The Ordinary Things

Gracious is the Lord, and righteous;
Yes, our God is compas- sionate.
The Lord preserves the simple;
I was brought low, and He saved me.
Return to your rest, O my soul,
For the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.
Ps 116:5-7

A prayer makes sense only if it is lived. Unless they are ‘lived’-- unless life and prayer become completely interwoven, prayers become a sort of polite madrigal which you offer to God at moments when you are giving time to Him.
Anthony Bloom
Beginning To Pray

I love this thought. This Thanksgiving, I offered the prayer of thanks at the table and it seemed like a "polite madrigal," probably sounding like most of the prayers around the country. Oh, I am not doubting my sincerity, or anyone else’s for that matter, but I have been meditating on exactly what "our many blessings", that vague offering, really is.

I pondered beyond the obvious. We pray and hear the platitudes frequently, those familiar words that sometime just sound religious. But what are we really thankful for? Maybe it is the ordinary, the common, the tangible things of life that make our Creator smile when we thank Him.

Richard Foster in his book Prayer, calls it the prayer of the ordinary: "We pray the ordinary in three ways: first, by turning ordinary experiences of life into prayer; second, by seeing God in the ordinary experiences of life; and third, by praying throughout the ordinary experiences of life."

What does all of that mean? On a personal level, it means a day filled with thanks, for the ordinary things in my life, pausing on a busy morning to notice the deep orange - red leaves on that little pear tree in the corner of my backyard. It causes me to tune out the turbid sights and sounds of the traffic on the morning commute and look for other trees with the beauty of His paintbrush. God, how beautiful is your artwork!

My evening walks. What a great time to clear the mind, and thank Him for the cool autumn air, and...my dog. She’s a sweetie. Belle is there waiting each afternoon, with much more enthusiasm than me, ready for that trot around the neighborhood. Interesting, Belle decided long ago that I was the Alpha in the family, much to Annie’s mock dismay. "Belle, you are a traitor, just have to be with the daddy, don’t you?" she will chide. Belle spends her evenings beside my recliner, knowing my hand will slip down and stroke her head, often we both drift off....(Belle's greatest trick is to bark, not to the command of "Speak", but to the DeNiro line in Taxi Driver: "YOU TALKIN' TO MEEE???"--Something Annie taught her years ago.)

And then there’s the other four legged creature. The little cat that chose us as her keepers. "Don’t feed that cat, Mark, she will never leave," Annie warned.
"Too late, Stephen fed her right before we left this morning," I replied.
"Don’t tell that lie, Dad," Stephen interrupted, laughing.
The little gray tabby that wouldn’t leave. I named her Pepper. "Great name, so original, probably only 20 million gray tabbys named Pepper in America," Annie laughed. I said an ordinary, simple prayer, "Make that cat Annie’s cat, and I thank you Lord."

Being dog folks, it has been fun learning about the behaviors of cats. Pepper seemed to gravitate to Annie immediately, as the one she knew she had to win over. So where are we a year later? Pepper on the satin throne as we call it, Pepper at the foot of the bed, Pepper with more sweet talk than I ever got. Annie’s cat. Take that Belle! And thank you Lord. The ordinary blessings of life.

It is easy to be thankful for your family, I talk about SteveO frequently, but most of my allusions to the Annie have been in a humorous tone, portraying her as the voice of sanity in a cast of nuts. She is that, but it is all those "unseen" things...those ordinary things she does that make me pause and give thanks...I see those things actually, but don’t tell her enough how I appreciate the mundane tasks that she does on a daily basis, the tons of football and baseball laundry, the lunches for the next day, more laundry, dinner, dishes, homework helper, more laundry, all after a day’s work like giving our Governor his flu shot! (OK, let me brag a little, she won't.) But which is really more important? Gov. Riley probably thinks its the flu shot, but me, I'm thankful for her dedication shown through the day to day requisites of life. Teilhard de Chardin said:

Do not forget that the value and interest of life is not so much to do conspicuous things...as to do ordinary things with the perception of their enormous value.

So many other things to be thankful for, ordinary, real, small things. I think in thanking God for the little things, it shucks it down to the cob. It goes beyond the religious talk, the pontificating, the posturing, it goes to the core, where we live, and where He meets us.





