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In my mind, I pictured a lovely four course meal. Fried fillet of cod, light and well seasoned, fluffy-buttered rice, tender, juicy corn and a side of fruit cocktail. Well, at least the fruit cocktail turned out okay. Hard to ruin something you just dish out of a can.With visions that should make Emeril envious, I dove into my project. However, the outcome looked more like Martha Stewart with Alzheimer’s. The fish burnt to a crisp. I scaled the worst of the charcoaled coating and put some of the fish portions on our plates, resting the platter on the stove. Â
I’d let too much of the rice water boil away. Never did fluff. I didn’t time the corn correctly either, and scooped the lukewarm kernels unto the plates with the fish. While emptying the canned fruit cocktail into bowls, I heard the pop of a cracking plate. Apparently, I’d forgotten to turn off the burner when I set the platter down. As the plate caught fire, I blew heroically at the flames and yelled, “Help!”
My husband ran into the kitchen, threw the incinerating remains of my failure onto the floor and smothered the fire. I apologized for the less than satisfactory meal. “At least I didn’t sabotage the fruit cocktail,” I said between sobs.
He gave me two thumbs up. “Don’t worry about it. I love you for trying.”
Sometimes our best intentions literally go down the drain. We visualize how perfect everything will be. But all too often the end result falls as flat as a soufflé taken out of the oven too soon. But has it all been for naught? Are our best efforts truly lost when motivated by love?
My dear readers, that is the hope that sustains me as I write this last Speaking Of…article.  I have left my secretarial position at Centenary UMC to pursue writing full time, and Pastor Billy Bond will be taking over the church’s newspaper spot. However, the editor has graciously requested I write another column. That one will be called This Daily Grind—celebrating God’s unexpected blessings in this roller coaster ride of life.
The Bible says that love covers a multitude of sins. I believe that God looks at even our worst attempts with gratitude. He will bless the sourest voice in the congregation because the song has been offered with a worshipful heart.   Â
Humor writer, Barbara Johnson, who suffered multiple losses in her life, has learned a valuable secret when life’s disasters pin her to the wall. “Change the wall to God. Imagine yourself pressed tightly against his heart, wrapped in his everlasting arms, soothed by his life-giving breath. Picture yourself encircled in God’s love, soaked in his strength. Then step out into the highway once more.”
So when our best intentions turn out to be the worst of offerings, rest assured God sees the love inside those lumpy mashed potatoes.
“…for though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again,
      but the wicked are brought down by calamity” (Proverbs 24:16 NIV).
October 31st, 2007
I’d like to introduce another writer friend of mine. Prolific as you can seeÂ
Tricia Goyer has published over 300 articles for national publications such as Today’s Christian Woman, Guideposts for Kids, and Focus on the Family, and is the co-author of Meal Time Moments (Focus on the Family). She has led numerous Bible Studies, and her study notes appear in the Women of Faith Study Bible (Zondervan).Â
She has written seven novels for Moody Publishing: From Dust and Ashes (2003); Night Song (2004), Dawn of a Thousand Nights (2005); Arms of Deliverance (2006); A Valley of Betrayal (2007); A Shadow of Treason (Fall 2007); and A Whisper of Freedom (Spring 2008). ; , (2005); (2006); (2007); (Fall 2007); and (Spring 2008). Night Song was awarded American Christian Fiction Writer’s 2005 Book of the Year for Best Long Historical. Dawn of a Thousand Nights won the same award in 2006.Â
; , (2005); (2006); (2007); (Fall 2007); and (Spring 2008). was awarded American Christian Fiction Writer’s 2005 Book of the Year for Best Long Historical. won the same award in 2006. Tricia has also written Life Interrupted: The Scoop on Being a Young Mom (Zondervan, 2004), 10 Minutes to Showtime (Thomas Nelson, 2004), and Generation NeXt Parenting (Multnomah, 2006). Life Interrupted was a 2005 Gold Medallion finalist in the Youth Category. Also, coming out in the next year are: My Life, Unscripted (Thomas Nelson, 2007), Generation NeXt Marriage (Multnomah, Spring 2008), and 3:16—the teen version of the a book by Max Lucado (Thomas Nelson, Spring 2008). Â
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Tricia and her husband John live with their three children in Kalispell, Montana. Tricia’s grandmother also lives with them, and Tricia volunteers mentoring teen moms and leading children’s church. Although Tricia doesn’t live on a farm, she can hit one with a rock by standing on her back porch and giving it a good throw.
