of eyes looked to me to figure out our next move. My first step was to ask the Lord for guidance. I would like to recount for you the ways the Lord intervened in our behalf.

When we first arrived in Belize, we’d stayed at one of the few hotels in Belize City that was really safe at the time. I’d noted the cost: $47 for a room for two. Now standing in an airport lobby, my calculations quickly told me a hotel was out of the question. Against my recommendations, all four students had spent every cent they had for souvenirs. I had two $20 travelers’ checks. None of us had any credit cards with us.

First, I thought, we needed to get reservations on the next day’s flight. So I approached the ticket counter, which, with the departure of our plane, was now rather unbusy. When I told the ticket agent I needed to get reservations, she smiled and said that she couldn’t do that. Reservations had to be made at the airline's central office in downtown Belize City. So we went outside to get a taxi to take us into the city, knowing that this would take $10 from our scant funds. The first driver we approached looked at us and our gear. “No problem,” he said. We filled the trunk of the taxi, put three guys in the back seat with more luggage in their laps, then one student and I got in the front seat with the driver. Off we went.

We arrived at the airline office about 12:30. I asked the taxi driver if we could leave our gear in his car until we got the reservations. “No problem,” was his reply. He picked up his newspaper, and entered the office with us.

The office was about 35 feet deep and 25 feet wide. At the very front was a waiting area with about six chairs. Just beyond, on either side was about 15 feet of counter, joined together about 10 feet from the back of the room by a railing. Beyond the railing were three or four desks. As we entered, there were two young women behind the counter on our right. Another three were sitting at the desks in the back of the room. I approached the counter where the two were, explaining that we had missed our flight and needed to get reservations for the next day to Miami and then on to Boston. With a smile, one of the young women explained that we were at the freight desk, and they couldn’t help us. Reservations needed to be made at the counter across the room. We looked over there to notice no one was behind the counter. Then she added, “They’re on siesta right now, and will return at 1:30.” Not knowing what else to do, I told my guys to sit down, and went to explain the situation to the cab driver. “No problem,” was his response. So we all sat down.

After a few minutes I thought maybe I could run to a bank and cash one of the traveler’s checks so I could at least pay the cab driver. I returned to the freight counter and asked if there was a bank nearby where I could cash a check. Smiling again, the lady directed me around the corner and down one block. I told the cabbie where I was going. He nodded, and again said, “No problem.” I began to wonder if that was his response to all questions/comments put his direction, or maybe the sum total of his English.

I walked to the bank, only to discover that they, too, were on siesta until 1:30. I returned to the airline office knowing in advance how the cabbie would respond. The counter girl only smiled as I came back in. Maybe she had thought a walk in the hot sun would be good for me. At least it was air conditioned inside, perhaps explaining some of the cabbie’s comfort.

At 1:30 the three girls who’d been sitting at the desks behind the railing walked to the reservation counter, looked in our direction and said, “May we help you?” Somewhat taken aback by their sudden interest in helping us, I again explained our plight. The apparent leader’s response was, “I’ll have to send a Tel-ex to Tegucigalpa (capital of Honduras – we were flying on the national airline of Honduras). I’ll have an answer for you after 4:30. Where are you staying?” I almost blurted, “Here in your office,” but decided against it.

Then the thought hit me, “My denomination probably has a couple of churches here in this city. I’ll try there.” So I asked the kind lady if I could use her phone book. I quickly looked under Seventh-day Adventist Church, and discovered not only several churches, but a mission office. Calling the latter, I was pleasantly surprised to be answered by the mission president himself (he explained his secretary was on siesta). I told him how we’d been stranded and needed a place to stay for the night.

“We have a guest room here that can sleep two. We normally charge $20 for it, but I’ll let you have it for tonight for $10.” I didn’t remind him that there were actually five of us, but jumped at the thought of some kind of shelter at that price. So I got the address, thanked him and hung up. Then I told the lady at the ticket counter that we would just come back at 4:30. Next we had to deal with the cab driver.

I walked over to him, and asked him if he could deliver us to another address (on the other side of town, of course) still for the original price of $10. “No problem.” I was beginning to wonder about this guy. Nothing seemed to faze him. We went back out to the car, got situated, and I named our destination. “It is the Seventh-day Adventist mission office. Do you know where it is?” Now his answer really shocked us, “No problem. My daughter is the secretary there!”