Blessings to all...

Thanks and praise to Him,

Mark

Proverbs 17:22

A merry heart doeth good like medicine;
but a broken spirit drieth the bones.

Caution: Chigger Crossing

For they sow the wind, and they reap the whirlwind. Hosea 8:7A

(The Hatter on the far right, the one with the pecs and the hip-hop shorts with undies showing. Brother Jeff in the red. Yea, we grew into those ears. )

"But I am ready to go home!" I pleaded with Mom, my 12 year old attention span had gone way past its limit.

"We will go when WE are ready, understand?" was the reply.
We were visiting another Army family, one I did not particularly care for. The kids were a bunch of bohemians, intellectuals, non athletic, pasty white. I was ready to go home, find my buds and head for the woods, the ball field, or even read a book, I was that bored.
I stomped away, and figured I’d show them. Ignoring the freaky family of Einsteins and Emily Dickinsons, I found my refuge, the woods across from their house.

I have written before of the magnetic draw of the Alabama woodlands (see "JeepTrails"-Aug. Archives) and it seemed that I always ended up there for fun, relaxation and introspection. This time it was nothing more than rebellion and retribution. I wasn’t "running away", I was simply going to make it difficult for them; when it WAS time to go, I would be gone, a desperate search would ensue, I would finally appear all innocent, and joy would spread across Enterprise, Al.—the little lost boy had been found! Yeah, right.

Since I was sulking, the woods brought no joy that steamy summer afternoon. No air moving, nothing but that familiar thick humidity that always caused the sweat to form on the small of my back, I decided I'd better find a soft place to sit down.

"Ah...a nice bed of pine straw. Wow, great spot. Man, I’m gonna lay back here and look at these cool trees for a while." I folded my hands behind my head and relaxed. I didn’t read the sign.

CAUTION: CHIGGER CROSSING

Every stinking redbug in the state of Alabama must have been in that bed of pine straw. I won’t go into a long explanation of a chigger bite, you can go get a background here. It is another critter of the deep south that ranks up there with the possum on a half shell. Just what purpose they serve leaves me scratching my head. In this case, I was left scratching every part of my body from my ankles to my armpits. I will leave it to you own imagination regarding the location of ‘ground zero’, lets just say every crack, nook, and cranny on my tanned backside was a Chigger Condo.

I just kept thinking..."man, this pine straw was kinda itchy, maybe my idea wasn’t a good one, oh well, lemme head on back to the freak show."

I will say this about chiggers. They are stubborn critters. They feed off the fluid in a human’s skin cells and attach to human hair. They are so small, it would take a magnifying glass to see them. Without a quick hot shower, you are doomed to about a week of uncontrollable scratching. Think a mosquito bite is annoying? Multiply it by 10. My miserable life consisted of calamine rubdowns for about a week; my sweet Mama dabbed my spotted body in all the places a 12 year old would allow, and I took care of ground zero. I looked like a spotted pink and tan alien. I sowed the wind, and reaped the whirlwind.

************
So I fast forward almost 40 years and the scripture is still so true. The amazing thing about the Word of God, it just doesn’t change. The spiritual laws of His Kingdom are so much stronger than the natural gravitational laws of earth!

Evangelical Christians tickle me at times. And yes, I consider myself one, and I have been guilty of what I am about to say, so I can pick and jab a little. We frequently say: "The Lord told me (fill in the blank)". Sometimes it just doesn’t turn out like we thought it would, so we immediately start rebuking the devil, blaming Satan that the (fill in the blank) turned into a major cluster-blunder.

I wonder sometimes, do you possibly think that it is us who go off half-cocked sowing the wind and reaping the whirlwind? Were the chiggers a direct result of my rebellion or merely that I picked the wrong bed of pine straw? Who knows, but it would not have happened had not I made a stupid decision in the first place! The fact that I still remember it gives credence to this:

Sowing capricious calculations usually reap regrettable reverberations!

Translated into "Wiregrass Alabama" lingo: Dumb ideas bring dumb results. No need to blame Satan, sometimes we just need to say "Pardon me, Father," and chalk it up to experience. Darn those chiggers.


The "Hatter", obviously chigger free, in training to irritate his future wife with snoring rever- berations that would peel paint off a wall.

