Bible Studies, Christian Growth, GUEST AUTHOR

Short People

GUEST AUTHOR: EMILY SWANSON

Are you one of those “short people” who is always straining to see over the heads of the crowd? Or reaching up into a cupboard that is at least 8 inches above your reach? I am such a person and I can relate to the little fellow of scripture, Zaccheus, so very well.

As I think about the encounter Zaccheus had with Jesus, my mind goes back to the Jericho of long ago. I try to visualize the crowds that day as they waited along the road to see the itinerant preacher they have heard so much about. The chief tax-collector, the hated Zaccheus, was there and he was being squeezed out by the people. Somehow this little fellow had grown up in a “tall world”, the object of stares and much ridicule. Perhaps he grew up as the “kid who got pushed around”. We’ve all witnessed what happens to those the world labels as “runts”. Perhaps in growing up his childhood was trodden underfoot and the tender part of Zaccheus died. Maybe this made him compensate for that abuse by becoming a man of power that people had to “look up to” whether they liked it or not. True, Zaccheus gained stature in power and wealth…but no friendship…he was hated.

But Zaccheus heard stories about this Jesus who was coming to Jericho that day. He heard that Jesus was a friend…even to tax-collectors. Zaccheus longed for a look at this Jesus. His curiosity drove him to climb the sycamore tree and go out on a limb to see for himself.

All of Jericho was out on the dusty road. The business men, the housewives, the transients, teachers, bakers, holy men, were all elbow to elbow…except the chief tax-collector. (Let me put a parenthesis here. Zaccheus could have stayed home that day and avoided the crowd of people who hated him and whom he also hated.) But where did Jesus stop? He stopped right at the bottom of the sycamore tree! Whispers rippled over the crowd as people watched the Master in disbelief. Was Jesus actually asking to go home with this sinner? And He wasn’t asking for an audit or even and accounting. He was asking for the pleasure of Zaccheus’ company; the company of the chief tax-collector.

Can we even imagine the flood of repentance gushing from Zacchaus as he encounters Jesus Christ that day? Scripture bears out that he repented and turned his life over to Jesus immediately. His faith was followed by his immediate actions and life adjustments…WOW.

I think about coming-up short today in my life. Not short of stature, but spiritually short because of bad attitudes, broken relationships, broken commitments, or a critical spirit. I have to strain to see Jesus over this crowd of attitudes that crush me. But He is always there. He is ready to stop and call me to come down and meet Him, to commune with Him. What a joy.

I ask God to forgive me for trying to compensate for my “stunted spiritual” growth. Perhaps I have expected my works to increase my stature. Help me Lord, to see that I can increase only if I am willing to decrease. It is in losing my life that I find it. It is by dying that I live. It is in giving that I receive. If I am not willing to give up everything, I cannot be His disciple.

“Father, I confess to you that I am short in spiritual stature. To even see You I need something to stand on…just like Zaccheus. But I want to see Jesus; not just through the eyes of a pastor or a teacher or an evangelist. I want to hear Him; not just hear about Him on tapes and radio or TV. I don’t want a second-hand experience. I want to feel Him with my own Heart. I want to have faith that I can stand and “Look Full in His Wonderful Face”.

Lord, if I have to climb a tree to see you, I will gladly do so. Please come near Lord Jesus. I will be the one out on a limb, waiting. And as you come, overwhelm me with the awesome wonder that it is not I who seek you nearly as much as it is you who seeks me. Give me courage that I do not let anything crowd me out and lose the privilege of experiencing communion with Jesus. Amen”

Family, Short Stories

Bad Hair Day

What do you do when you experience a bad hair day? It can really get you off to a bad start unless you have access to a lot of attractive caps or hats. Ladies, it may not be a bad idea to keep an affordable easy care wig on your closet shelf.

Pam Ford Davis

This is a true experience about my worst hair day. It all began with a routine home perm. In my mid teens I had frequent perms done by my mom. My perms started when just a toddler with a Tonette. I had no reason to believe this hair treatment would have different results than all the rest.

She did the perm and then I rolled my hair on rollers for the night. The next morning I got dressed for school and began to style my hair. Something went terribly wrong! I could hardly get a brush or comb through my hair! It seemed to Mom that she must have got the perm solution and neutralizer switched. My hair was fried!

How could I go to school looking like a freak? I know Mom felt terrible. I stood before the bathroom mirror crying and trying to do something, anything with my hair. I remember nothing about going to school that day. I could not hide forever. I remember getting it cut very short, soon after and rolling it on very small rollers, which created a cute style. It eventually grew out.

My hair is not the issue. Dad is the highlight of the incident. That morning before school as I stood before the mirror crying, Dad came up behind me and started brushing my hair. He really understood the way I felt and did the only thing he knew to help; he brushed my hair. He did not have a magic touch; my hair still looked terrible. Yet, I knew that my Dad cared. That is what every daughter needs most. It does not take away all the problems of life; it does take the sting out of the wounds.