To order hop over to My Life, Unscripted.
August 20th, 2007
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For my husband Steve, it was one of those days. Sometimes one of those days becomes one of those weeks and can stretch well into one of those months. We’re beginning to feel that it’s been one of those years stretching into one of these lives!
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It was hot. Oppressively hot. But it was men’s golf league night. Since the world hadn’t come to an end, Steve thought he’d play. The first omen came when his partner’s wife called to say he was in the hospital. “I should probably call on him. But, it’s men’s golf league night. Jim will understand.”
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Steve found a substitute. He played one of his worst nine holes of golf since he first learned the game forty years ago. His substitute didn’t fare much better. They lost all four points to the other team.
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Most nights, the men stay after their game and get a bite to eat at the nineteenth hole. My husband’s substitute opted to go home. “Family duties.” The winning team decided to stay only long enough for a celebratory drink and to buy my husband a condolence offering.
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They headed upstairs and one of the opposition asked, “What you drinking, Steve.”
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My husband doesn’t drink alcohol. Although the temptation to start was there. “Coke.”
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They sat at the table, and Steve ordered his dinner. The man downed their drinks and left.
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Steve sat at the table alone hoping his salad plate would erase some of the disappointment of the evening.
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Forty-five minutes later, his food arrived. “Sorry, Mr. Rondeau. We forgot about you.”
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“Don’t worry,” he said, although inwardly he thought, And what else is new?Â
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He finished his plate and asked for his bill. On it were three drinks and his salad plate.
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“They not only beat the pants off us, they stuck me with their bill!” he shouted to the waitress. She shrugged her shoulders, and my husband paid up.
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On the way out of the clubhouse, he commiserated this unhappy experience with another golfer. Knowing that I write a religious column for the local newspaper, he told Steve, “There’s gotta me a column in there someplace.” Steve laughed as he told me what his friend said.
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What is life but a lesson? We can either chose to be unhappy about these inconveniences, let it spoil our enjoyment, or see what nugget for living we can glean from it. What did Steve gain?
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“Hey, I’m grateful to play golf. Even if I don’t perform up to my own expectations. The coke tasted good after a hot round. And the experience gave my wife something to write about.”
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August 7th, 2007
Landmines? Not the military warfare kind found in all parts of the world. I’m talking about the every-day-watch-what-you say kind of landmines. You know. You ask a friend if they’ve lost weight. Simple question. But what if they haven’t? What, as had happened to me, if they’ve actually gained weight? Akin to asking someone when the baby’s due and they’re not pregnant.
We all have landmines within our psyche. Trigger words. Words that evoke latent hostilities or have the power to throw us into another depressive episode. To the casual observer, they’re unseen and unknowable until…watch out! Like Stephen Spielberg’s menacing shark the landmine explodes with little or no warning and sans the mood setting music.
Landmines in the church?
Oh, yes. Plenty. Things like, “We always sing a hymn before we dismiss.”
I thought I was immune to those immature reactions, the inability to accept change. Until recently. I usually take my seat for morning worship just after Sunday School, before the major influx of arrivals. I always sit in the third row of seats in the middle section. Last Sunday, I moved to sit next to a friend whose husband had not come with her. My husband rarely sits with me as he wears so many hats during the service (sound system, usher, etc), he stays in the back.
I glanced over to my normal sitting space to see a stranger there. What nerve! Don’t they know that’s my place! I caught myself foolishly hoping that the next time they came, they’d leave my spot alone. Worse yet, I had a fleeting wish they didn’t come back at all. Â
Then I chided myself for such selfishness and infantile thinking. And I suppose we are all vulnerable to our inner landmines. Maybe it’s that vulnerability to absurd thinking that binds us in our humanity. For when we soar above our own landmines, then we can truly understand another’s hesitancy.
What are your landmines?
Linda
July 13th, 2007
I watched an interview on The Actor’s Studio with Chris Rock. He is a very funny guy. But I hadn’t really appreciated the man until that interview. He talked unashamedly about his upbringing in a poor neighborhood.