Mark

Prov. 17:22

Storms of Life

When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Thy consolations delight my soul. Psalms 94:18

Between the intermittent wipers on my windshield, the gray clouds layered on top of one another in long rows that reminded me of an Alabama plowed field anticipating Spring planting. It was the morning after a devastating F2 tornado that barreled through a busy intersection a few miles from my home, leaving its destructive path on the Montgomery landscape and a jagged rip in our emotions.

The pitiless sky, angry still, was almost taunting, reminding me of yesterday's events. Miraculously, no one was killed as a result of the tornado, in fact, over 30 children and adults walked away unscathed from a flattened skating rink/day care. This picture shows an aerial view of the skating rink; the top left corner was the space where the children were housed in the day care. As you can see, it is the only part of the building left standing.

It is a strange thing, the gentle forces of nature that drew me close to my Creator on the deer stand had turned ugly and mean; the mangled steel and splintered wood left me cold. I have to confess, after viewing the destruction, my first thoughts were, "Why God? Why do things like this happen? Why is my home spared, and these folks in the apartment complex are soaking in the rain?" I was even more sobered when the same system screamed up the east coast and took some souls from their North Carolina home. I was left with a feeling of insignificance and helplessness; I honestly don't understand these things at times.

I wonder sometimes, is God dis- appointed in my doubts, in my questions? Psalm 94 tells me that He "knows the thoughts of man, that they are a mere breath" (v.11). His omnipotent nature leads me to trust that He does not turn away when we waver, in fact, the Bible is full of great men of faith who struggled mightily with doubts and uncertainties. His lovingkindness for them, and now directed our way, remains constant.

Phillip Yancey's book, Reaching for an Invisible God, has given me a great deal of comfort in dealing with the questions of life. I highly recommend it to those who are given to a skeptical nature like mine. Here are some of his words that have stuck with me:

Things happen, some of them good, some of them bad, many of them beyond our control. In all these things, I have felt the reliable constant of a God willing to work with me and through me to produce something good. Faith, in such a process will, I’m convinced, always be rewarded, even though the "Why?" questions go unanswered.

Divine providence is a mystery that only God understands...no time-bound human, living on a rebellious planet, blind to the realities of the unseen world, has the ability to comprehend such answers.

In my case, doubt has prompted me to question many things that need questioning and also to investigate alternatives to faith, none of which measure up. I am a Christian today due to my doubts.

Over time, I have grown more comfortable with mystery rather than certainty. Faith means striking out, with no clear end in sight and perhaps even no clear view of the next step. It means following, trusting, holding out a hand to an invisible Guide.

Finally, Yancey quotes Flannery O’Conner who simply says, "When we get our spiritual house in order, we’ll be dead."

After reading these quotes, I go back to my feelings of insig- nificance, but with an assurance that God is in control, for He tells me:

For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways," declares the Lord. (Is. 55:8)

As I close, I can say with all honesty that there will always be "Why?" questions, my weak human nature cries out for answers at times. Yet as C.S. Lewis declared, "The Christian has a great advantage over other men, not by being less fallen than they, not less doomed to live in a fallen world, but by knowing that he is a fallen man in a fallen world."

"That recognition," Yancey says, "forms my starting point in undertaking a journey to know God."

Mark

Prov. 17:22

(This may not be a "merry heart" entry, but it has been what I have been meditating on...therefore, I write. Maybe next time I will ramble about the time I got covered up with chiggers as a result of my 12 year old rebellion. I itch just thinking about it! Pass the calamine lotion, please!)

The Lone Leaf

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. Phil 4:8

It was our last Youth Hunting Day. Alabama started this activity several years back, allowing a child under 16 to hunt with an adult, one weekend before the actual deer season starts in the state. Stephen will turn 16 in the next year, and will no longer be eligible to participate in the "head start" on deer season. The intent of the regulation is a good one, fathers and their children (and some mothers, too) spend time on the deer stand and develop some lasting memories. We have done this since he was 11, but this was the last time our two pair of boots will grace a stand on Youth Day. We rarely hunt together during the regular season now, as he always wants us to split up to "increase our chances."