Moms are usually there to help girls with their hair, clothes and makeup. In a pinch a tender hearted Dad can really make a difference, maybe not noticeable on the outside, but in your heart where it really counts!

Devotionals

Portrait of My Love

Pam Ford Davis

What does Jesus look like? We each form a mental picture shaped by our culture and personal experiences. Likely pictures or paintings of Christ we viewed at an early age contribute to our character sketch. Some are drawn to pictures that portray Christ as a rugged man of the outdoors. My favorites are Jesus with children on his lap or crowed around his feet. Others that I find very moving are Jesus carrying a lamb on his shoulders and one where he knocks at a door with no outside latch. It represents our hearts which we alone must open to His saving grace.

The truth is we have no pictures or paintings that give us an accurate portrait of our loving Lord. I’m quite sure He would not resemble those in circulation. “Who has believed our message and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed? He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not (Isaiah 53:1-3 NIV).” The portrait of my love reveals a suffering Savior!

Short Stories

Planting Time For Joshua

“Planting Time For Joshua”

Pam Ford Davis

Gardening is always pure joy to Joshua; and he eagerly looks forward to planting time. From the first day he walked in the garden area, he knew he found the right spot! He saw potential! “Maybe it is dry and barren land now, but just wait until I work that soil!”

A back yard gardener or farmer working the back forty all go through the same steps, and face the same trials. The spring of the year, a time of new beginnings is anticipated; but it can not be rushed. The land must be warm enough to germinate the seed. Waiting does not mean idleness; there are lots of preparations to be made.

Joshua rose early and went outside just as the sun was rising. The land belonged to his father and he would not bring shame to the family name. Daddy would be proud of him! This would be turned into fertile land! He rolled up his sleeves and got ready to till the property. The job kept him busy for days. Hard dirt needed lots of turning over; and he kept at the job until he felt like he walked in fine sand!

The days became warmer and Joshua saw his first robin. Spring finally arrived! He spread fertilizer across the garden, and then tilled it all again. The land almost begged for seeds! In his mind Joshua could see a harvest already before him; but it would take many weeks before he could see much to brag about. The planting showed his patience as he slowly walked back and forth scattering the seed. He did not want to miss any places by doing a rush job.

The seeds were all planted; he stepped back and sighed, in feelings of relief that he completed his task, as well as a sigh of pride. Only others who plant can truly understand the satisfaction of Joshua. He did his best; now the land needed showers and sunshine. He would wait for both.

During the growing season neighbors watched the progress of Joshua’s garden. Some were truly interested in his stories about insects, weeds, rains, or drought. Others could not understand why he went to all that trouble! Joshua just smiled and walked down each row in the field, giving personal inspection to each plant.

Harvest time arrived and Joshua won blue ribbons for the fruit of his field. We are that field! Our lives were broken by His tender hands, making us teachable. The Lord Jesus planted His word and warmth of love in our hearts. He fertilized with His Holy Spirit and refreshed with showers of His living water. He firmly pulled weeds of sin and fought off insects of defeat to present us unblemished to His Father, the vinedresser. (John 15:1) Like Father, like Son…Let’s keep it all in the family, and plant the seed of His word in our own back yards!

Family, Short Stories

I Am Safe

Pam Ford Davis

I’m not afraid of the darkness; are you? I know I am safe in here; my mommy and daddy love me and they wouldn’t let anything hurt me. It is like a game; I see shadows and try to imagine what they might be! I can make them anything I decide, because it is my own private game.

One of my very favorite ways to pass time in the darkness is listening to all the noises outside. When it is late at night and everyone one is very still I hear lots of exciting sounds. The sounds I like the best are laughing and music! I kick my feet and wave my arms; I am so happy!

I’m moving around in the darkness now, trying to find the way out. I think I have almost found my door. I need to push it open. Yes, it is opening now! The light hurts my eyes; it will take a little while to adjust to such brightness.

Now that I am out of the darkness I can hear that laughter even better; maybe I’ll hear the music, too! The Dr. just wrapped me in a blanket and laid me in the arms of my mother. Yes, that is Mommy! I know her heart beat! She is laughing as Daddy grabs my fingers! This is even better than my games alone in the darkness. Mommy is humming and rocking me in her arms, just like she used to do when walking. Each time she did that before, in the darkness she made me rock and sway! “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so…” The light brought me closer to the laughter and music; and I can see Mommy and Daddy! I already know Jesus; he showed me the way to the door…

Christian Growth, Short Stories

Tradition Transgressions

I leave early for Sunday morning worship service. Punctuality patterns began as a child.

Father and Mother would not excuse tardiness.

