Meaningless?

Day after day I read more discouraging news—job losses, war, flu outbreaks, and endless political infighting. I needed some encouragement. So, I opened up my Bible for my daily reading, and what did my eyes land on? The words of Solomon in Ecclesiastes, “Meaningless! Meaningless! Everything is meaningless.”

That’s not what I needed to hear!

Okay, so I caught him at a low moment. Solomon messed-up and disobeyed God. He was experiencing a time of sorrow and regret. Even the so-called wisest man who ever lived was a sinner. That’s no surprise—we all are. But still—here’s a man who had it all—wisdom, success, fame, and fortune beyond the wildest imagination. Yet, at the end of his life he says it’s all meaningless!

As I read on, I found this man—who didn’t withhold any pleasure from himself—did admit to finding meaning in a few things. And it struck me they were all things that had nothing to do with wealth, fame, and fortune—because he said things like:

Enjoy life with your wife, whom you love. … A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This too, I see, is from the hand of God, for without Him, who can eat or find enjoyment?
–Eccl. 2:24; 9:4

How simple is that? Nothing fancy—just take pleasure in your work and your important relationships—and acknowledge God.

Now that’s’ what I needed to hear!

Then it dawned on me, I don’t need to be discouraged. Even in these hard times, I already have everything I need for a meaningful life—work to enjoy, people to love, and most of all—a God who loves me! I don’t need to be rich, powerful, or famous. I don’t even have to be perfect. God knows my frailty—that’s why he sent His Son. All I have to do is acknowledge Him.

Jesus said, “And why are you anxious about clothing (an everyday concern of life)? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory did not cloth himself like one of these. But if God so arrays the grass of the field… will He not much more do so for you? Do not be anxious then, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or 'With what shall we cloth ourselves?’… For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added to you.”
–Matt. 6:28-33

Tribute to Ginger - A Lesson on Attitude and Persistent Prayer

It’s been a year since Ginger, my dear feline friend, died at the ripe age of nineteen. I wrote about how she became part of our family several years ago. I thought it would be a fitting tribute to share her story now—as she would have turned twenty-years-old this summer.

Ginger didn’t start out to be my cat, but when the kids grew up and left home—she stayed behind and kept me company. With the house too quiet and empty—we needed each other. I still miss her clinging precariously to my lap as I clack away on my computer…

(Bear with me, this is longer than my other posts. :-)

“Dad…. Dad?”

“What?” He lowered his newspaper. Three little girls in stair step sizes stood facing his recliner. The tallest one, Lila (now Sydnee), prodded the smallest one forward.

“Daddy, I want a kitty,” three and a half year old Leneah spoke. Red cool-aid stained her upper lip and her short crooked bangs betrayed her recent hair cutting effort.

“We want a kitty too,” chimed in her sisters. Evidence of red cool-aid marked their lips as well. I could see what they were up to. It was Leneah who really wanted a kitty. No doubt Lila, my little-mother-hen, figured she needed a little help getting one.

“You’re wearing me out!” he said with exasperation. “I’ve already said no several times. What is it about no that you don’t understand?!”

My husband wasn’t a “cat man.” And since he has no problem expressing his opinion, it was well known among family and friends that he hated cats. “They have fleas. They get hair on everything. And above all, they have attitude,” he’d say.

If anyone has attitude, it’s him. I smiled. That’s why he doesn’t want a cat. He says he doesn’t want to share a house with a cat that has fleas and fur, but it’s really the attitude.

“Come on, honey. What will it hurt to get a cat?” my heart went out to Leneah. “You know how much she likes animals … or critters of any kind for that matter. Now that the weather is warming up, she plays outside all the time. I didn’t think of that the other day, and I made the mistake of not checking her pockets before washing play clothes. We had a few really clean bugs and worms in the washer.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth for a second, but he shook it off, determined to end the discussion. “You know how I feel about cats,” he said stubbornly. “Let her have all the bugs she wants! Or better yet, get her a gold fish or a turtle.”

