Life Underneath the "Cotton Ball" Clouds

            This has been a stormy season in the mid-region of the country. In one such storm 178 tornados were verified, one EF1 coming through south of our town and damaging properties.

            When those storms passed, our son went out to bring in the mail and came running back into the house. “You gotta come outside. Hurry!” exclaimed this very special young man who never hurries much about anything except what totally excites him.

            Weather phenomena. That does and always has. The Asperger’s in Min obsesses on it—that and other things.

            So, we kicked back the feet of our recliners and journeyed outside to see what we thought might just be something ordinary. After all, our son’s weather excitement isn’t based on the extreme. The tornados already passed…so maybe a rainbow?

            I couldn’t’ve been more wrong.

            He called from the road pointing over the roof of our house, “Come over here!”

            I reluctantly pulled my oxygen tubing further out the doorway, walked to the road, and turned around. “Wow! That’s incredible!”

            There before us was a fulling carpeted sky with what looked like cotton ball clouds.

            “They’re mammatus clouds,” Min said. “They mean a storm is coming.”

            “But the storms’ve passed,” I said. He must be confused. These fluffy almost imaginary looking clouds? “They look like they could’ve popped out of the pages of a Dr. Seuss book.”

            “Or like there’s a stork with a baby bundle on one of them, like in Dumbo. I’m going to get my closet ready just in case it’s storms and not a baby elephant.” Min headed into the shelter we call home.

            Back inside I plopped in my recliner, grabbed my laptop, and searched mammatus clouds. Well, what do ya know,” I commented to hubby. “The kid’s rightish. I don’t know about those formations meaning more storms-a-comin’, but it does say they’re dangerous and pilots are warned never to fly through them. Who’d’thunk such cute clouds do that!”

I will not fly up-up so high

Into a cotton-bally sky!

(“pilot” trying to sound Dr. Seussy)

 

            “I told you,” a voice down the hall yelled. “They are like cumulonimbus clouds.”

            “Yeah, it says here they ‘indicate especially severe turbulence’ because of those.” Well, I’ve learned my meteorology lesson for the day!

            That set me to thinking. Are there times I thought something was fine when danger lurked within? And, have I always thought ahead before stepping into difficult situations? Do I know how to get out of jeopardy and choose to do so?

            Answer? Sometimes, but not always. I’m gullible.

When a danger I don’t see,

This can bumble-humble me.

(blunderer trying to sound Seussy-ish)

 

            I’m now well into my senior years of life. You’d think I’ve got decisions mastered by now, but this gal’s not only nearsighted but shortsighted at times too. Yes, I’ve come a long way, but perhaps I’ll never fully grasp soon enough that everything appearing okay may not be so.

Though my “sky” looks bright and cheery,

Caref’ly “fly!” It might be dreary!

(writer who’s not as clever as Dr. Seuss)

 

            But there is hope—always! You see, we have a God Who, through His Holy Spirit, “taps us on the shoulder” and warns His children. So, some of my blunders are actually times I may not pay attention to those “taps.”

            Oh, how I need to go to the Father and seek Him daily! Do I blunder every day? No, but—if I ask God’s help before my feet hit the floor in the morning, then it’s guaranteed I’d do better in this department—because I do love the Lord and desire to please Him.

            And He knows this. It’s His desire as well, and He totally loves me…even when I walk into danger when I could’ve avoided it.

            Here’s the thing: When it’s not possible for me to recognize danger before I’m in it (that can happen too), God knows. Thus, I must not only seek His help daily but also trust Him fully all the minutes of my life.

            Maybe, as I grow even older, I’ll become less likely to mistake fluffy, imaginary-looking “clouds” as innocent and question if there’s need to “take cover.”

 

Simply trusting every day, trusting through a stormy way;

Even when my faith is small, trusting Jesus, that is all.

 

(Refrain) Trusting as the moments fly, trusting as the days go by;

Trusting Him whate’er befall, trusting Jesus, that is all.