After stopping by the bank, we were taken to the mission. We were met by the president, who looked at us and all our gear. He smiled and shook his head in unbelief. “It is really small, but you’re welcome to it,” he said. It was up an outside flight of stairs above a shop or warehouse. He was right. Two could fit on the bed. Three could sleep on the floor, one at either side and one at the end of the bed. All the gear had to go into the bathroom. We left one small trail to the toilet. Before the cab driver could get away, I asked if he could be there in the morning at 8:30 to take us back to the airport. I wanted to get checked in before I woke up in the middle of a bad dream. Of course, his answer was, “No problem.” And every time with a smile.

We were now down to $20, ten of which had to be saved to get to the airport the next day. I went to the Mission president to see if he knew of a place where we might be able to get at least five bites of food for $10. He mentioned a Chinese restaurant down two blocks and over one. But we had to hurry. Their siesta began at 2:30, and it was now about 2:00. So off we went. The Lord continued to bless us. The five of us were able to eat our fill for $7.50. We felt rich. Of course, that meant no supper or breakfast, but we were feeling pretty good right then.

Since we no longer had fare for a cab, we had to walk back to the airline office, a hike of about 30 minutes. When we arrived we were greeted with good news. We had reservations to Miami. From there to Boston, we’d be on stand-by. But at least New York now had assurances that he’d get out of the country! On the way back to our lodging, I spent our last $2.50 on a large bag of roasted peanuts and ten oranges. So now we had some supper and breakfast.

The next morning at 8:15, “No Problems” was at the bottom of the stairs polishing his car. We loaded up and headed for the airport. Once inside, we organized our gear, separating carry-on stuff from things to be checked. New York looked around and said, “Where are my scuba tanks?”

“Where did you put them?” he was asked. “The last time I saw them they were behind the door of the bathroom,” he said. “Did you put them in the taxi?” “No, I thought someone else did.” He quickly tore out the door. Our cabbie was in line for a fare into the city. Bless his soul, he took New York back to the mission office for the scuba tanks, and again returned to the airport, not wanting to charge New York. With all the gear now accounted for, we checked in and breathed a sigh of relief. It was 9:45. After that, our trip home was uneventful – No Problem!

Again, I apologize for the length of this narrative, but whenever I think back on it, I can see the hand of the Lord reaching out again and again. He is real, He is there, and He really does care. Knowing in retrospect that the cab driver was a true Christian, I can understand his constant response, “No problem.” You see, he began each day by turning everything over to the Lord. And to the Lord, nothing is a problem. Whatever comes, if it has been turned over to Him in advance, we, too, can always say, “No problem!” We may not know when or how He will choose to resolve that which confronts us, but He can really be trusted. What more can we ask for?

May you next day be a “no problem” day.

Dr. G

(By the way, five of the seven students are now full-fledged physicians)

Get Me To The Gate On Time

2007-10-14T21:10:00.000-04:00

It was early January, 1983. I had taken a small group of students from the small New England college where I was teaching to Belize for a two week introductory course in tropical biology. There were two girls (a freshman Chemistry major and her sister-in-law, who had come to chaperone) and five guys (all upper-division Biology majors). We were to spend a week in the rain forest, and a week studying the coral reef offshore. With the exception

of Sister-in-law and
one fellow from up-state eastern New York, all had a fair amount of experience traveling. Belize, I should point out, had just recently received independence from Great Britain, and was one of the poorer countries in Central and South America.

The fairly primitive third-world conditions (especially in the rain-forest did not set well with Sister-in-law, and the only thing that really kept her from jumping ship was that if she went, her younger charge would also have to leave. Chemistry was having the time of her life. New York seemed to be doing Ok, although his eyes often looked like those of a deer caught in headlights. Overall, I judged the trip to have been a success and a positive experience for each until the day to leave.

I had organized the trip through an outfitter located just outside Boston. He had taken care of transportation needs, hotels, meals, boats and guides. As it turned out, it was to our good fortune that he happened to be at the same hotel the day we were to leave Belize for home.

It is about a four hour drive from the town we were in (Dangriga) to Belize City, where the international airport is. Our flight was to leave at 11:30 for Miami where we had connections to Boston. We were to be picked up at the hotel by bus at 5:30 am. This would put us into the airport at 9:30, with plenty of time to check in. So at 5:10, I had everyone outside the hotel with the luggage, waiting for the bus to come. When the bus had not come by 6:00, I began to worry.