The two mile drive takes only five minutes. I’m one of the first to arrive, and park at the front of the historic Church building. My car is in show-room condition.

Pam Ford Davis

Father believed in regular maintenance for all motor vehicles. Prevention saves costly repairs. My 1980 sedan may be outdated, but it serves me well.

Locking the car and stepping up to the handicap ramp, I grip the safety rails and shuffle to double mahogany doors. My arthritic hand reaches for the brass door handle. Autumn morning temperatures are evident by the cold brass against my flesh.

Wish ladies still wore gloves. We’ve lost so many of our cherished traditions. Mother never went to town without her hat and gloves.

“Good Morning Sister Robinson,” said the church custodian.

“Morning.”

“Expecting early frost, weather man said.”

“I do hope my shrubbery won’t die. Such pretty blooms this Indian Summer.”

“Yes’mm.”

I quietly move from the vestibule to the worship center.

Good, sanctuary is empty. Soon it will be full of noisy children ignored by their gossiping mothers.

Muffled sounds of singing voices capture my attention. The choir meets in an adjacent room.

Don’t recognize that one. Probably another long praise chorus. Guess the old hymns aren’t good enough anymore.

I glance at my wrist watch through bifocals squinting to see the time.

Bible Study should be about finished.

I do a wide visual sweep of the stately room.

Father and Mother donated such beautiful stained glass windows. New carpet color clashes. Nobody cares. Father always sat here, then Mother between us…

Looking at my watch again, I realized ten minutes passed. People filled the sanctuary and the organist played reverently.

“Nice to see you this morning, Ms. Robinson.”

“Reverend.”

The pastor motioned to a large number of people.

“Right this way.”

“Ms. Robinson, sure you won’t mind. I want these people to have this front pew. They are here to see our baptismal service and need the space. You can sit anywhere.”

This is my seat! I’ve sat here for eighty years! What gall!

He takes me by the arm and quickly lifts me to my feet. Stepping aside I feel faint. A long line of people find seats in the pew my family claimed decades before. With little choice I reluctantly find another place.

Knew that young pastor didn’t belong here. Hmph! Just wait till he wants a big donation!

Our worship hour begins with the baptismal service. Two large families are represented in the congregation to see their children take the step of obedience.

Remember my baptism.

Music fills time until the pastor steps up to the pulpit.

“Today we have seen a beautiful example of children’s simple faith. I hope and pray their parents will lead them in coming years to grow in that faith to strong Christian adults. Join me in the reading of Ephesians 6 verses 1- 3. I’ll be reading today from the traditional King James version.”

Surprises me he’d choose King James.

“Children, obey your parents in the Lord; for this is right. Honor thy father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.”

The pastor said, “I chose this as my opening text to honor a very special lady among us. She has applied these commandments to her life. Ms. Robinson also gave up her usual seat to visitors for our baptismal service. Can we get her to stand?”

Waves of applause filled the sanctuary. A young man beside me helped me up and smiled at me as if I were his own cherished grandmother.

Oh, Lord…

“Johnny, bring her up front.”

My escort took my quivering arm and directed me to the altar.

“Church, this fine lady always honored her parents. She gave up an opportunity to teach in a large prestigious university, in order to assist her mom and dad as their health declined. She later refused to place them in a nursing home and cared for them herself until their passing. Each Christmas and Easter she places flowers in our sanctuary to honor them. Gideon Bibles are also given in their memory. Ms. Robinson you are the living proof of our Bible reading.”

He tenderly kisses my forehead, whispering “I love you.”

How could I have been so selfish?

“Thank you Pastor.”

Devotionals, Family, Marriage

He’s A Rebel

Pam Ford Davis

Are you a Rebel or a Yankee? Geographical boundaries largely influence your choice of label. Most are pretty proud of that distinction. I don’t reside at the Mason-Dixon line, but I’m from the Northeast and my husband is from the Deep South. Before I ever saw his face I was very aware of his homeland. A Syracuse radio station hired him for the graveyard shift, and promoted him heavily before he arrived. The Rebel would soon be on the air.

Rebellion against God is not a slogan or promotional stunt. It is very serious to rebel against our Creator. “For this reason I left you in Crete, that you might set in order what remains, and appoint elders in every city as I directed you, namely, if any man be above reproach, the husband of one wife, having children who believe, not accused of dissipation or rebellion (Titus 1:5-6 NAS).”

Paul urged his co-laborer to choose church leaders wisely. As believers, we can not make children serve the Lord. We can guide them in hopes of stopping rebellion before it starts. Billy and Ruth Graham lived out their faith before their children. Yet, Franklin confesses to rebellion in his heart in early years. That rebel is now a humble servant.

GUEST AUTHOR, Marriage, Poems

Secret Of A Successful Marriage

GUEST AUTHOR: VICTOR JASTI

It was their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Contented, the couple sat together,

Listening intently to all the speeches made,

Followed by praises which amused them both,

Puzzled, guests, could not but ask, the question,

What is the secret of your marriage?