 

Brightly doth His Spirit shine into this poor heart of mine;

While He leads, I cannot fall; trusting Jesus, that is all. (Refrain)

 

Singing if my way is clear, praying if the path be drear;

If in danger for Him call; trusting Jesus, that is all.” (Refrain)

 

(from Trusting Jesus by Edgar Page, 1876, public domain)

 

#mammatusclouds #storms #Aspergers #pilotflightrisk #Godknows

#trustingJesus #prayer #avoidingdanger #HolySpiritprompting

 

*Photo credit: Carnage Thomsen

Mom's Keys

             That day was like any other gotta-do-errands day.

            Mom drove, and I occupied the passenger’s seat. One more errand. A stop to buy something yummy at the bakery, then we’d head home. Not far. Less than 2 blocks away. Mom pushed down the left turn signal, hesitated, and turned across traffic toward the small row of stores.

            Crash! Glass and metal strewn about!

            In an instant we were sideways and stopped, blocking the southbound lane of our town’s main thoroughfare. We weren’t hurt. Shook up, though, for sure!

            But maybe we were hurt because—well—everything changed that day.

            Mom never drove again.

            Maybe “everything” didn’t change that particular day. Perhaps it was more like 5 years earlier when Mom’s ophthalmologist said she’d likely go blind, then did in one eye. She drove after that, which was permitted…

            …but her confidence died that day. And the car keys? Parked. 

            After that, Dad became her “designated driver,” taking her to the grocery store, work 3 days a week, and anywhere else she needed to go. When my sister became a licensed driver, she and Dad took turns.

            Then my sister headed to college. Dad regained his “designated driver” status until this kid—me—learned to drive.

            But Mom never surrendered all her keys—just the car’s.

            You see, back when Mom’s eye doctor told her she’d likely become blind at some point, Mom decided, then and there, she’d learn to do the things she loved most with her eyes closed—1) typing and 2) playing the piano, those topping her list.

            Oh, there were times she pecked out the wrong letters on those manual typewriter KEYS and had to erase or mark out errors on stencils for the weekly church bulletin, etc. But she learned to be a super-fast typist with few errors.

            Then there were the 88 piano KEYS. Mom played beautifully. She never credited herself with being an accomplished pianist, but that she was, never having many lessons. After all, her growing-up years hit when times were hardest, so she mostly taught herself.

            And when that ophthalmologist dropped Mom’s dooming news, no way would she surrender that keyboard! She practiced scales daily. Not flawlessly at first, but eventually—eyes closed—she mastered them all—every key signature. Arpeggios too. And more. Much more.

            Some would say Mom was stubborn. Her sisters did! I like to think of her as determined with reason. For she taught me an important life lesson in our home with keys tapping—whether on typewriter or piano.

            Okay. So, the car keys might’ve been stationary, but that didn’t stop Mom.

            Now, whenever I feel I can’t go on with the difficulties I face, I think of our mom. She didn’t quit! Sure, it was hard. She may’ve thought of quitting, but I don’t recall her ever voicing that.

            I do know she clung to God’s promises, which she read daily in her devotional time. Truly her faith was the real KEY to her success.

            What I gleaned most from our mom: Even when something seems impossible or at least very challenging, keep trying. She did and succeeded.

            Mom never went totally blind, although in another couple decades she lost a lot of vision in her “good” eye. But, even then, she kept on—knowing very well how to type and play piano because…

            …she learned to do those eyes closed. And funny thing is, she often had them closed when practicing at home until very close to the end of her 68-year life, when she couldn’t close her eyes to the cancer that took her.

            Would you believe Mom played the piano at church until 7 weeks before she died? Yep. She even talked her oncologist into releasing her from the hospital early because “my kids and grandkids are coming to visit, and I want to be there to play.”

            As much as Mom taught me about overcoming what might seem impossible at times, I know One Who totally exemplifies this—my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

“…with God all things are possible.” —Matthew 19:26b NKJV

            If ever you face humanly overwhelming challenges, know you can turn your circumstances over to God. He’s the only One Who can do what seems otherwise impossible.

“Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh. Is anything too hard for Me?”

—Jeremiah 32:27 NKJV

 

“Faith, mighty faith, the promise sees and looks to that alone;

Laughs at impossibilities and cries: It shall be done!

And cries: It shall, it shall be done!

And cries: It shall, it shall be done!

Laughs at impossibilities and cries: It shall be done!”

 

Here’s the melody if you wish to sing along!

(If you do, you’ll find yourself singing it over & over.)

Faith, Mighty Faith, the Promise Sees (youtube.com)

 

(lyrics from a work by Charles Wesley, 1700s—tune from 1480 England—public domain)

 

#mother #keys #driving #blindness #typewriter #piano #cancer

#determination #allthingspossiblewithGod #CharlesWesley

Our Moldy Mess

 

            Last month our home went through a health diagnostic test to discover if my lung disease “trigger” lived within our own walls. Yup, to our shock and dismay!

            MOLD! An icky, filthy, dirty 4-letter word!

            We suspected some hid beneath our kitchen sink, but we had no idea it lurked in the attic, crawl space, and every room of our small ranch home.

            We own quite a SICK HOUSE!

            As grateful as we are to those who’ve reached out in sympathy, expressing they can’t imagine what it’s like going through this; I’d like to clarify what our moldy mess is, what it could be, and what it’s not.

            Yes, it’s an ordeal, a rather large bump in the road, a big inconvenience. Things like that, but not the end of the world (although our world is heading in that direction).

            It might be testing from God to see if we stay faithful and trust Him, or it just may be mold in our house that must GO! It also might be an attack from the enemy. He's "about that creative," but he'd like to hit us harder than this (I think). He has in the past.

            One caring fellow said, “This must be the worst thing you’ve ever been through!”

            Um, no. And thank you for putting that into perspective, sir. It made us come center on evaluating the awfulness of our sick house.

            We’ve been through much, much, much worse! And THOSE events? Likely persecution and spiritual warfare. Mold in our house? Neither, we don’t think. After all, there are so many terrible things that could’ve befallen us and haven’t. And, in light of the real persecution going on—particularly with Christians worldwide—how could we even THINK this holds a candle to what those tortured souls go through day in and day out?

            We’re away from our home. Yes. We are weary and worn. Yes. We don’t know what we’ll face task-wise when we reenter our home. BUT this is still just a very large bump in the road and inconvenience.

            So, thank you for your expressions of care and sympathy, but please know God will help us through this, just as He does with bigger challenges and smaller ones too.

            God is good; He is God.

            Now, may I share how God is working in our moldy mess situation?

            After the home health diagnostic test, our wallets lightened significantly.

            Next step? Get a hefty clean-air machine medically approved to meet my lungs’ needs. Done. Check. At that point, our bank account was crying real tears. At least I know I was. (Maybe I was just hearing myself whah-whah and thought it was coming from the bank.)

            Next? Hire a mold remediation company, so we did. Done. Check. Now we’re talkin’ mega-bucks, folks! Not only emptying our wallets but digging for buried treasure too (a super tough task in our very rocky, hard, Ozark soil).

            Brian and I married in 1978. We were both full-time missionaries at that time (still are). One of the commitments we made to God after our pledges to each other was the George Müller Principle. Is there such a thing?

            Okay. It doesn’t have that formal of a title, but it’s this: As did George Müller in the establishing of orphanages in 19^th century Bristol, England, we would also—Ask God alone for our needs. No begging or pleading to others. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and His Holy Spirit would guide those who are able to give.

            Now, that’s a good principle, but here we were facing a bill that could be nearly as costly as buying one of our previous homes. Still, our belief—ask God alone. So, we did and shared in our missionary prayer letter that we’d be going through the mold abatement and God would supply. (That may have borderline broken the George Müller Principle as he didn’t even tell people the needs—just prayed.)

            God is able.

            It actually wouldn’t have mattered if the bill were $2K, $20K, or $200K because we had nothing. It was totally up to God to do this.

