Baseball and bumblebees

This is a great article! Be sure to read the whole thing.

He lay on his back in the dirt of the Pittsburgh ballpark. His neck hurt. Striking his face on the crushed rock along the first-base side felt like breaking through glass. He was bloodied. And the foul ball was gone. He had missed it, missed his one chance to grab a game ball for his son on the boy's 21st birthday.

Tim Tepas, a retired schoolteacher, wanted only to climb over the short railing and sit back down next to his son. Disappear. Forget the whole thing. But the television cameras were on him. The stadium seemed to gasp in unison at his fall along the sidelines of that Pirates-Cardinals game in early August.

Tepas struggled to stand. He heard a voice behind him, felt hands on his back.


Read the whole article

A Story with a Happy Ending

Charles Whiting's wife died in 2005, and to comfort himself he would call himself and hear his late wife say "Catherine Whiting" on the voicemail system. That is, until recently, when Verizon upgraded his telephone service. The message was lost and Charles was devastated that he couldn't hear his wife's voice anymore.

However, this story has a happy ending. Verizon archives old greetings, and a contractor found the message. It has has been restored to Charles's new voicemail system. Now whenever Charles is missing his wife he only needs to call himself.

Hats off to Verizon for being sensitive to one of its customers and going the extra mile.

I found the above on The Point.

The Woman at the Well

Borrowed from Following an Unknown Path.

No Taming the Cross

What does the world do with a person who has been raised from the dead? Christians have been meditating on that for two millenniums. But despite the eggs, the baskets, and the bunnies, one thing we haven't been able to do is to tame that person, tame his message, and, moreover, tame what happened to him in Jerusalem all those years ago. That's one reason why you don't see many Easter cards, Easter gifts, and Easter decorations; why the stores aren't clogged with shoppers during Lent; and why the holiday is still, essentially, religious.

Read the whole article here. From Slate via The Point.

Remembering Marcellus

I've spent a few days with a nasty cold this past week. But I'm ever so much better now, rejoicing in simple things like breathing and swallowing. I love getting well. It always reminds me of Marcellus, after his encounter with the Robe.

Not since that summer when, at fifteen, Mardellus was slowly convalescing from a serious illness, had he experienced so keen an awareness of life's elemental properties. The wasting fever had left him weak and emaciated; but through those days of his recovery his senses had been abnormally alert. Especially in the early morning: all colors were luminous, all sounds were intensified, all scents were heady concentrates of familiar fragrances.

Until then, the birds chirped and whistled, each species shrieking its own identifying cry; but it was silly to say that they sang. Now the birds sang, their songs melodious and choral. The dawn breeze was saturated with a subtle blend of newmown clover and sweetish honeysuckle, of jasmine and narcissus, welcoming him back to life's brightness and goodness. . .

For those few days, as a youth, Marcellus had been impressed by his kinship with all created things. It stilled and steadied his spirit to find himself so closely integrated with Nature. Then, as he regained his bodily vigor, this peculiar sensitivity gradually ceased to function. He still enjoyed the colors and perfumes of the flowers, the liquid calls of the birds, and the insistent hum of little winged creatures; but his brief understanding of their languatge was lost in the confusion of ordinary work and play. Nor did he expect ever to reclaim that transient rapture. Perhaps it could be experienced only when one's physical resources had ebbed to low tide, and one's fragility had made common cause with such other fragile things as hummingbirds and heliotrope.

Hug 'em tight!

We were on our way to GR this morning for a quick weekend trip. There had been some snow, yes, but certainly nothing like what the weathermen predicted. We did not anticipate any problems. But as we drove north, we saw 8 or 10 cars off the side of the road. Tow trucks dotted the interstate. At times, the traffic slowed to a crawl. The road demanded caution, but we were undaunted.

Until. . . we were routed off the interstate. We could see two cars just ahead(not pictured here - even I am not that cold!) One was about the size of ours, T-boned on the driver's side. Do you ever get that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when you think someone has just crossed over into eternity not long ago, not far from where you are now?

It was enough for us to turn around and head home. There'll be another weekend for visiting the little princess. For now, we just wanted to give big hugs to those we love. Life is precious; life is fragile. Each day is a gift! So, dear family, consider yourselves hugged!

Always Christmas, and never Winter

By Zoe Sandvig at The Point.

Events like this accumulate extra horror against the backdrop of the Christmas season, in this case against the scenery of a bustling shopping day at a Nebraska mall. For many (maybe for you), Christmas is nothing but a collection of painful memories, a harsh reminder that the bells and carols do not reflect the inner workings of the heart.