“Leneah can’t pet a fish, Dad,” nine year old Lila said, rolling her eyes. “And besides, my friend Robby has a turtle and some kind of fungus started growing on it. It’s gross.”

“Yuk!” said six year old Layla with a disgusted look. “I’d rather have a kitty.” Unlike Leneah, she was scared of bugs, and would rather play dress-up indoors. I suddenly pictured an unhappy cat in doll clothes.

Leneah just stood there looking hopefully between us. I wonder what’s going on in her little mind. Fungus probably sounds like another interesting pet to her.

“That’s it. End of discussion.” I could tell he felt ganged-up on and wasn’t backing down. “If you don’t like my idea, then forget about getting a pet.” He picked his newspaper up and acted like he was reading.

“Come on girls. Let’s not bother your Dad right now. He’s tired after working hard all day, and besides, it’s time to get ready for bed.” I said as I herded the disappointed little group to their room.

“Mind your mother,” my husband said from behind his paper, clearly relieved to be off the hot-seat.

After the nightly ritual of baths and story time, I tucked each one in and had them say their prayers.

“Dear Jesus,” Leneah prayed, “I want a kitty, but Daddy doesn’t like ‘em. Could you help me get me one? Maybe you could help Daddy like ‘em. Then maybe we could get one, Amen.”

If her Daddy won’t get her a kitty, she’ll just go over his head. If he only knew… What was that? I thought I heard a noise, a pause and then my husband's footsteps. I smiled in the dark....

Summer came and faded. Leneah turned four. Thanksgiving came and went and still, her prayers for a kitty persisted. Then one day, my husband asked if the girls were still praying for a cat.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, if we ever do get a cat, I will be the one to find it!”

“So what changed your mind?” I asked.

That’s when he told me about an ad he'd seen in the newspaper about adopting rescued cats. But the surprise was, he had already called the number! He said a friendly semi-retired veterinarian answered the phone.

“I often come across unwanted or injured cats,” she had said. “After nursing them back to health, giving them shots and neutering them, I put them up for adoption. Come and take a look. I have a few in my garage right now.”

“What is your fee?” He asked, thinking if it was too high, it might get him off the hook.

"Oh, don’t worry about that. I only ask for a donation. Whatever you can afford is fine.”

Tears stung my eyes. I was witnessing the answer to my daughter’s prayers.

He looked at me and cleared his throat. “Gather the girls for me. I want to talk to them.”

“Come in the living room, girls. Your Dad has something to tell you.” They looked at me curiously. I couldn’t hide my excitement.

“What is it, Mom? Why do you look so happy?” Lila asked.

“Hurry up, and you’ll see.”

“Okay, everyone, listen up,” my husband announced. “I may have found us a cat, but don’t get your hopes up,” he cautioned. “We’re going to go see a lady about it tonight. If she has the right cat, we’ll bring it home. If not, we’ll have to wait until the right one comes along.” Then he looked at our youngest daughter sternly, “And since it was your idea, you have to promise to help feed it and clean the cat box.”

She nodded her head seriously.

Later that evening, the first snow began to fall. A special feeling was in the air. We bundled up and piled into the station wagon. The girls were excited. They chattered in anticipation about what kind of cat we might find. Would it be big or small, striped or plain, fluffy or smooth? Even my husband got caught up in it.

“I think a short haired cat would be best,” he said. “Long haired cats are too messy.”

When we arrived, the friendly older woman led us out to her garage. It was clean and tidy with newspaper spread on the floor. Several cats curiously looked at us. One fluffy gray cat rubbed against our legs and meowed sweetly as if to say, “Pick me! Pick me!” One black and white one looked bored and began to groom. Then a small orange tabby shyly peeked out at us.

“What about that one?” my husband asked.

“Oh, that’s Ginger. She’s shy, but otherwise a nice healthy young cat,” she paused thoughtfully. “She’s probably shy because people weren’t too nice to her to begin with. She was dumped on the side of the road, young and pregnant. Someone brought her to me. Now she just needs a friend.”