            We needed ½-down to set the date for mold abatement to begin. We didn’t have it yet. Unlike most contractors, the fellow said not to worry. He knew we’d have it in time.

            What a blessing to hear that!

            BUT, lo and behold, by the actual day the workmen showed up at our door, we had ½ —supplied by God through numerous people who sensed His leading! What a praise!

            As I write this, we’ve entered week 2 of this process, during which time we’re away from home. (No entry until it’s done and certified healthy!) God continues to send funds as we check our mail.

            Here’s the thing: God not only provides for our needs and always has, but He delights in doing so. Why? He so greatly loves us and, in this case, is concerned for my health as well as hubby’s and our son’s. I still cannot totally wrap my mind around the extent of His love and watch-care of His children.

            If you’re facing a huge need—or even a small one—and you’re one of God’s children, know without a doubt your Heavenly Father already has a plan for a good outcome. Sometimes His answers come quickly, sometimes slower, sometimes in a different way than we plan…

            …but GOD IS ALWAYS ON TIME. You can “take that to the bank!”

            Do you have a story to share how God met a need in your life? I’d love to hear it! And I have lots of time to read your replies while we wait in our home-away-from-home during this inconvenient bump in the road.

 

He Owns the Cattle on a Thousand Hills by John W. Peterson (1979)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z128eDJ6wo

 

He’s Able by Paul E. Paino (1958)

He's Able He's Able (youtube.com)

 

#mold #lungdisease #sickhouse #moldabatement #Godwillsupply #cattleonathousandhills

#tellGodyourneed #Heisable #GeorgeMüller #answeredprayer

Shepherd, Brother, Friend (Church Hurt~Church Healing)

            (I confess—I wrote this blog post quite some time ago but haven’t been brave enough to post it until now. Of late, though, I’ve learned of others going through horribly wounding church situations, nearly destroying them. Now it seems time to share. Perhaps this will offer hope to someone who’s hurting and let them know they can survive with God’s help.)

             Several decades ago, we went through a horrific time of family pain, resulting in false charges brought against my husband and I by our firstborn. We feared losing our other children as well, including our youngest son who we’d brought from overseas to be adopted by us.

            What struck us hardest, after the above mentioned, was the backlash we faced by fellow believers with whom we worshipped and had for numerous years. Not only did bad times hit us inside the church walls; news travelled to other churches in our area and much further.

            I will never understand, in the horrific situation we were in, why the church leadership didn’t address the issues—for good or ill.

            When we’d gone through more than enough time, thinking the storm would die down, we addressed our secondary accusers face-to-face.

            I remember us admonishing, “If you thought we were guilty of these things, you had a scriptural obligation. 1) If you thought us innocent, to walk along with us and help us through. 2) If you believed in our guilt, which obviously you did or we wouldn’t be sitting here right now, confront us with our sin. You did neither.

            They were mostly silent.

            At that point there wasn’t much else to say, so my husband and I walked out.

            We quit church.

            And very nearly quit life.

            But God brought us to our senses, and we decided to live. After all, we had 4 boys to care for—one who wasn’t even legally ours yet. During that time, we read through the Psalms repeatedly with our family, and Brian absorbed wisdom from A.W. Tozer’s Attributes of God.

            We were not totally alone. A small number of people held up our arms* when we felt we couldn’t. And, believe it or not, some of our greatest support and understanding came from non-believers.

            That shocked me! Not that they stood with us, but that those who should have didn’t.

            Months passed. Then Brian called a family meeting and said, “It’s not good that we aren’t in church.”

            I spewed, “I don’t trust churches anymore.”

            But my husband presented a “let’s just visit one” plan that meet with a family vote win.

            So, the next Sunday we traveled to a church he’d heard about—where victims of the same church as we’d been in found family.

            That morning, we met the man who would become our beloved pastor—who’d offer hope. He came to visit us that same week.

            We shared some with him and then explained we had a disabled son who was extremely difficult to handle and had been put out of Sunday School at the former church, Pastor Bruce assured us this church would welcome our son, address his needs, and told us, “My wife will be his teacher, and she will love your son.”