At 6:30, I went to the hotel room of our outfitter, and knocked. “What are you doing here?” was his sleepy greeting. Of course, in return I replied, “That’s what we’d like to know.” After some words not used in the Musings, and some cogitation on his part, he told me to get my group into the hotel dining room for some breakfast, and he’d look into matters.

As we were eating, he came in and said that a charter airplane would be at the hotel’s landing strip at 9:30. Seems that the hotel owner’s brother owned Maya Air, the “major” airline of Belize, and a plane was being dispatched for us. Considering it only takes 20 minutes from Dangriga to the international airport by plane, we were satisfied, finished our breakfast, and headed for the airstrip.

9:30 came. So did 9:45. Then 10:00. I ran back to the hotel to confirm that a plane was coming. Fully assured, I went back to the airstrip just as a plane came into view. But when it landed, we found it wasn’t our charter. It was nothing but a regularly scheduled flight that had room for only four, not the eight of us with all our gear. One of the guys played trumpet with a touring youth orchestra, and needed to be in Southern California the next day and was an experienced world-traveler. I put him on the plane. I needed to get the two girls out of the country before Sister-in-law came unglued. That left one seat. I took it. I mean, how could I lead if I stayed behind? Thus, I left four of my guys stranded in Dangriga until the next plane, and headed for Belize City.

When we reached the international airport, I checked in the three students I had with me for the flights, and patiently tried to prolong the departure of our plane, wondering where the other four students were. Finally, the airline personnel told me they had to send the flight. They had held it an extra 15 minutes the way it was. I had no idea what had happened to the rest of my group. The plane left the gate and began taxiing down the runway for takeoff. Just then, four huffing and puffing college students with back packs, scuba gear and a strong desire to be on that plane came running in the front door. Too late! Their charter had landed at the city airport, not the international airport, and they had had to take a 20-minute taxi ride from one side of the city to the other. So there we were, four students plus a professor, with $40 in my pocket. Theirs were empty.

Three of the guys took it fairly well. New York, however, had trouble dealing with the idea that he couldn’t leave the country. His face turned red and he began hyperventilating, gasping; tears welled up in his eyes, and he just stood there saying, over and over again, “That’s my plane! That’s my plane!” He had been left behind. He expressed anger, fear, depression, even despair.

The scriptures describe in several places the response of those who’ve not prepared to meet the Lord when He comes. Some can’t believe they’re not to be included, and try to point to their many “good” works. Some cry for the rocks and mountains to fall on them, because they can’t bear to see the face of the Redeemer they’ve rejected. Some turn on those they’d been trusting as their guides who didn’t know how or where to lead. In a small measure, I saw it all in the face of my student that day 20-plus years ago. It wasn’t pleasant. It sure would have been better to be on that plane. Likewise, it will be a whole lot better to be going with our Lord. May you have that necessary relationship daily so your flight is confirmed and you’re all set to go.

Wait a minute. Where did I leave my boarding pass?

Dr. G

I Never Did Like Green Beans

2007-10-13T18:26:00.000-04:00

I’ve mentioned earlier that my older brother and I made several hiking trips in Mr. Rainier National Park as teenagers (see June 6 2007 posting, The Terror By Night). While our folks did support us some, we were required to come up with some of the financing, especially for the dehydrated foods we were to carry.

Now, my brother had a paper route, but I didn't have any sort of job. We received a modest allowance which met our basic personal needs. We did the lawn and washed the dishes, but that was expected of us, and we weren’t paid for these chores. That was our contribution to the family. So, to get money for our real wants, we had to come up with another plan.

One of our parents suggested that we join the dozens (hundreds?) of other teenagers that worked as day-laborers in the bean and berry fields in the greater Seattle area. I mean, bean picking had a tradition in our family, at least among our cousins who lived down in the Springfield, Oregon, area. They’d been earning spending money and clothes money that way for a number of years. So, with some reluctance, my brother and I agreed to give it a try.

The “hiring” area was down in the warehouse/railroad yard region of south Seattle. I don’t recall exactly where. But it was still dark when two boys with sack lunches were dropped off with the admonition to call home for a ride when we got back. We were slated to get on a bus, take the ferry over to Vashon Island, out in Puget Sound, to pick something. I don’t recall what.