“That’ll be the one then,” my husband said. I was surprised at his quick decision, and I wasn’t sure she was friendly enough for our daughter. I looked at him doubtfully. He looked back. “This is the one,” he said with an end of discussion tone in his voice.

We took her home. Once in the house, she ran straight under the nearest bed and didn’t come out for two days—except when no one was looking, as evidenced by the used box use and missing kibble. I didn’t want to insult my husband’s decision and cause him change his mind about having a cat, but I felt bad for Leneah.

“I think we may have picked the wrong cat,” I said finally. “Leneah has only had a glimpse of Ginger since she’s been here. She needs a friendlier cat, like the fluffy gray one, one that she can actually pet.”

“Yeah, Dad, let’s take her back and get the gray one,” the girls chimed in.

“I don’t want a long haired cat.” He looked irritated. “Give Ginger a chance. She’ll come out sooner or later.” But that evening, I heard him on the phone asking if he could trade cats. The next day he put Ginger in the car and took her back, alone. As they drove away, I felt strangely sad him and for Ginger.

Later that night, we had a tiger in the house. The friendly gray kitty that meowed sweetly, “Pick me, pick me,” when we first met her, now howled, “Feed me! Pet me! How dare you go to bed and ignore me!” I was up half the night trying to keep her quiet so my husband could sleep.

“I knew that cat was a tiger,” my husband said the next morning with a glint in his eye.

“Did you bring that cat home just to teach me a lesson?” I should have known he could recognize an attitude a mile away.

He smiled, “I already told the lady I’d probably be back.”

That evening, the girls and I ran to the entry way when we heard the sound of our car in the driveway. My heart was thumping. Lila gave me a knowing look. Would he be empty handed? We both looked at Leneah’s anxious little face.

The door opened. We stepped back. An orange head peeked out from inside his coat! We held our breath. He put Ginger on the floor and went and sat in his recliner a few feet away. She hesitated, first looking at us and then towards the guest bedroom.

What happened next surprised us...

She made a beeline for my husband’s lap, where she proceeded to stretch out confidently, as if it were the most natural thing to do. I couldn’t help noticing the satisfied look on my husbands face.

As it turned out, her behavior towards him paid off because this time she stayed for good. At first, she preferred his lap above ours, but once she was secure with him, she made friends with the rest of us. And it wasn’t long before I caught her sleeping with Leneah.

People ask what changed my husband’s mind about cats, and I say, “The persistent prayers of a little girl—and a cat with the right attitude!”

Happiness is a bowl full of ketchup!

The chatter stopped when the French fries and ketchup arrived. I sat across the table and watched my two-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter eat her fries. She carefully loaded each fry with ketchup, put it in her mouth, and smiled while she chewed. Then she let out a little sigh, picked up another fry, and loaded it with more ketchup. Soon the ketchup was gone, but there were still more fries. “More ketchup, peeze?” More red stuff—“Tank-you!” The fries disappeared.

Hmm, maybe if I’d put ketchup on her cereal this morning she would have taken more than two bites.

The next morning, I couldn’t get the picture of my granddaughter enjoying her ketchup out of my mind. Ah, if only contentment were a bowl of ketchup away… I felt restless and worried. I lost contentment somewhere over the past few months. Where did I lose it? When did it happen?

I’m always forgetting things. I walk into another room to get something—only to forget what it was when I get there. Then I go back to where I started—hoping to remember. So I decided to try to remember what I was doing when I felt content before.

I thought about when we moved last year. Life was anything but calm, and yet, I remember being content. My husband had been out of work, and when he found a job—I was grateful. I didn’t like moving thirty-five minutes away from the kids, but when my husband agreed to move half-way between the kids and his job for me—I was grateful. When we found a place to rent we could afford—I was grateful. We downsized from a house to an apartment. I was apprehensive at first, but it felt good to get rid of stuff. It was freeing, and afterward—I felt grateful.

Then it hit me—I was grateful!

I thought of my granddaughter again. An expensive plate of lobster wouldn’t have impressed her unless it was served with a bowl of ketchup. And my life was surrounded by “bowls of ketchup” —of all sizes. Large and small things, easy to over-look things— blessings that cares and worries had hidden from me. I got distracted. I let my gratitude muscles get flabby!

