COLOSSIANS 4:6

Let your speech be always

gracious,
Seasoned with Salt...
[written A.D. 61]
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NOW
In our present days...
Yes, still our MOUTH...
but also,
our "FINGERS"...
Typing/texting/FB-ing/blogging...
Must be seasoned with salt...
And filled with grace...
Touching hearts and souls and spirits.

SKID ROW MISSION

He sat on the sidewalk, his back resting against the dirty brick siding of the skid row Mission. He could have been forty or sixty or even eighty years old. His clothes were the Uniform of the Streets: a cast-off brown sport coat with frayed cuffs and holes where the elbows should have been; grimy, too-short khaki pants; gray-white socks, the tops of which had been stretched with wear and bagged in ripples to meet scuffed brown loafers.

Smoke, sweat and dust seemed to hover over him in a smoggy cloud, and even where I was standing, several feet away, the acrid odor reached me. I knew that if I moved closer I’d be able to smell the stale alcohol and tobacco on his breath. So I didn’t.

His gray-blond hair, grown long over his ears, stuck out in uneven clumps. His beard was salted liberally with gray, which somehow managed to match the pallor of his skin. Even his eyes had a dull gray look about them, although they had retained a touch of blue to indicate that, once, that may have held life – and a sparkle or two.

He was toothless, a fact readily apparent by the sunken cheeks and puckered, unsupported mouth. Lips stained with tobacco juice held the stubby remains of a dirty cigarette. Experience told me the cigarette was probably a composite of several butts rescued from the streets and re-rolled in the best of the available paper.

His face had volumes etched in it. If they could have talked, the scars on his face would have told stories that men seem to savor: the barroom brawl; the fight with the town bully; the fight over the woman who, at the time, was so important to his pride. However, those scars could also tell stories he wouldn’t want to hear repeated: the cut under the eye when he stumbled drunkenly into a gutter and hit his face against the curb; the time a young “con” rolled him and left him bleeding in the filth of an alley; the time he blacked out and never did find out what happened, having only the scar as a reminder of a “lost” night.

A rumpled paper sack poked from a torn pocket of his jacket. He had one gnarled, dirty hand protectively covering the area in a vain attempt to camouflage the bulge of a bottle outlined against the fabric. I knew the bottle would contain any watered-down rot-gut he had been able to beg, borrow, or steal, and that he would rather die than let anyone take it from him.

The door of the Mission opened, and from nooks and crannies up and down the street, men of all shapes and sizes emerged and formed a ragged line. The animosities and petty differences, such as age or color of skin, normally a thorn-hedge barrier between them, would be set aside for an hour of chapel and some “daily bread.”

After most of the others had gone into the Mission, the man I had been watching stood on spindly legs and shuffled unsteadily toward the door. He tentatively put out a hand to brace himself. Using the door as a prop, he stepped up the stoop and disappeared inside.

I turned and walked away. I thought of the women in his life – long unseen daughters, a wife, a sorrowing mother. I wondered if anyone else ever looked at a man like that, sitting on a sidewalk or wandering in the cold, and saw, not a derelict, but a too-old child, hurting and afraid and lonely. I hoped he found something in the Mission besides a sermon and soup. And as I walked, I prayed.

======================
This was a result of the years I was helping at a mission in downtown Omaha some years ago. Saw so much; loved so many.

MATTHEW 7:3

Some years back, I was over at Deb's house. One of the things she pointed out to me was the cobwebs inside her clothes closet. And she said, "My house may be dirty everywhere else, but at least I don't have cobwebs on my living room wall."

When Dave got home after I did, having helped them shift their kitchen appliances, he was expressing disgust at the thick layer of muck in the bottom of her refrigerator. She had opened the door
after he helped push the fridge to the wall. The nasty smell hit him. He must have twitched a bit, and she noticed. Deb shrugged and told him that she would just leave it alone until it was to the point where she couldn't stand it any more. Then she'd clean it. He said she must have a very high tolerance.

Isn't that the way we are with our own sin life? When we notice our cobwebs -- the little surface things hidden behind the "door" -- we think, "At least I don't have cobwebs on my "outer wall". But we sometimes refuse to check the muck in the darkness of our own life.

How quick we are to become object lessons for the Lord’s teaching on the mote and log. And how often are we willing to open kind hearts towards others who aren't quite a "good" as we are? [I "ouch" a lot on that topic.]

³. Why do you stare from without at the very small particle that is in your brother's eye but do not become aware of and consider the beam of timber that is in your own eye?

ROMANTIC BEYOND BELIEF

For nearly 27 years, Dave has been in my life. Neither of us had any idea that the Lord would put us together. The night before he came to my duplex, I called my friend, Susie, who many of you now know from the blog-oriented life we all live, and casually told her that this young guy from church was coming to mow my grass the next day. She still laughs a bit when she remembers that within about 10 days, the "young guy" and I were engaged; married in 4 months.

This is what I've shared. Think you'd understand even more.

We still enjoy each other. We bless each other. We rarely ever focus on Valentine's Day. We don't like the commercial insanity and the way in which romance is faked. The only gift? About 15 years ago, Dave bought me an African violet plant on Valentine's Day... still have it.

So, to me, true romance had rarely occurred in my life until Dave was dropped in. Dave is an amazingly overwhelming treat.