Morning comes early during deer season. Sleepy eyed and yawning, we go through the ritual of dressing and loading the truck like a couple of automatons. Few words are spoken, as we had already decided on the one of the many locations on my parent’s beautiful, rolling farmland. Upon leaving the truck we are guided only by our flashlights and the memory of our emplacement. Once settled in the double stand, I look at my watch and realize that we beat Mr. Sunrise by about 20 minutes, so we eat a granola bar and I lay my head down across my forearm for a brief interlude.

A stirring occurrence takes place in the darkened woods: sounds. It is the dew falling off the leaves and hitting the earthen floor that accents the blackness. The random pit-pat coming from all sides gives the impression that it is raining, then again, maybe it is raining. But it is God's creation playing another ruse. I cut my eyes skyward and notice the blue-white twinkles dancing through the leaves. A clean, clear autumn sky, nature has tricked me again, smiling. Among the pit-pats of the dew, an occasional startling smack! is heard, and I would have to wait until daylight to see the culprit.

Sunlight begins to peek through the fall colors and the pit-pat picks up dramatically. And my culprit? A rock hard hickory nut falling in a straight line trajectory and smacking the leaves with great impact. The fresh carpet of leaves—so many untouched by the boots of men or the hoofs and paws of Alabama’s abundant wildlife–a true patchwork quilt of nature, lay placidly below our feet.

The slightest rush of cool air through the trees yields a leaf shower. They remind me of the fat snowflakes that fall so rarely in Alabama, the kind that descend with such grace and beauty that one realizes only God could be responsible. Some of the leaves settle in a whirlybird motion, others a more indirect route, like the feather in the movie "Forrest Gump". My attention turns to a lone leaf, wondering when would it be "his" turn to make the journey south. "What type of path would you take, where will you be sewn in to the quilt below, wait... are you just fooling me? You are so stunning that maybe you are painted on that branch like "The Last Leaf" in O Henry’s masterpiece short story."

Thinking about nothing, thinking about everything.

You can tell the day gets busy quickly, as the sounds of the creatures multiply. The noisy cacophony of crows answering one another. Those irritating gray squirrels dancing from tree to tree, for years tricking novice hunters into thinking that a deer was nearby. We both know better now; a 200 lb buck makes less noise in the woods than a chipmunk or squirrel does. Woodpeckers drilling trees, looking for those morning treats. The gentle cluck of a turkey and a gobble, if one is lucky.

Over a mile away, we hear the low moan of a single cow somewhere in the locale of the barn. It grows louder and louder, joined by his fellow bovines, indicating that Pop is filling the breakfast troughs with cracked corn.

"Listen to that one cow," I whisper, "he sounds like an airhorn at a football game!"

Stephen immediately grins and replies, "He sounds JUST like one!"

There were no deer seen on this morning. We decided to follow our stomachs back to the house, as we knew my brother, also visiting and known for his famous breakfasts, would have something tasty. As I watched Stephen walk to the truck, I sensed his disappointment; Youth Hunting Day had ended in a successful hunt in years past. I knew his measure of success was different than mine, he would understand one day, when he had kids of his own, at least this is what I thought.

Later that night on the way home, I asked him if he had a good time, even though we had not seen a deer. His reply was a delightful surprise.

"You know Dad, I can get out on a deer stand and not have to think about anything, not about school, just sit, look, listen, and clear my mind."

Thinking about nothing, thinking about everything, both worthy of praise. I underestimate him at times. Maybe he understands Paul’s admonition to the Phillipians to "let your mind dwell on these things" better than I do.

Mark
Prov 17:22

Where's Your Center?

Jesus answered and said to him, "If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make our abode with him. John 14:23

Ah, my favorite activity, assisting Stephen with a big science review for a major test at school. Rates up there with my annual physical. Anyway, during the review, we come across Nicolaus Copernicus, who developed the theory of heliocentrism, simply put, he figured out that the sun was the center of the solar system not the earth. Before his theory in 1514, the bright folks on earth were geocentric thinkers, that is, the earth was the center of the universe. Sometimes I wonder...has our thinking changed all that much?

I find myself bogged down in the mundane activities of life more times than not, and this sticky mud actually causes me to become geocentric in my thinking; "How can I extricate myself from this mess without tracking it around the clean kitchen floor? And then, I call on my Heavenly Father to get out the spiritual life jacket once again and throw me a life line.