I don’t know which of us made the suggestion. I’ll take the credit, since it was probably me. But bean picking didn’t sound like a whole lot of fun. There were lots of things in Seattle that the two of us had always enjoyed seeing and experiencing. Up on the waterfront was Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, near the main ferry terminal. It was filled with all sorts of wonders to gaze at (and buy, if one had a need) – a mummy of an Alaskan gold-rusher, mammoth tusks, real shrunken heads, ---WOW! There was the Pike Place Market. But that was an even greater walk up town. Somewhat closer were several Army Surplus Stores over on Fourth Avenue that we frequented, supplying ourselves with leftovers from both WWII and the Korean conflict. But they wouldn’t open for some time.

More in the direction of home was a large cold-storage company where folks could rent cubicles in which to store frozen items (hunting and major fishing was still quite big in the Northwest then, and home freezers weren’t really common). But the neat thing was that the facility had a large collection of frozen fish for viewing. We decided we could walk from where we were to where the fish were and be there about the time they would open up. So much for picking beans or berries.

We eventually headed for home, thinking to walk all the way. Of course, we’d misjudged the distance, and our trip to see the fish had removed us from the direct line to home. Thank goodness we’d thoughtfully brought our lunches! Our route toward home took us from the middle of the warehouse zone of south Seattle, westward across the Spokane Street bridge over the Duwamish River, into West Seattle, and then southward to White Center. It was mid-afternoon when we finally called our mother from there, still about six miles from home.

The whole experience reminds me of a story in the scriptures. Seems a father had two sons who he asked to go work in the fields. One said, OK, I’ll go, but didn’t. The other said, No, but went. On that day many years ago, my brother and I were like the one who said he’d go. But other interests got in our way. We were well intentioned when we left home that morning. Our interest waned, however, and we ended up more tired after a day of avoiding the work than we would have been had we gone out and picked beans. It takes a lot of effort to avoid doing work, sometimes.

It also takes effort to avoid doing the Lord's work. It isn’t hard to smile at a fearful or lonely child in the hallway. Nor is it difficult to say an encouraging word to those you meet wherever it is you meet people. If the Lord is in your heart, you’ll find Him popping out in things you say and things you do all the time.

Lord, fill my heart so I can work in your fields all the time, every day. May I avoid the temptation of going into cold storage to avoid your work. Lead my feet so they don’t walk miles out of the way to avoid what you’d have me to do. Help me to like green beans enough to go pick them in Your name.

Have a great day!

Dr. G

The Honor Guard at the Wedding

2007-10-10T18:07:00.000-04:00

Over the past weekend, my wife and I attended the wedding of our son up in Berrien Springs, MI. In spite of my bias, I must say it was a very happy event for all who were there. The weather was warm and sunny. Excuse me, I lie. It was hot (93 degrees) and sunny, and the formal pictures were taken outside. Otherwise, it was a wonderful weekend.

Berrien Springs, a rather small town, is the sight of Andrews University, where our son is attending the seminary. His new bride teaches sixth grade at a local 8-grade private school. She is an extremely popular teacher, and is really loved by the students (and their parents) she's taught during the last two years. This past year, our son was the worship director for the main church service at Pioneer Memorial Church (having perhaps 1,200 in attendance) on campus, with the responsibility for organizing everything except the sermon. He came away from the experience with high regard on the part of both the parishioners and the pastoral staff.

So it wasn't a surprise to us when we saw the outpouring of love and affection of the locals at the wedding. Mothers of two of the bride's students oversaw the entire weekend - the rehearsal dinner, wedding coordination, reception, decorations - I mean everything! Of course, they had the help of a number of others. It seems as if they couldn't do enough for our kids. Our son has an appointment with the Florida Conference of Seventh-Day Adventists to begin pastoring somehwere in that state next June. At least four Berrien folks told my wife and/or me that some of the locals would like to see the Michigan Conference to buy out our son's contract with Florida so they can keep the newlyweds in Berrien Springs. Wouldn't that be a hoot!

The ceremony was well done. The pastor did a great job, the music was fantastic. But to me, the highlight for our son and his bride was what the coordinator had organized with more than thirty sixth- and seventh-graders. For the Bridal Procession, the students lined either side of the main aisle as an honor guard, each holding a lit candle. When the bride reached the front of the church, her eyes seemed to be brimming with tears.