For in this age of marital discord and suspicion,

Couples don’t see eye to eye, let alone talk,

Hate the very sight, and the thought of each other,

But you seem to be in love, for whenever you see her, it is with a smile.

The husband answered, hesitatingly, I grew up all alone,

In an orphanage with none to call my own,

To get over the pain and the loneliness,

I worked hard to be on my own,

Esther was the only girl I dated,

Marriage, a simple one with close ones,

Esther’s father took me aside,

Handed me a small gift, apologetic,

Expressing, that he cannot afford more,

Wishing us a happy married life.

Nervously I fumbled at the lone gift I received,

Opening the paper and the ribbon,

In the box was a large gold watch,

With a message etched out across the back,

Every day, at home and at church,

I wore the watch with the golden chain,

Proud to wear in fair weather or foul,

The entire fifty years I not only read the time,

But the secret message,

Which said, say something nice to Esther, daily.

Christian Growth, Devotionals, GUEST AUTHOR

Lord, I’m At The End Of My Rope

GUEST AUTHOR: EMILY SWANSON

Hebrews 13:5

It seems that when I get to the end of my rope I find God is already there.

The promise goes way back to Genesis 28:15, when God spoke to Jacob. His promise then was that He would not leave Jacob. He would take care of him. The writer of Hebrews reiterates this promise to them as he is referring here to the Genesis passage.

We all come to a place in our lives that we sometimes feel is the end of our rope. When that happens we feel all we can do is tie a knot in it and hang on. Go ahead; tie the knot…help’s a ‘comin! Our Father, Himself, has promised that He has not moved and left a “no forwarding address”. He is right where He has always been…just a prayer away.

We have all had offers from well-meaning people who say, “If there is anything I can do, just let me know.” Sometimes the need arises at the midnight hour and you are not about to call on such a one. But, our Father neither slumbers nor sleeps; He is available and He is able.

“Father, help me when I feel lonely, abandoned or helpless to know that You are there. Let me know that I am protected in the refuge of Your mighty arms. You are there to hear me, to help me, to protect me and to love me. I thank You and praise You. Amen”

Family, Uncategorized

Family Ties

Every heart needs a place to call home. Where did I come from? Where did it all begin and when? Hushed whispers in our mind place an ongoing curiosity about our ancestors. Each person who blazed the trail to America form pieces of a puzzle; with clues of who we are. During our childhood we do not have concerns about genetics or heredity. Our family circle security includes parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

Gnawing questions about our family background usually arise in our mid life time span, as we face our own frailty. We wonder if we will leave behind any mark on society; did we really accomplish anything of lasting value?

Another common reason that a spark of interest in our family heritage ignites is a growing appreciation of relationships with family and friends. The only citizens of the United States tracing their roots to the native soil are our American Indians. Europe is where my genealogy story began.

Family history is more than a hobby. To many around the globe it is an unquenchable thirst for family knowledge. I share in that excitement in part, because of my husband’s deep involvement. He began his information gathering about twelve years ago. It led him to closeness with relatives he never even knew.

Now, he organizes the annual family reunions. History as well as current information is shared in his family newsletters on Davis Buzz Internet site: normdavis.org. Our Davis family line likely traces back to England and Ireland. His search continues hoping to one day discover the parents identity of his great, great, great grandfather, Loughton Davis.

As a young girl in school we were asked what nationalities were included in our families. Asking Mom she quickly responded: “English, Irish, French, and Dutch.” That creates a patch quilt representation of Europe. It would be fascinating to learn the circumstances leading to the relocation risks of our first settlers.

It is said “You can take the man out of the country; but you can’t take the country out of the man.” That truth is demonstrated and revealed with traditions and customs of Europe now shared in small towns and large cities across our nation. Some holiday traditions are explained to each generation and respected. To carry on these observances is a way to honor our ancestors and our heritage. Sadly some customs have lost their true meaning and are now just meaningless habits. Maybe it is time to unlock those mysteries as Americans.

Europe’s appeal to tourists has been a magnet for centuries. The sights, sounds and fragrances in each country are unique and varied. In America we have sampled those delicacies from our great melting pot. The blending of spices in a favorite recipe brings out a zesty flavor. The mixing of styles of music, literature and artwork from Europe is transported to us. It creates a fresh new specialty.

When certain arts are held separate such as a great Italian Opera or a French Ballet we are transported straight back to Europe. Our two countries linked as allies through the tragedy of wars that marred their landscape, and scarred the lives of soldiers. Today we face common challenges against terrorism and economic crisis. I hope our trials will strengthen old relationships and build new ones. Remember, every heart needs a place to call home. Many hearts beat with memories of Europe.

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