A Grandmother’s Parable

It was an exciting moment.  Little David, 18 months old, was to see his parents again after being separated from them for more than 24 hours.  How would he react?

He saw them come in the door and the light of happy recognition spread across his face.  But there was no direct route to the door.  He had to go past a long coffee table and around the couch before he could be swept into their arms.

He immediately set out.  But his eyes fell on a piece of paper with three colorful stickers on it, something left over from one of the older children’s projects.  He picked it up, and worked at the bright red sticker with his fingers.  Then he remembered that he had more important business, so he dropped the paper and went on.

About half-way along the coffee table he saw a water-color paint set.  “Hmmmm—this is interesting.”  “Investigating” is one of his main occupations, so he picked up the paints and turned them over in his chubby hands.  Then he remembered that he had more important business, so he dropped the paints and went on.

He had just cleared the end of the couch with a burst of energy that came from now having a clear vision of his goal, when WHAM!  He was hit head-on and capsized by his three-year-old sister, who was already returning after receiving her hug.

Poor little guy!  By this time his parents had got past the folks that met them at the door, so, of course, he was scooped into his father’s arms and comforted.

I couldn’t help but think how often that drama is repeated in our spiritual family.  One of God’s children comes to himself and determines to return to his Father.  This or that little piece of glitter distracts him momentarily.  But in the back of his mind the thought of his Father’s smiling face overcomes, and with new resolve, he hurries on.  Just when he thinks the way is clear, he is hit head-on by some well-meaning elder brother who has faithfully paying his respects to the Father, but who has forgotten, as we often do, to watch out for the little ones.

Plain Brown Birds

I’ve just noticed something about myself that I don’t like very well.

I’ve become more interested in birds in my later years, and that’s good, but I seem only to be interested in identifying the birds with bright colors–my favorite the goldfinch, and then orioles, jays, cardinals, and Western tanagers.

And, come to think of it, the bird population on my hill has changed in the past ten or twelve years.  I used to see a lot of house-finches, a few white-crowned sparrows and an occasional rufous-sided towhee.  I haven’t seen any of those birds in ages.  The most common bird I see, I think must be the plain brown towhee.  I haven’t even cared about identifying it exactly, because it is just a plain brown bird.

And that’s what I don’t like about myself.   A plain brown bird certainly must have as much internal value as any bright showy bird.  My reaction has made me think seriously about plain people, and the universal tendency to pay more attention and seem to give more value to an attractive physical appearance.  It “ought not so to be.”   I hope to avoid that kind of preference in the future.

By the way, there are some very small brown birds who are a lot of fun to watch.  They are the bush tits, the little fellows with all their cousins who occasionally come and invade one of our bushes or small leafy trees.  Well, they would be fun to watch and observe more closely if they would just sit still a minute.

Odd Coincidence

Our southern California weather changed abruptly Wednesday…at least the evening, night and morning temperatures.  So I changed my bedding to the heavier blanket and quilt spread I like to use for this season of the year.  But the strangest thing has happened.  Both mornings I have slept soundly until 7:30, in spite of different times of going to bed.  My most common waking time is 6 a.m.   It seems like my body has already done its adjusting to the “roll back” time change this coming weekend!!

I Wasn’t Sleepy

Today is Thursday, October 7, 2009.  Last night–this morning, that is–my sleeping hours were from about 1:30 to 5:30 am.

But the previous night, I was so sleepy by 9 that I went to bed and to sleep by 9:30 and slept straight through till 5:30 in the morning.  I can’t think of any logical reason for the difference.  This physical body-machine…each one seems to be quite unique in many respects.  There is no one-size fits all “Owner’s Manual,” so all of my life I’ve wrestling with the problem of “what works for me.”

The Creator is much more interested in the breath of life that he put in us, the spirit that is different from the rest of creation–the one that returns to him when the physical body-machine’s operating days are over.

He does have some things to say about food and exercise and sleep and rest and his advice is certainly helpful, but most details are left up to our personal choice.

What could have been the difference in my body between Tuesday and Wednesday?  I think I didn’t take my walk either day.  I did fast until noon on Tuesday and drink a cup of hot celery water, but my evening meal was the same each day.  On Tuesday I felt very tired at 9 pm.  On Wednesday, I knew by 10:30 that I didn’t feel an ounce of sleepiness in my body.