            And she did! Mrs. Kathy was a God-send!

           I think, had we not met Pastor Bruce and Kathy, we may not have healed from the traumas brought on by life and all the rest. At best, it would’ve taken much, much longer, but…

            Praise God!

            And, when our accusers hit again and again (long after we’d left the former church), Pastor Bruce showed up at our door, sat at our table with us, and reminded us, “I’m your shepherd, your brother, and your friend. I’ll do all I can to help you.”

            He was all 3 and did as he said.

            To this day, more than a score of years later, we’re grateful to God for gifting us with this precious couple.

            This healing church not only helped us parents, but our whole family—teen sons were guided toward the Savior by awesome youth leaders. And another son grew in his faith and love of the Savior under his teacher’s instruction and TLC. And our (then) little whirlwind? Loved and adored by Mrs. Kathy and others!

 

Precious Lord, Take My Hand by Thomas Andrew Dorsey 1938—protected by copyright

Precious Lord Take My Hand | Angie Sutherland - YouTube

 

            Pastor Bruce “took our hands” when we needed help so badly. He and his bride continued a thriving ministry spanning 30 years at the church. Then God placed another call on his heart.

            Now Pastor Bruce is pastor to pastors, and dear Mrs. Kathy is by his side. How blessed are these called-to-preach men to have this beloved man help them grow, disciple them, and encourage them as they honor their commitment!

             Here's some advice I wish to share with you. No, I am not a certified counselor ~ just one who’s been hurt and passing on her thoughts:

1) If you’ve endured church-hurt, it’s okay to take a break. Go to the Savior about it. After all, Jesus understands. Remember, His home synagogue leaders wanted to push Him over a cliff!***

2) Seek godly counsel.

3) Find a place where you’ll be loved, cared for, treated like functional-family, and befriended. Not all churches are alike, but no church is meant to harm you. If your church attacks you, realize this is neither what God intended for them to do nor for you to accept.

            It’s not pleasing to God or healthy for you to stay in an abusive church situation. What to do?

1) Address the difficulties/sins in the manner laid out by God’s Word. If the church doesn’t respond, I suggest you get out!

2) Run, then rest. All wounds need time to heal, and (as mentioned above)…

3) Find a church family who will be like Jesus to you and nurse you back to health. Ask God to direct you to the church that’s best for you. He knows you need good “family.”

 

            To you who’ve been hurt, this post is for you ~ to let you know you’re not alone. And, although you feel like you’ve been slain, you can heal and will when you find the right place of worship. It may take a very long time and additional support.

            Remember: Jesus Christ knows what you are going through and experienced it Himself. So, in a very real sense, wounded soldiers, you’re in good company!

 

#churchhurt #churchhealing #churchfamily #pastorshepherd #brotherfriend #wounds

#Psalms #AWTozer #scriputralconfrontation #holdinguparms

 

*referencing Moses’ help in battle found in Exodus 17:8-16

**as laid out in Matthew 18:15-19

***Luke 4:14-30

 IMAGES—1^st from blogspot.com, 2^nd from freeBibleimages.org. (artist: Paula Nash Giltner), 3^rd = photo used w/ permission.

 From the Internet: “Pastor Bruce Aubrey was born in New York and raised in the countryside. His father was a farmer. Bruce trusted in Jesus at the age of 14 and was called to ministry at the age of 17. He has served on staff in churches for more than 45 years…”

You Are Invited!

            You are invited to travel back in time. Here! Sit beside me as we ride in our Chevy station wagon to the S&H Green Stamp Redemption Center.

            We’ve waited for this moment forever (in kid time). Mom saved those precious stamps in our kitchen junk drawer for who knows how long. And who had the job of licking those babies and putting them in their proper face-value frames on each page of the specially designed S&H Green Stamp books?

            Me! Yes, I was the one with the greenish-colored tongue. No problem though! I loved that duty because, at the end of those eons of months (maybe years) we dressed up for our trip to the next town, parked in front of that store, went in, and gazed at the real-life prizes we “won” which, up until now, we only dreamed of as we flipped through the S&H catalog, kept at home.