One other blessing with being together. We have different ministries and gift areas. We support and encourage each other to do whatever God calls us to do as partners or individually. Period. So "romance" isn't just lots of kisses and hugs, although those are very nice; "romance" is blessing each other to serve our Lord no matter what the cost.
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Word Carnival is "Romance".

MY ROCK AND YOURS

I love you fervently and devotedly, O Lord, my Strength.

The Lord is my Rock, my Fortress, and my Deliverer; my God, my keen and firm Strength in Whom I will trust and take refuge, my Shield, and the Horn of my salvation, my High Tower. [Ps. 18:1,2]

He is the Rock, His work is perfect, for all His ways are law and justice. A God of faithfulness without breach or deviation, just and right is He. [Deut. 32:4]

PRATIGYA ["COMMITMENT"] ARRIVES

Bhutanese Baby #4. What a JOY. Have known Kharka since shortly after the Lord dropped his family into my life on May 4, '10. He had arrived in the States in March.






I met Usha in May, '11, after my return from the NW. She had arrived on April 28, two days after I left home. Kharka had been waiting for her and had told me a number of times that he wanted his lady to come as soon as possible.

When she arrived -- the DAY she arrived -- his family used their cultural way of having a marriage. She was taken in as their daughter-in-law. It isn't OUR way of doing things, but it was sufficient for them. Both Kharka and Usha left their Hindu religion and came to the Lord in May and were baptized on May 29th. They were married OUR way on July 2nd. In Nepal, they were friends and loved each other for several years; they are very happy.

Now, Pratigya arrived exactly 9 months and 5 days after Usha came from Nepal. WOW! And they both were so happy about this blessing.

I have been involved with them at the O.B. office for several weeks. Didn't need to be there until the ultrasound showed the baby moving along as anticipated and the birth issues might need to be discussed a bit.

Even though the Dr. anticipated that we would be at the hospital after an appointment on Wednesday, she agreed with them that they could wait another 4 days if necessary, but she said, "No longer".

Yesterday morning at 11:30, Kharka called me and yammered so fast I couldn't understand anything except that they needed to head for the hospital soon. I rushed up the street and checked in and found that 2:00 would be the reasonable time. I rushed back home and called the hospital to let them know the needed schedule. Arrived a little later, but the whole "baby" process was begun by 5:00, all the IV meds and fluids in place. The epidural around 10:00. And then:

at 3:30 the nurses started getting everything in place, called the Dr., had Kharka and I moving some of the furnishings and getting everything involving us ready.

The night-nurse and I had the "delivery" leg-holding birth-pushing job. As has occurred before, my leg and arm muscles began to be pretty tired and sore from the intense hard counter-pushing. Usha was one strong young lady! I never would have guessed it; she's so small and thin. But she was absolutely determined to get this done. ASAP!!

Then it did. 4:43 AM. Since I only live 10 minutes away from the hospital, I didn't leave until about an hour later. After the birth, I was able to hold Pratigya for quite a while. Kharka was actually a little nervous about holding this little child for more than a minute or so, and it wasn't possible to let Usha hold her too long with all her personal body repair still taking place.

SO... my blessing was holding Pratigya for about 20 minutes, floating around the room with her, and cuddling her. Right after we prepared the Mom and Baby time for the breast feeding to begin, I was done with my part of the "job" and I left for home. Reached here at 5:55.
Someday I hope one of my pics during those early times of morning would show me gorgeous, but at least I was there and this proves it.

Have slept off and on from 7AM to 2:15 today. Now staying up and posting and sharing.

Hope I sleep tonight.

DEUTERONOMY 7:26 --- SERIOSITY AGAIN!

This verse jumped out at me a couple days ago, and it's been on my mind, heart, ever since. Here it is, Amplified:

Neither shall you bring an abomination (an idol) into your house, lest you become an accursed thing like it; but you shall utterly detest and abhor it, for it is an accursed thing.

Considering how it is applied to our present world-days, it might not make any sense to most folks. OR by sticking with it now... when to most people it really doesn't make sense and sounds awfully picky or boring.

Loathsome, detestable are the definitions connecting abominable and accursed. And a god or idol is someone or something considered to be extremely valuable or important.

Often I think of this. Am I placing someone or something ahead of my Heavenly Father? Am I worried about having a nice house, nice furniture, nice yard, good car, and a family-connected sports team player who wins ... because "less than" would put us lower in our society... Christian society, too.

Am I allowing certain DVDs, songs, TV shows, I-Net programs to enter my house, my heart, my mind... ones that will fill me with ungodly thoughts and dreams, hopes and plans for the future?

Will I be on alert at all times to be certain that no one brings those elements into my home?

Could I place my loving husband over my Lord? What a spiritually dangerous move that would be! Dave would cry, loudly, "NO!", and be horribly upset that I would put him first.

Another example: Back in the '92 stretch, we had two ladies living with us. Both were in their 30s and both solid Christians. One of our house rules we laid before them was that we did not allow anyone in our home to watch any TV programs or videos that were rated "R". Their comment? "But we are adults. We should be allowed to choose what we want to watch." OUR comment: "Not here." [When I think of what "R" rated is today, compared to 20 years ago, that's a real challenge.] And Dave and I still are pressured by some people to be more flexible about what we're willing to watch.

And what about so many other things? It depends on the families, regions, states, nations... their focus on anything, anywhere, anytime-- except for our Heavenly Father and our Dear Lord Jesus.

So, here's my question. Where and how do you deal or struggle with this one?