Do Me a Favor

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Wednesday, June 26, 2013

God is in Everything...

God is in everything…

It’s kind of a no-brainer to see God in everything today because we’re out in nature.  Well, the camper is out in nature, and it’s too hot to be outside, so this is as close as I get until it cools off later in the day.

But it is awesome to see His handiwork.  The beautiful hills covered with hundreds of shades of green; the majestic clouds sliding by high above, casting their shadows across the trees; the birds, big and small, some soaring, some gliding slowly, all looking for a bite to eat.

Yes, it’s easy to see God in this day. 

Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father keeps feeding them. Are you not worth much more than they?    Matthew 6:26 (AMP)

The Bible says that even though birds do not work for it, and therefore do not deserve it, God keeps feeding them.  He cares for each of his creatures, big and small, some soaring in their walks toward Him, some gliding slowly toward the prize of Jesus Christ, all looking for a bite to eat from God’s grace and loving kindness.

Pull up a chair and join us…
Photo by Cindy McGregor

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

The Wednesday Glide

I really tried,

       But my brain is fried.

My thinking cap died,

       My quips are snide.

My hands are tied,

       I cannot abide.

Next Wednesday will glide,

       The words will not hide…

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

A Marriage Lesson

Many years ago, when the kids were in grade school and I worked full-time, I complained bitterly that my husband was not helping enough around the house.  I would hint and ask, ask and hint.  Nothing.  He wasn’t just naturally going to help out.  I didn’t think I should have to ask.  Couldn’t he see that things needed to be picked up?  Couldn’t he see the dust on every surface?

The fact that he was working 12-hour rotating shifts, his usual excuse, was to me pretty lame.  I was working full-time, too, you know.

At that time, I worked for our local mental health center as a secretary.  I was complaining to a co-worker, a counselor, that David was not helping out.  And when he finally did, he didn’t do it right.

Take the dishwasher, for example.  He loaded it all wrong.  He put the plastic stuff on the bottom where it would most certainly warp, he threw the silverware in its basket all mixed up and partially upside down, and he did not rinse things off before he loaded them into the dishwasher. 

My co-worker/counselor listened to all this very seriously and then said, “If you don’t let him do it his way, you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life.”

Whoa!  I had an immediate attitude adjustment.  I had a vision of me forever loading the dishwasher, one hand rubbing my aching back. 

Suddenly it didn’t matter how it was done.  Suddenly I realized that this was a matter of control, not dishwasher-loading style.

I practically ran in the door that afternoon and breathlessly told David that he could load the dishwasher any old way he wanted to.

He gave me that look that says, “What are you talking about?”  So I went on and told him that his style was fine, do it any way you want to, blah, blah, blah.  I was overcompensating just a little, I suppose, but I wanted to be sure he understood that I was allowing him to share the joy of dealing with dirty dishes.

He finally, out of self-defense, said, “Okay.” 

And thus it has been evermore…
By the way, today (June 12) is our 43rd anniversary...

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

The Marriage License Story

David and I have an anniversary next week, so this is probably the time to tell you my Marriage License Story.

It was 43 years ago when I went to the courthouse in Huntsville, Alabama to get our marriage license.  I was 18 so I could sign for myself.  But David was 20, and in the State of Alabama at that time, the groom had to be 21 to sign for himself. 

So there I was with David’s father, who was going to sign for him.  David wasn’t even there because he was in school in Birmingham, about 100 miles away.

We were in line with four or five couples ahead of us when I became aware of some of the clerks looking at Gus and I, kinda whispering, then looking, whispering, then looking.  I was sure they were talking about us, and I was right. 

When we got to the counter and Gus explained that he was there to sign for his son, the clerk sighed and said, “Oh, we thought the two of you were getting married.”

Well, I was absolutely shocked and outraged and righteously indignant.  The thought that somebody imagined me marrying this old man was appalling!  Years later, I realized that he was in his mid 40’s at the time.

Somehow that doesn’t seem so old now.