So I thought, “This will be a good time for some extra prayer time.”  I even knelt beside my bed from 10:30 till 11:00 instead of my lazy habit of praying in bed.   I remembered that Nicholas, our long time ago Peruvian friend, said that the remedy for sleeplessness was to get out of bed and pray.  He said Satan won’t let you pray; you’ll be sleepy right away.  I didn’t get sleepy, but at 11:00 I got in bed and continued with prayer and meditation until 12:00.  I felt no physical pain, no anxiety, no special problems on my mind, no reason at all to stay awake.  I was just not sleepy.

During that hour I thanked God for the privilege of communicating with him and I prayed around the world for special needs that came to my mind.  Sometimes I wonder if I am not awake because someone somewhere needs some special prayer power.

At midnight I made a bathroom trip, took a few sips of water and put a Bible tape, Jeremiah, into the cassette player.  At 12:20 when that ended, I felt just slightly chilled and remembered that I usually go to sleep easier if I am extra warm (and then wake up in the night feeling too warm) so I got a long flannel nightgown out of the closet and put it on over my short-sleeved pajamas.  That did feel better.

Then I remembered that in Peru I used to listen to German language tapes when I was wakeful in the night.  I looked over my stash of cassettes and decided to listen to the one tape I made while trying to learn some Greek before going there in 1985.  It was a horrible cassette.  I was just reading the grammar part of the book, and my voice was not even clear over the roar of the poor home recording setup.  Even so, I let it go till the end while I ruminated about what to do next.

Sometimes in the past, I’ve been able to sleep better after a bowl of warm milk toast.  I wasn’t even hungry, but by that time, 12:40 am, I decided I might as well try it.  After enjoying that and taking another trip to the bathroom I went back to bed and soon went to sleep, waking up at my most usual waking time between 5:30 and 6:00, feeling the need to stay relaxed a little longer, but not sleepy.

Now, what made the difference???? The only difference I can think of was that on Tuesday at noon I took my usual assortment of individual vitamin pills that I’ve developed for myself over the years.  On Wednesday, instead, I took the indicated amount of a multiple I’m trying as an experiment to see if I can simplify my life a bit.  This particular formula “combines a comprehensive selection of essential vitamins and minerals with powerful enzymes, herbal extracts and natural energizers ….”  But, still—both days I took the vitamins at noon.  Both days I took the usual one calcium capsule and one “vitamin C with rose hips” an hour or so before bedtime.

I have on hand a natural sleep formula, and a calming herb tea from the supermarket, and they both do usually help me go to sleep.  But I had no particular reason to get up early or be especially rested today, so I decided to rely on the repertoire of sleep-inducing strategies I have developed over the years.

Well, I’m thankful for the four hours of real sleep that I did enjoy, and the 70% of 3 hours, or 2 hours of rest that I got by staying in bed and relaxing (after a fashion, between the times of getting up to go to the bathroom, put on a nightgown and fix and eat the toast and milk).

And now I’ve written 875 words of foolishness about the experience.  Will that help me or anyone else?

Two days later: I slept 7 hours through the next night, but last night I was wakeful until 12:30 again.  This time I had vegetable soup for supper and even drank a cup of the “calming” tea, because I could feel tension in my body.  I got in bed at 10:30 and prayed for special needs around the world.  Then I did progressive relaxation, but without the cassette.  Then I got up and read entries in one of my favorite journals—2002 and 2003–with some notes from a cassette about Sabbath rest, some book reviews, and some essay-devotional type writing.  Then, since the tenseness seemed to be physical,  I did some amateur “self-reflexology” massages.  I massaged my feet and hands, and then practiced all the rest of the physical sleep-inducing suggestions I could remember–stretch legs out to full length and relax, massage under-side of forearm with opposite fingers, try to relax face and head muscles and especially apply pressure and stroking to what are supposed to be “sleep centers’ on the ears.  Somewhere around those last activities I must have fallen asleep.  I awoke at the most customary waking time for me–5:30 am–and felt rested.

The Christian Chronicle: After 20 years, Nigeria is still Whittakers’ calling

The Christian Chronicle: After 20 years, Nigeria is still Whittakers’ calling

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Quotation from Einstein

quoted in the biography by Walter Isaacson, 2007, Simon and Schuster:

From a sermon by Einstein at Caltech in 1930—

“…science had not yet been harnessed to do more good than harm.  During the war it gave people ‘the means to poison and mutilate one another’ and in peacetime it ‘has made our lives harried and uncertain.’  Instead of being a liberating force, ‘it has enslaved men to machines’ by making them work ‘long wearisome hours mostly without joy in their labor.’”

Have things changed much in the last 79 years??  (I was born in 1929).