“I knew at a very early age how unique my situation was to have both a mother and a father.” He went on to explain that his neighborhood was deep into crack use. To have both a mother and a father was nearly unheard of. “Everyone has a father. What I mean is having your father there to do the day by day dad thing. That was special.”
I wonder about any culture that has allowed this to happen. How have we let whole neighborhoods disintegrate into this kind of influence on young lives?
But for some people, adversity and deprivation challenge the spirit and develop determination. Maybe it’s the hard knocks in life that strengthen us in the long run. Someone once said that when the wind blows against the trees, the roots grow deeper.
Sometimes, I think my roots must be all the way to China.
Yesterday was Father’s Day. Even though my father was 85 when he died, I miss him. Not that our family was the most functional on the planet. I even tried to run away a few times as a kid. But my folks found me, welcomed me back. From the far side of adulthood, I now see that those bumps growing up became the fabric of my whole life. I’m grateful that I had a dad.
He wasn’t wealthy. He lived during the depression and helped fight a war in France. Got shot and earned a purple heart. He married his childhood sweetheart and they had three children. After the war, he eked out a living, providing shelter and putting food on the table for his family. For him, that was the day to day dad thing. Get up at two in the morning, go to work and try to get some sleep before he had to do it all over again. Yet he found time to discipline, to go to a silly school concert, and to take a bunch of my friends up to the lake for a swim.
That’s the day to day dad thing. Fighting the grind of everyday life and making sure your family is taken care of. That was his way of loving.
Thanks Dad.Â
June 18th, 2007
“Hey, Mr. Randall,” McNair told his teacher as he stepped into the classroom. “There’s somebody that wants to see you outside?”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, really.”
McNair’s teacher obliged. Within a few minutes he came back into the classroom. “I thought you said somebody wanted to see me outside?”
“Yeah. Me.”
And so that is how McNair ended up in the principal’s office. Again. Only, the principal was McNair’s father.
Artist, actor, writer and motivational speaker, McNair has made a career out of being “the clown.” He attributes his successes to having parents who encouraged his humor, but also helped him to see appropriate channels in which to express himself.
Got a kid who likes to clown around? Do you get called into an exasperated principal’s office with still another complaint over misplaced humor?
Kid’s are not born with restraint. This is developed over time. Unfortunately, the child’s behavior causes problems for the adults as the child learns how to place a good laugh at appropriate times. Sadly, some adults don’t see the talent behind the prank. When they try to squash the pranks, they inadvertently squash the talent.
Take courage, Mom and Dad. The world needs all the clowns it can get. Laughter is priceless.
June 1st, 2007
Disappointing enough that Sean O’Hair put his ball in the water on 17, the last day of the Player’s Tournament. He shook his head in disbelief. He’d planned the shot perfectly, and executed it the way he planned. It looked good. But no denying the splash. Okay. So he’s one down. He could still get bogey if he made the next shot. He nervously adjusted and, groaned as his second ball went into the water. Now all he could hope for was a double bogey. His third shot finally made it safely on the green, but he missed his putt and ended with a triple bogey. In one hole he dropped from second behind Phil Mickleson to a tie for sixth. Water Damage had so destroyed his dream.
How often does water damage intrude into our hopes? Bob planned on a dream vacation to Hawaii. Just as he started to click on plane reservations, he heard a drip, drip. When the plumber came, Bob saw his vacation literally go down the drain. He’d need $5,000 to replace the pipes in his two story, early 20th century home.Â
“Well, at least we’ve got a house to fix,” he said as he turned off the computer and set to work. Water damage not only drained his vacation funds, but Bob had to get a loan to complete the work. Hawaii would be put on hold for at least four years. Life’s triple bogey.Â
These are the times, we must make a choice. We can wallow in our self-pity and disappointment, or take the third shot and be glad we’re in the game. We can’t all take the trophy home, but we can all play.Â
Praise God in all things, the Bible tells us. It’s hard. Because all we can hear is the splash as our plans plop into the water. Not just once. But twice. For some of us, more than that.
But our water damage can be an opportunity to take stock of our blessings. Life is precious, always.