For the families who lost loved ones in Wednesday's tragic shooting, Christmas shopping may become a tragic ritual. For a mother, who lost her son or daughter in the war, Christmas may be a placeholder for happier days gone by. For those wading through a debilitating illness, Christmas may be merely about survival.

And the rest of us, if we're really honest, don't really want candy canes, Santa Claus, or even a pleasant manger scene. We don't want merely a baby in a manger--we want the One who will arrive to finally conquer death and "make all things new."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow composed the words to this carol in 1864 as he grieved the death of his wife two years earlier in tragic house fire and after hearing the news that his son had been wounded in battle:

Continue reading "Always Christmas, and Never Winter"

My favorite Easter Song

And the demons, they danced in the darkness
When that last ragged breath left his lungs
And they reveled and howled
At the war that they thought they had won

But then, in the dark of the grave
The stone rolled away
In the still of the dawn on the greatest of days

High noon in the valley of the shadow
When the shadows were shot through with light
When Jesus took in that breath
And shattered all death with his life
Be gone, you wages of sin
Go on, don't you come back again
I've been raised and redeemed
You've lost all your sting
To the victor of the battle
High noon in the valley of the shadow

by Andrew Peterson
Go here for the complete lyrics. I love the imagery in his words!

The set of the sails

One ship drives east and another drives west
With the selfsame winds that blow.
’Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales
Which tells us the way to go.

Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate,
As we voyage along through life:
’Tis the set of a soul
That decides its goal,
And not the calm or the strife.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

On being in a hospital

I'm reminded that I often intersect people's lives at a crisis point, and I appreciate the encouragement that it's often the little things that matter. Here is one woman's thoughts after undergoing a fearful time in the hospital. Below, I have copied an excerpt:

And yet, I know that in my darkest and most horrid moments at the hospital, it wasn't the words said that meant the most to me. I couldn't take them in, anyway. I'm sure people said things to me, and they were probably even the right things. But what I remember down to the inmost parts of my heart are things like the comfort of a warm, loving hug from a woman I had known a few hours, a pair of shoes from another new friend, a small bottle of hand lotion from another dear lady, the little boy who brought some small toys to my son's hospital bed, and the presence of that gentleman and his father at just the right time. In all of them, I saw and felt My Father. I hope there are people in your lives who minister such grace to you.

The Love of God

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the oceans dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky

by Frederick M. Lehman

We were reminded of these words yesterday at EB & Brad's church. I really like the word picture.

Not to Worry!

I just finished reading this book overcoming fear, worry, and anxiety. It was called Overcoming Fear, Worry, and Anxiety. Now of course, I just read it so I could understand people who have a problem with worry, clearly as a theoretical thing, in case I ran into someone who had that sort of problem, you know.

Nevertheless, I did learn some things that I hope I won't forget. I loved the quote from Corrie Ten Boom's book The Hiding Place(which I read many years ago) when she was fearful that her father might die. The author also quotes Spurgeon from time to time, who was undoubtedly very wise. And of course, there are the very words of Christ Himself in Matthew 6: When we worry that bad things will happen, we are reminded that God is in control, and that nothing can happen to me that has not gone through Him first. I have no doubt believing that, but sometimes it is small comfort when I know that God has decided that it is ok for some pretty terrible things to happen to some people (i.e. 9/11, cancer, car wrecks, aneurysms, wars, hurricanes, etc. You get the idea!) At this point, I'm reminded of the words to Nichole Nordemann's song, "Gratitude." There are times I have listened to it 5 or 6 times in a row, to let the words sink in deep, so I can develop this kind of trust, kind of a "Our God is able. . . but even if He does not. . ." like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Spurgeon said ". . . with the fear of God, there is no room for other fears." The author points to the example of Christian in the classic Pilrim's Progress when he met Timrous and Mistrust. The author goes on and talks about other kinds of worry - like worrying too much about what people think, and how we should live our lives for an Audience of One. She discusses the practical side of thigns, a la Philippians 4:6-8. Winning over worry seems largely a matter of what do I allow my mind to dwell on? Reminds me of the Casting Crowns song, when "the waves are calling out my name, and they laugh at me, reminding me of all the times I've tried before and failed. . . But the voice of truth tells me a different story." Here's hoping I'll be listening to the voice of truth! (I mean, anyone who happens to read this and actually has a problem with worry!)

Something to Ponder

Such strange creatures are we that we probably smart more under blows which never fall upon us than we do under those which do actually come.

CH Spurgeon