Then I pictured my worries like little thieves—stealing my contentment. I realized that if I wanted my contentment back, I needed to exercise my gratitude muscles and flexing those muscles would send those cowardly worry thieves packing!

My mind went to the much-loved verses—prescriptions against worry—vitamins for strength. The kind we all need to take everyday to strengthen ourselves against the worry thieves—so we can see all the “bowls of ketchup” we have to be grateful for.

Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
–1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God that surpasses all comprehension, shall guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
–Philippians 4:6-7

Faith in the Missing Link?

As my hubby and I sat at the breakfast table reading the morning news Tuesday—this headline topped the page: Scientists Unveil Missing Link In Evolution. The article, accompanied by a picture of a fossil, proclaimed:

“The discovery of the 95%-complete 'lemur monkey' - dubbed Ida - is described by experts as the ‘eighth wonder of the world’. They say its impact on the world of palaeontology will be ‘somewhat like an asteroid falling down to Earth’. Researchers say proof of this transitional species finally confirms Charles Darwin's theory of evolution" (by Alex Watts, Sky News Online, UK).

The BBC’s famed Naturalist, Sir David Attenborough was quoted as saying, "Darwin ‘would have been thrilled’ to have seen the fossil - and says ‘it tells us who we are and where we came from.'"

But as we read deeper into the article, the announcement that started with “asteroid falling” significance lost some of its glow.

Researchers admitted the discovery was made by amateur fossil-hunter who dug “Ida” out of a crater in Germany over twenty-five years ago. The lemur’s remains have been hanging “on a German collector’s wall for 20 years.” Scientist obtained her “from the murky world of fossil-trading” paying “ten times the amount even the rarest of fossils fetch on the black market”. It took a cool million to persuade a “dealer” to part with Ida, and for the past two years, researchers have been “secretly” studying her.

Hmm, this story is beginning to sound kind of—murky. Are they seriously asking us to believe this is the answer 'who we are and where we came from'?

Yet, at the end of the article a reader posted this response, “Science uses hypothesis and research to find the truth, while religion uses faith and a supernatural force to explain things.”

“Research or faith?” I sighed to my hubby, “That argument, again? What about logic and common sense? Besides, who really has all the faith here?” I looked out the window at our car. I wonder if these same researchers took apart our car and examined it—they’d find any evidence of design? Would it take a leap of faith— or a simple exercise of logic to recognize the design had a designer? Then I looked at my hand… Why don’t they see a Designer in this?
Later in the day, I opened my Bible and read the words of the psalmist David, written over three-thousand-years-ago:

The heavens are telling of the glory of God;

And their expanse is declaring the work of His hands.

Day to day pours forth speech,

And night to night reveals knowledge.

–Psalm 19:1-2

That reminded me of another passage of scripture written by the Apostle Paul nearly two-thousand-years-ago about those “suppress the truth” of the Creator’s existence:

“That which is known about God is evident within them; for God made it evident to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so they are without excuse.” “ Professing to be wise, they … exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for an image in the form of corruptible man and of birds and four-footed animals and crawling creatures.”
–Romans 1:19-20, 22a, 23

“Dear Lord,” I prayed, “You put the evidence of Your design all around us! Why can’t they see it?”

Then Jesus’ words went through my mind … He who has ears, let him hear. And I was reminded of what He said to those who refuse the message, “while seeing they do not see, and while hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand” (Matthew 13:9, 13b).

If they’re comfortable ignoring evidence of a Designer—and putting their faith Darwin’s fragile theory, secret studies, and in murky fossil deals instead—perhaps the problem isn’t lack of faith.

Perhaps it’s having too much.

Where's My Anchor?

The world is in turmoil...

The raging river of financial failure roars onward, swallowing up large and small alike. World leaders and politicians scramble to stack dissolving sandbags to stop the out-of-control river from drowning us all. Bags filled with our children’s and grandchildren’s future.