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May 15th, 2007
We enjoyed a great, albeit short time, with my brother in Florida. We hadn’t connected outside of weddings and funerals for years. He’d visit my parents who live in the same town as us, but those were the peck-on-the-cheek-and-a-handshake sort of visits. The airfair was Mastercard. One on one time with my brother, priceless. Â
But soon after we came home, and right after I’d made my reservations for a writers conference, the washing machine died. The dryer had already been on it’s last legs, too. We’d hoped to get through one more year. The financial burden seemed too great.
“If I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have gone to Florida or signed up for the conference. We can’t afford this!”
The washing machine was only one of the harpooned financial challenges. We’d made arrangements to have a dead tree taken down before it collapsed on the house. The job required an expert. Costly. The air-conditioning blew in my husband’s truck. My car needs new tires all around. The list seems endless. The kitchen floor is in shambles, we need flooring for our living room as well.
I complained to the Lord. He gently rebuked me.
“Don’t you think I know you need these things.”
“Well, yes.”
“Didn’t I let you go see your brother before all this happened?”
“Well, yes.”
“And didn’t I have you sign up for the writers conference?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then don’t worry. Life comes in bunches. But I am already at work. And I’ve ordered your steps. Smile and be happy for I am your God.”
Hey. Couldn’t ask for a better hug.
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Linda
May 7th, 2007
“Don’t you love me, God?”
Of course, I know God loves me. But for the past decade, I’ve felt like poor relations.
“Have you asked specifically for blessings?”
“Well, no. I just figured you knew what I needed. So why should I ask.”
“Go ahead. Ask.”
“Okay.”
So I did. I prayed for money enough to bless others. I figured I should start with something unselfish. Then I prayed for things like getting a new toothbrush. Like a kid with free access to the cookie jar, I wanted all my stomach could hold and then some.Â
And the sudden intense awareness of my needs burdened me. Total absorption into self wore on my conscious being. I didn’t want the responsibility of defining my needs any more. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t read. All I could see were the heaps and failures. My body ached from the shear weight of self analysis.”
Then God said to me, “Okay. Choose. Do you want financial blessings or physical blessings?”
What a paradox. “Can’t I have both?” Money provides the resources for better health. Better health allows more energy to pursue wealth.
Ultimately, I couldn’t make up my mind. Finally, I surrendered everything back to God. ”You choose. You know what’s best for me.”
Then I realized, that had been the real lesson all along. I didn’t need to petition God for every little thing. What I truly needed was to trust in His desire for good things in my life. Instead of asking for more blessings, I should take count of what I already have.
“Don’t I send rain into the desert? Don’t I provide a bed for the man who cannot walk?”
I’d been praying for green valleys and the ability to run.
I expect I’ll always worry about how bills will be paid and the home repairs done. God has always provided in ways I could never imagine, even in my best work of fiction.Â
I will probably continue to pout before my Father. It’s part of my nature to worry. Thankfully, He knows why I do it. He’s patient with my insecurity, even when I think He doesn’t love me. Â
And He consistently reminds me, “Take no thought for tomorrow. What you will eat. What you will wear. Your Heavenly Father knows you have need of them. As he adorns the uncultivated meadows, so He will provide for you.”Â
“Yes. Lord. You do know exactly what I need and exactly when I need it.”
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April 29th, 2007
April 24, 2007
A few weeks ago, I whistled while folding church bulletins. Then some noisy idea gushed into my mind from nowhere. “Churches should help more with court-ordered community service projects.” Talk about an interruption to idea flow.”
As a writer, I enjoy folding bulletins because I can let my thoughts dance in the meadows of my mind. It doesn’t take a lot of brain power to fold, crease, and stack. But when these philospophical whispers barge into my otherwise recreational fantasies, I want to scream.
Not more than a few minutes later, the phone rang. A young girl requested assistance with her court-ordered community service project. “I’ve called twenty churches and not a one was interested.”
Well, needless to say, I knew I would have to intervene. Forltunately, the church where I work agreed to give the girl an opportunity to meet her obligations–under my direct supervision. Yowser!
I’ve never been able to multitask well, not even when mothering demands required it of me. Somehow my three children survived my attention deficit tendencies. But how would I manage hand-holding an inexperienced assistant and still get my work done?
That same still, small voice reminded me one more time, “As to the least of them, you do to me.”
Now how can anyone argue with that? Then I say, let the inconvenience rain! Amen!
April 25th, 2007
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