This took my mind to several Biblical themes. Of course, I remembered from the Book of Matthew the story of the 10 virgins with their lamps who went out to meet the bridegroom. But that didn't quite fit the situation, when I thought it over. Half of them weren't prepared, and they weren't there to honor the bride. So my mind went looking for another application. and I think that in the book Revelation there are some hints of what I was sensing, where it speaks of the wedding of the Lamb. He has returned to earth for His bride (the church) and then regressed to heaven. And that is where I envision the parallel with our new daughter-in-law's honor guard.

Can't you just see them? Innumerable glorious angels, reflecting the light and glory of Christ as they line the corridors of heaven honoring Christ and His Bride as they travel through space to their heavenly home. I so much want to see it, experience it. I don't know who'll cry out fo joy the more: the angels, those of us who make up the Bride, the Bridegroom or His/our Father who'll be standing waiting at the door. Dont' you want to be there?

And we won't have to worry about people tying tin cans to our fiery chariots or short-sheeting us on the honeymoon!

Dr. G

Avoid the swamps of life

2007-10-09T20:02:00.001-04:00

When I was about 14 years old, a small group of youth from the church I attended at the time was led by several fearless adults on a hike up a mountain located about 50 miles to the east of Seattle, Washington. While none of us were terribly experienced at hiking, we all had been walking since birth. And since there was a trail, we figured we were good to go. Anyone could climb Mt. Si. Or so we’d heard.

We had no trouble finally reaching the plateau atop the mountain, but we decided as a group not to attempt climbing the “haystack”, which is an uneven stub of rock sticking up about 50 feet high at the very top. After spending about a half hour looking down into the valley and town of North Bend about 3100 feet bellow, we headed back down. Somehow, we’d forgotten to drop bread crumbs, and, part of the way down at one switch-back in the forest, we wandered off-course. I do not know why someone didn’t notice right away that we were off the trail, but the whole group of about 15 was soon far off into the woods with no idea of exactly where we were.

We did have some idea of our general bearing, since we could tell where the sun was. We knew it to be setting in the west. We also knew that to the west at the base of the mountain there was a road. Since we were not experienced hikers, we really had no idea how far it was to the road, nor did we have a clue what lay between us and that road. But we figured that was our best bet.

Now, the trail to the top comes up the backside of the mountain, from the southeast. At the south base is a small triangular hill called Little Si. In the photo, it is the small dark triangular shape at the bottom right. Our group managed to struggle over the saddle between the mother mountain and Little Si, and directly into some rather large, swampy areas. For this we were not prepared.

Our leaders held several vigorous discussions about which way to go, with one adult male determined to go his way, and two others determined to go around another way. Us kids compromised and went straight ahead, getting wet above our shoe tops. The three adults went their ways, and eventually caught up to us, wet well above the knees.

Finally, about dusk, we reached the road. The men walked about two miles to get the vehicles while we kids and the one wife with us waited at the road-side. It had been quite an adventure, with all of the problems having been totally avoidable if we’d had a map and had paid attention to where we were putting our feet in the hurry to get down the mountain.

Have you ever had a mountaintop experience in your spiritual life, only to find yourself wandering on swampy ground only a short while later? Satan so loves to get us off the trail, to get our minds into his territory. How necessary it is to keep the Lord’s road map close at hand, and to make use of the Guide He has promised. May your walk with Him always be on higher ground.

Didn't we see that big tree over there just a few minutes ago?

Dr. G

A Word To The Reader

2007-10-09T19:58:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry for the silence of the past two weeks. With the new school year having started, my men's chorus practicing and going out for concerts, and a trip out of state to my son's wedding, things have been rather hectic for a while. It looks like my life will now settle down somewhat, and I hope to be able to get two to three postings out a week. Please bear with me, and keep reading.

Dr. J

Now, where has that mouse run off to?

Moving Right Along

2007-09-22T16:06:00.002-04:00

We had several heavy but local rainstorms yesterday afternoon. That always brings out woodland creatures that you may not see on a daily basis. Coming home last night, I saw quite a few frogs hopping across the road. This morning, as we left to go to Decatur, TN, where my men’s chorus was singing, we saw an Eastern box turtle just beginning to work its way across the road in the opposite lane. It is a dangerous undertaking for a turtle, crossing the road.