Last night I looked at my tender grandson — and tears welled up. I felt helpless to protect him from it. I am only one small person in a world of billions. What can I do to save him from the raging river that threatens his future?

But this morning, as I read these words I was reminded of the answer:

Do not put your trust in princes (rulers, politicians),

in mortal men, who cannot save.

When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;

on that very day their plans come to nothing.

Blessed (happy) is he whose help (and) …

whose hope is in the Lord his God,

the Maker of heaven and earth,

the sea and everything in them —

the Lord, who remains faithful forever.

–Psalm 146:3-6, NIV

I may only be one in billions, but I trust in the God who made the billions — who set us on a planet so precisely in our solar system that we do not freeze or burn — this God who filled our planet with creatures of variety and design which staggers the mind — this same God who promises:

Do not fear for I am with you;

Do not anxiously look about you,

for I am your God.

I will strengthen you,

surely I will help you,

Surely I will uphold you

with My righteous right hand.

–Isaiah 41:10, NASB

I may not be able to stop the raging flood of turmoil this world offers my grandson — but I can give him an anchor to hold onto — an anchor to give him peace and joy — in the midst of the storm.

As the writer of Hebrews 6:17-19 says: "God made an oath to keep his promises to us and it is impossible for God to lie — so that we may have strong encouragement, we who have fled for refuge in laying hold of the hope set before us. This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast."
This same anchor is for you to hold on too!

What's My Purpose?

I’ve been struggling to write in my blog. I thought it would be easier. I told a friend my dilemma, and she said, “Don’t worry about it so much — just start!” So here goes — a few verses, a prayer, and some thoughts from my reading and journaling this morning.

He waters the mountains from his upper chambers;

The earth is satisfied with the fruit of His works.

The trees of the Lord drink their fill ...

Where the birds build their nests ...

O LORD, how many are Your works!

In wisdom You have made them all ...

There is the sea, great and broad,

In which are swarms without number,

Animals both small and great.

They all wait for You

To give them their food ...

You give to them, they gather {it} up;

You open Your hand, they are satisfied with good.

–Psalm 104:13, 16-17, 24-25, 27-28, NASB

Oh, Lord, I thank you for this day! As I look out my window, it’s raining outside, but it’s fresh and green. I see You have opened Your hand to water the earth this morning.


Green leaves bounce up and down as raindrops fall on them. They dip under the weight of each drop, passing the precious moisture to the leaves below. Each landing of a drop reminds me of tiny dancers passing their partners. The gentle hand-off continues until the drop falls to the ground — and sinks into the soil.

My heart swells, and I see, in my mind, the dancing leaves wave back their hearty agreement with me! Lord, I’ve been struggling and asking — what is my purpose? What do You want me to do? This thought comes to me ...

The purpose of my life is simple — to glorify the Lord — like the dancing leaves reflect His glory!

I imagine the drops continuing their journey — deeper into the rich darkness — till they meet with the roots of the dancing leaves above. The roots draw the moisture and nourishment from the soil up the trunk, out to the branches, and out to the glittering leaves. How carefree they look as they do their mysterious task — turning water and sunlight into food and fresh air.

O magnify the LORD with me, And let us exalt His name together.

–Psalm 34:3, NASB

So, to this end, may my words dance before you — and draw your eyes and heart to Him.

The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me (and you).

–Psalm 138:8, NIV

The Horse and Cart Conundrum

Do you ever sense you’re working too hard at something?

I do.

A thought in the back of my mind whispers, “Stop and think, you’re going about it all wrong.” But another though shouts, “You don’t have time to stop and think! It will work — you just have to try harder.”

Finally, when I’m exhausted, I wonder... Is it time to try something else? Now here’s a thought! Perhaps if I relied less on myself — and more on Someone else — things would work out.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
And do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him,
And He will make your path straight.
–Proverbs 3:5-6, NASB

Thy word is a lamp to my feet (that’s for now!),
And a light to my path (that’s for later!).
–Psalm 119:105, NASB

I thank God He left an instruction manual or I’d still be pushing on the … uh… wrong end!