So this sounds like a bad thing. Not really. It is what Richard Foster in his book Prayer identifies as simple prayer, the most common kind of praying we do. Think about it; we are coming to Someone who can help! It is encouraging to remember, Christ himself encouraged us to pray for our needs in what we refer to as "The Lord’s Prayer.

I like these words from Foster:

Share your hurts, share your sorrows, share your joys–freely and openly. God listens in compassion and love, just like we do when our children come to us. When we do this we will discover something of inestimable value. We will discover that by praying we learn to pray.

At some point along the way, I wanted more in my dialogue with God than just asking and pleading. It is the relationship I desire, a contemplative understanding of His great love and grace, and to grow in that knowledge. I have a long way to go, but what is so encouraging about our walk with Christ, as Paul says, "not that I have laid hold of it yet, but I press on..." (Phil 3)

This is what Foster calls the Copernican revolution of the heart, the move away from the me centered, geocentric prayer life to a God centered existence:

In the beginning we are indeed the subject and the center of our prayers. But in God’s time and in God’s way a Copernican revolution takes place in our heart. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, there is a shift in our center of gravity. We pass from thinking of God as part of our life to the realization that we are part of His. Wondrously and mysteriously God moves from the periphery of our prayer experience to the center. A conversion of the heart takes place, a transformation of the spirit.

It is that relationship I desire, a continual need to know Him personally, to glorify Him in His lovingkindness. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I still come to Him with my petitions, it is wired in us to call out to Him in times of need. But having the times where He makes His abode in me…

I have found such comfort in the scripture from John 14:23, especially the word "abode". It speaks of a home, not a house. A kitchen with the teapot whistling, old Earl Grey awaiting, a blackberry cobbler in the oven, anticipating the soft vanilla ice cream. An abode: the warm fireplace on a cold gray day, my buckskin wool slippers on my feet and my dog at my feet. Knowing my son is nearby chatting with some chick on his phone, and my wife is opening the oven door…

I ask myself constantly, "where’s your center, who’s your center?" Life is so much better when old Copernicus comes to mind and the fulcrum of my existence doesn't revolve around me. I am opening my eyes to the great discovery, "for Thou art the Lord Most High over all the earth." (Ps 97:9)













A friend of mine introduced me to the word "cornballish". OK, this pic probably fits in that category, but still...looks pretty inviting, now doesn't it?

Mark

Prov 17:22

Chariots of Fire

Then it came about as they were going along and talking, that behold there appeared a chariot of fire...
2 Kings 2:11

The picture is the Alabama Shakespeare Festival, a breathtaking theatrical venue located in our fair city, with a reputation as the finest Shakespeare theater in America. Each season features a few works by Shakespeare and a few modern plays for us Bard challenged patrons.

So, what brings me to the grounds of the Shakespeare Festival? A CAR SHOW! As one who has 2 diplomas from what many call the "Cow College" (Auburn), the joke is that an Auburn grad's cultural development is agriCULTURE. Hey, I can take it. I would much rather look at old cars than try to figure out what the heck is going on inside this beautiful building anyway. So I am going to share some pics I took at the car show; I hope some of these 'chariots of fire' bring back some memories for some of you! You should be able to click on the pics to enlarge.





My dream car. Born in the great year of 1956, my birth year, this little T Bird is a flat out
classic.










A couple of memories for my brother, Jeff: Remember this beauty under the revolving glass dome at the 1964 World's Fair? It was Ford's way of introducing the little Pony to the world.
And this Honda 90, ok, we had the scrambler versions, but look closely and you can see your buddy Underwood riding this beast all over Ft Rucker!










And Pop and Mom, here's your old Ford, the only thing missing was the black and red checked interior!




I put a model of this Lincoln together when I was a kid. Jeff and I probably destroyed it with M-80 firecrackers at some point in our childhood.

Pop, I remember a blue wagon like this one...am I right?











Proud smiling Chevys

Wonder is this is what the Chariot of Fire looked like that took Elijah up in a whirlwind?OK, OK, but church folks have argued over sillier things...

Mark

Prov 17:22