Squirrels and rabbits are fleet of foot and can quickly get out of the roadway, although they confuse easily and not infrequently reverse course right in front of you. Even raccoons and possums move quickly enough that, if they choose to, they can make it to a ditch fairly easily. But a turtle? If it even notices the car coming, its only possible response is to duck into its shell. Their self defense manuals don’t have a chapter on dealing with fast moving automobiles. So, whenever feasible, I will stop and move turtles to the side of the road they appeared to be heading toward. But sometimes, because of traffic or other circumstances, I can’t. This morning I couldn’t, and I commented to my wife as we continued on, “That may be a dead turtle when we come back this afternoon.”

There are several reasons I said what I did. First of all, on twisting, bobbing side roads like we were on, a person may not see a turtle in time to avoid hitting it. On the other hand, many drivers don’t really consider turtles to be objects to be avoided, and rather than swerving around them, they’ll hit the turtle if it is in their path. Even worse, there have been times I’ve seen drivers actually swerve to intentionally hit the turtle. That is being downright cruel, in my opinion.

There are some folks that are, in ways, like turtles. Nice to have around, quietly contributing what they can, inoffensive, perhaps a little slow in response, not prepared to put up much of a fight. It may be that they’ve always been that way; sometimes they’re that way because they’ve been beaten down too many times already. As we “drive” our lives around in this world, how do we respond to these people?

They may be students we work with in our schools; maybe they are members of our church. You may know one at work; I may rub shoulders with one in the store or the mall. But they’re there. As “drivers” on the road of life, do we have any responsibility toward them?

Have you ever stopped what you were doing to help one reach a goal? Have you ever made the effort to get out of the way of one (swerve around him or her) as they plodded on their way? Or have you or I, unthinkingly, stepped on their toes, or crushed them a bit by something we said or did? God have mercy on us if we have ever intentionally run one down for our own personal pleasure.

I would not denigrate anyone by equating them with a turtle. But the point remains: there are those out there who are all too often at the mercy of others. May we lovingly watch out for them. Our Elder Brother would want us to.

The turtle we saw this morning apparently made it OK. Now, get out of your shell and get moving!

Dr. G

Did Katy?

2007-09-20T17:33:00.000-04:00

It has finally cooled off enough in this part of the country so that we can open our windows at night to get some fresh air. I grew up in a home in a part of the country where it cooled off at night, and the thermostat was turned down at night. I prefer sleeping in a cool room. But with the cost of energy so high, it is prohibitively expensive to set the air conditioner for 65 or lower at night here in the south. So the cooler weather is welcome. The past few nights I've had my bedroom windows wide open, much to my enjoyment.

Late summer and early fall is also the time for katydids, a form of tree-dwelling grasshopper. So, with lots of trees around the house, I could hear them calling quite clearly last night through my open window. If you live in a part of the country that doesn't have katydids, or have never heard them, believe me when I tell you that a handful of them outside your bedroom window at night can keep you awake with their three-syllable call: "KATYDID, KATYDID, KATYDID."

As I listened to them last night, I suddenly became aware that one of the several cricket species in this area was answering with its two-syllable call: "GUILTY!, GUILTY!, GUILTY!" And there I lay, listening to a chorus of "KATY DID, GUILTY!; KATY DID, GUILTY!; KATY DID, GUILTY!" Occasionally, just to be contrary, one would add some doubt to the chorus by slipping in a four-syllable "KATY DIDN'T!" I wondered what Katy could have done to get a whole chorus of accusers.

Have you ever had a chorus of accusers? Sometimes, only one accuser, if he or she keeps it up long enough, can become like a chorus in the mind. A person who is continually accused, whether guilty or not, is likely to become somewhat depressed by the sound of "HE DID IT, GUILTY!" or "SHE DID IT, GUILTY!" Lord, keep me from becoming part of the accusing chorus.

You know, the Scriptures point out that, spiritually, we're all guilty. None of us come close to the glory of God. There is not one of us righteous on our own; as Paul points out, "No, not one!" I need to take up the refrain of the lost sheep: "HERE I AM, FIND ME; HERE I AM, FIND ME." That is a call that will never go unanswered by the Great Shepherd. Call on His name, and you shall be saved. That is all Peter had time to do as he began to slip beneath the waves: "Lord, Save me!"

So when you or I hear a chorus of accusers, whether they be human or imps of Satan (the Great Accuser of the bretheren), they need not depress us or cause us fear. The Gentle Shepherd has His arms around us. All is well.

In the big picture, ignore the accusers. They are but short-lived insects. If we cling to Christ, you and I can be eternal-lived!

Have a great day. By the way, don't forget to close the windows before you leave for work!

Dr. G