About True Rest

Matthew 11:28-29—“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” There is something I can learn from Jesus that will give my soul rest. Weariness can seem to be a physical thing and sometimes it is. But the weariness and the burdens in our lives are magnified by the state of our emotions. To prove this you have only to watch a child’s response to “work” in contrast to “play” in two different activities that take the same amount of physical effort. A little reflection convinces me it is true in my own life, though the contrast may be simply between two different work activities. “Take my yoke upon you ….” Take my side of the yoke with Jesus on the other side. What could be a better picture of living with Jesus from Monday till Sunday? If I am “yoked” with him, I am certainly in his presence. “…and learn of me.” There must be something I can learn from Jesus by walking in yoke with him. He says “learn of me for I am gentle and humble in heart.” Gentle and humble. Especially humble. I wonder if it is not human pride that triggers the emotions that make me weary and give me unbearable burdens. The emotions that make me tired are anger, agitation, fear, self-pity…. Some emotional words that calm me by their very sound are love, joy, peace and gentleness. Emotions mot-ivate.

Connecting... What about pride? Some people rebel against the word “humility,” because they fear that it goes against the feeling of satisfaction for a job well done. There is false humility and there is false pride. The pride that makes me tired is the pride that makes me want to be better than the other guy. Or at least just as good. When I stop worrying about who gets the credit and whether my clothes are the latest style or whether or not I am “understood” it takes a big load off my mind. It is a comfort to be yoked with Jesus and to know that he understands. Everything I do because I am confident of being with Jesus gives rest to my soul.

Christmas on the Farm

For our first Christmases we hung up our stockings—pinned to the side of the daybed in the living room. They were our own long stockings that we wore in the winter-time, not special stockings made of red and green felt. When we got up on Christmas morning, our stockings would be lumpy because there would be an apple and an orange, which we didn’t see very often in Iowa. And some hard candy—red and green and white with little tiny flowers on it. And my mother made fudge and divinity, but I don’t remember if she put it in our stockings or just served it off of a plate. There must have been some small toys but I don’t remember any.

One year my daddy brought home a Christmas tree. He was out on Christmas Eve for some reason and a tree man who couldn’t sell all of his trees just gave one to my Daddy. We didn’t have any decorations for it, but it smelled nice.

Another time my mother made us stuffed toys. I don’t where she got the old coats, but out of the yellow coat she made a duck. She put cardboard in the bottom of the feet so it would stand up. Out of the black coat with fake curly hair she made a Scotty dog.

One year she gave my brother her Toonerville Trolley car. It was a special toy she had bought for herself a long time ago. She had never let us play with it. Just once in a while she would wind it up and let us watch it go. I remember it going bumpety-bump, like maybe it had one bigger wheel and three smaller ones.

While she was wrapping it up for him I saw tears in her eyes. Was that because she knew that if she gave it to a three-year-old it would soon break and she wouldn’t have it any more? I never asked her.

Childhood Memories

Playing “Cozy” in the rain

I love the sound of rain. I love the fresh smell of the outdoors when it rains. When I was a little girl, on a rainy day I and my brother liked to gather the pillows and blankets that Mom would let us use. We loved to build a cozy nest on the screened-in porch. The porch was a room that was very close to the outdoors because it didn’t have any glass windows—just screens all the way around on 2 sides. Even when there was lightning and thunder, but not too close, we loved to cuddle up in our cozy little blanket nest. Maybe that is why I still like to hear and smell the rain.

The “Three Bears” Book

I didn’t have any store bought story books when I was a little girl. I don’t think there were very many, even in the stores, but I don’t know because we lived way out in the country and we never went to the stores.

So my mother made me a book. She made me the story, The Three Bears. She drew the pictures on cardboard from cereal boxes and painted them with water colors. The cardboard didn’t have words on the back; I think the pieces she used were dividers from the boxes of shredded wheat.

The book didn’t have any words, just pictures that I could look at while she told me the story. Sometimes I wish I still had that little book so I could show it to my grandchildren.

Some Blake Family Stories

My mother’s name was Ethel Blake. Her father’s name was Alexander Blake and his mother, Mary McClennan, was born in Scotland. When Mary was a little girl the family lived in a sod house. One day she lost her sewing needle. After much searching, they found it stuck in the damp sod that was clinging to the sole of a shoe.

Mother’s mother was Edna Ellen Carpenter. I think her father’s name was Edward. He was an old grandfather when the first automobile was invented. On one of his first rides in an open touring car, a dog began barking at the car. Grandpa leaned over the edge of the door and barked at the dog, “Woof! Woof!” His false teeth flew out of his mouth to the road. The dog picked them up and went running across the field. Grandpa never saw them again.