            Inside the Green Stamp Redemption Center were tables set up with beautiful displays. Those now real items—until now only flat images on pages at home—came to life. WE were going to purchase something amazing—something my many-times, discolored tongue played a part in making possible.

            Wow! Ready to redeem our stamp books! What would we choose? Toys, jewelry, dishes, a clock radio, small kitchen appliances, furnishings?

            Mom chose a blender. We’d never had one of those. It seemed all the saving up of those stamps from our grocery shopping and gas-buying disappeared so quickly when we redeemed them for one of these coveted items.

            But somehow the wonder of it all stayed with this then young girl who only wished for—oh, maybe a clock radio one day. But that was too many green stamp dreams away.

            I do remember, though, when my sister saved enough to buy a small, beautifully styled two-shelf bookcase. THAT was the ultimate purchase! She’d leave for college soon, and that bookcase traveled with her for quite some years after graduation.

            Green stamps have come and gone, but the memories of store check-out girls handing Mom her “earnings,” licking those wonders and placing them carefully in their appropriate place, and taking them to the redemption center? They remain.

            Now we travel on—much, much further back in time.

            You are invited to another place of redemption. This one displays no beauty. In fact, it’s dingy, dirty, uninviting, messy beyond belief. For this one you bring nothing. No stamps, no money, not even your good works will do. Then why go there?

            Because the Prize here is better than anything you could ever possibly imagine winning from an S&H Green Stamp Redemption Center or anywhere else, for that matter. You can’t even earn this Prize at all. It’s not for sale.

            Travel down the dirty city street, follow the drops of sweat and blood falling from One Whose body is literally shredded from the beatings He’s endured. For, at the end of this journey, you’ll find He’s done this with your prize in mind.

            Yes, He will die. Must die, but that’s the price. And hope of obtaining your prize? No line. No wait. No saving up. Only your need to drop at the foot of the cross bearing Jesus, the Son of God—Savior of the world. Your Savior, if you accept His invitation because…

            In only three days He will rise again and the gate to your price-paid prize will open wide for anyone who wants it—eternal life. Heaven!

            You are invited! Come as you are. No price to pay because Jesus already purchased your salvation with His Blood. All you need bring is your baggage of sin, kept in the junk-drawer of your broken life.

            Dump that burden. You don’t need it. You can be free.

            The choice is up to you. S&H—Salvation & Heaven! There’s no greater prize anywhere!

            I’ve made this trip, left my sin burden, and claimed my prize. Redeemed once and for all! Stamped & sealed by God’s Holy Spirit! Awaiting my final prize!

            If you’ve already done this also, then you know how wonderful this redemption is along with no end to the many times you can visit with the Savior, your Redeemer, from that moment on.           

 

There’s Room at the Cross for You (by Ira Stamphill)

There's Room At The Cross - SMS Men's Chorus (youtube.com)

 

#youareinvited #S&Hgreenstamps #redemptioncenter #prize #crucifiction #resurrention #salvationfreegift #Heaven

Spitting Llamas & This Son of Ours

 

            Min, our lives-in-with-us son with challenges, accompanied us to a medical appointment on a day we couldn’t provide him with a caregiver locally.

            We told him, “We’ll make it worth your while and take you to the Crazy Llama Café.”

            “What do they sell there?”

            “All kinds of coffee specialties,” I said, “but I’m sure they’ll have something you like. I think they have baked goodies. We’ve only been through the drive-thru, but we’ll go inside today because we’ve got extra time before my appointment.”

            “Do they really have llamas?” he asked, being an avid lover of all-things-animal.

            “Well, I suppose they’d have at least one.” I smiled. “A crazy one maybe?”

            Brian pulled into the café lot and parked the car. We hugged our coats around us on this bitter, cold day.

            “Llamas spit, you know,” Min said as he carefully treaded up the icy walkway to the door. “Do you think they spit on the floor?”

            I laughed. “Hmm, maybe. Better watch where you walk in there.”

            Inside he looked down and about, surmising it was safe.

            It was a quaint shop, streamlined and stylish with hand-thrown ceramic Crazy Llama mugs lined up for sale.

            “May I help you,” a coffee barista called from behind the counter.

            Min turned to me, looking a bit confused. “I thought monks worked here.”

            “What gave you that idea?” I asked, knowing full well Min can come up with rather unusual and often creative (ahem) ideas.

            “Don’t they have something to do with llamas?”

            “You’re confusing llamas with dalai lama, I guess,” I said in a hushed tone.

            “Oh. Maybe monks just run coffee shops in Asia.”

            “I doubt they have jobs outside their…”

            “…monastaries?” Min interrupted.

            “Right.”

            Brian and I ordered an uncomplicated coffee and decided we’d split a cinnamon bun.

            Min chose a large chocolate chip cookie. Not noticing a beverage choice he liked, he passed on that.

            We sat at a small café-style table and noted the you-can’t-miss-those large, artsy photographed images on canvas of llamas, spaced on the walls surrounding us.

            “I like the llama pictures,” Min said between bites of his cookie with crumbs about his lips. “Do those llamas spit?”

            “Only in the drinks,” I said with a snicker. I looked over the menu board again. “Oh, they have hot cocoa. Want one of those?”

            Min scrunched his eyebrows and glared. “No thank you!”

            Softish ’80’s music played, setting the mood even more.

            I commented, “Nice music. Not blaring or foul.”

            “It’s nor,” Min said.

            I bobbed my head back, “It’s what?”

            “Nor.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            Brian chimed in. “He means noir. A style.”

            “That’s actually a ‘thing?’”

            “Yes,” said my husband, shaking his head a bit over this bizarre conversation, then going back to his llama-spit-free coffee.

            (I may be the writer in the family, but he’s the speller and wordsmith, with a larger vocabulary than mine any day of the week. Apparently, our son is in his dad’s league too with his addition of “noir.”)

            Min chimed in. “Noir is like a guy playing saxophone in a window and the whole thing is black and white. You know, like movies made from black and white film and very serious. Dah-dah-dah,” he sang monotoned in a low, saxaphony way.

            I couldn’t help but laugh! “Oh my! You just know so much about so many things. You’re a wonder!”

            “It’s what makes me special.” He said, smiled, and finished eating his cookie in his very dry mouth.

             Oh, Min, there’s so much about you that makes you special! Okay. You have a special needs label, but you’re more than what education and society have placed on you. And, even though you are child-like in almost all your ways, you’re funny, good (MOST of the time), helpful, kind. You have the heart of a servant, and perhaps that’s what makes us most proud.

            So, here we are in your birthday month! The big 31! Another birthday we never dreamed you’d reach with the physical challenges your body carries. Yet God has granted you these days and ordained them for His purpose as you’ve given your heart and life to Him.

            You’re a jewel in God’s Crown, a gem showing forth His Glory—in your own special way. Yes, that’s so very special too!

            Blessed happy birthday to you, you “crazy non-spitting (at least we hope not), very classy, noir (maybe—maybe not) llama-and-every-other-type-animal lover—except maybe geese! (But that’s another story.)

                                                                      With love always,

                                                                       Dad & Mom

 

When He cometh, when He cometh to make up His jewels,

All His jewels, precious jewels, His loved and His own.

 

(Refrain) Like the stars of the morning, His bright crown adorning,

They shall shine in their beauty, bright gems for His crown.

 

He will gather, He will gather the gems for His kingdom;

All the pure ones, all the bright ones, His loved and His own. (Refrain)

 

Little children, little children, who love their Redeemer,

Are the jewels, precious jewels, His loved and His own.

 

(Refrain) Like the stars of the morning, His bright crown adorning,

They shall shine in their beauty, bright gems for His crown.

 

(from the hymn When He Cometh by William O. Cushing, 1856, public domain)

#llamas #coffee #specialneeds #birthday #purpose #Godsgem