Photo Writing Prompt: Love on the Line

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wp quiltAugust 15, 1949

 

Dear Momma,

 

What a life you and daddy have given me! How can I ever begin to thank you for the love and strength and grace you’ve taught in word and deed? And how can I ever thank you for introducing me to Jesus in such a way that I choose to make Him my own?

 

As much as I seem to have it all together, I don’t.  Actually, I’m sorta scared, Momma. Not the kind where my knees knock and my heart trembles, but the kind where I’m nervous and excited and cautious – all heaped into one. Even though leaving my family so that I can attend bible college two states away is going to be real hard, I’m looking forward to discovering what the big city has to offer a girl like me… the museums and concerts and theatrical plays and restaurants. Even though folks talk up this “culture” stuff, I sure don’t think any single thing can compare to the beauty of the countryside where I’ve done my growing up.

 

We shall see!

 

Momma, I am not upstairs. I left already. I’m sorry… but I know you’ll understand. Tears and sadness at the train depot is not the sort of family image I want to take with me. All of us crying and blubbering in this summer heat is not going to get me through to Christmas break.

 

Forgive me, please?

 

Last night and the fun we had with Uncle Joel and Aunt Margaret and the cousins, that’s what will hold me over until I can come back home. Remember how hard little brother laughed when daddy read that James Herriot story about Cedric the farting Boxer dog? And how much popcorn we all ate? And how little Maggie still had the hiccups when I turned out her bedroom light? That’s the good stuff, Momma.

 

You don’t have to fret because Laura’s daddy already gave her permission to borrow his rig and give me a ride. She’ll meet me at the end of the driveway, down by the mailboxes. I packed a couple extra cinnamon rolls and a thermos of coffee so we’ll have breakfast at the depot. She promised to wait with me until the train comes.

 

I reckon daylight is creeping through the trees right about now. Wipe your eyes on your apron real quick and go look out the screen door off the back porch. Go on.

 

See that quilt hanging there on the line? I made that for you… so you’ll know that even while I’m gone to college, my heart is always home, here with you and the family, in our wild woods.

 

Love,

Franny

 

P.S. Momma! I know what you are about to do! You go and tell daddy first so that he doesn’t worry. When the train rounds the bend up near Jefferson’s Corner, I’ll look up to where our property boundary meets the ridgeline sky and I’ll see you riding bareback, with your long black hair flying wild, as you chase the train, like we’ve done so many times together. I’ll wave, but you won’t see me. And if you cry, I’ll never know.

 

Thanks, Momma, for everything – but especially for showing me that even when I set out on a race that seems near impossible, all I’ve got to do is take the first step and then trust God to make straight the path He has set before me.

 

Love,

Franny

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Shaken Clean Again

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snap!

wet pillowcases hard

against

invisible

wind

smooths

creases 

out. clip

clip

one at a

time,

secure ‘em

to

the line

laundry frame2

shake!

thick, entangled

towels

apart,

dragged

frayed edges

in

dirt .

yet

once

dry they

will

be

shaken

clean again.

.

renewed

folded

straight 

crunchy

with fresh

air.

.

.

..

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Sorta like me (and you, I hope), new in Christ, but never, not ever, left alone on the line.

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Whatever chores you’ve got on your list today, do ‘em as if He’s standin’ nearby whilst ya fold laundry, put away dishes, wash dirty windows, teach the kiddos, scrub the toilets, or mend broken hearts (even it’s  your own). ‘Cause you sure as shootin’ ain’t going about it alone…

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Lucy & the Summer of 1943

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June , 1943

Dear Ma,

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How are you and the young’uns getting along? And what about Paul ~ has he been making progress in his recovery? I bet it’s a relief to have a man on the place. I’m glad I got to be there during his first couple of weeks back home. We’ve all got new adjustments to make, don’t we? While his injuries are visible, yours aren’t. Momma, I know it’s been hard beyond measure ever since daddy just up and left us, but don’t lose hope. Cling tight to God for He will see you through… isn’t that what you always tell me? I’m sure Paul will be up and around and able to help on the farm before the strawberries come on.

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I’ll send my first paycheck in next week’s letter. Since you sent those sandwiches, canned peaches, and dried meat with me on the train, I didn’t have to spend any of the “extras” money you sent so I’ll keep that portion for any unplanned purchases.

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So far things have been fine here with Uncle Joe and his new wife, Gertrude. He told me that my room and board would be free as long as I’m able to help out around this place. It seems like I’ve traded one set of farm chores for another, doesn’t it? I’ll have to do the chores before and after my Women’s Land Army farm work. I’ve only been here one week and I’m already tired, but I don’t have anything else to do. All I do is work and eat and sleep. It’s all any of us do. Except for today because it’s Sunday and we walked two miles to the little Baptist church on the edge of town. It was a nice service and I recognized a few gals from the WLA.

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Oh, I haven’t even told you about my trip out here yet. By the time the train pulled into the station, there were about a dozen of us gals heading for the WLA. Even though we are strangers to one another, I already feel a sense of camaraderie. I don’t know, maybe it’s patriotism. Most likely it’s both. You shoulda seen Uncle Joe as he searched the crowd for me! Your poor brother was so flustered that his freckled face turned red. I recognized him right off and when he finally realized who I was, he held me at arm’s length, looked me over, and said I look just like you did at this age. Then he squeezed me so tight I thought I’d likely burst. There were a couple of soldiers in the same car as me for a good bit of the ride. My word, momma, you never saw such a fuss as that which was made over them; one of them was injured and a few of the gals clucked around him like a bunch of your Red Rhones after a fat ole juicy worm.

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Did you notice Sarah’s family at the boarding platform? I guess it was a last minute decision for her to come out here too, being a town girl and all. I reckon they’re hurting for money just like the rest of us.

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Anyway, the other women will be taking their farm education courses for the rest of the month, but since I’m considered to be farm savvy because of the work I’ve done back home, I don’t have to take all of the classes. I’ve already been to work in the fields! Uncle Joe says the typical Women’s Land Army training goes for four weeks, but a lot of gals cannot commit to both the training and the work commitment time, so the bosses are talking about lessening the requirements in one or both areas.  That’s good news for Sarah’s family – please pass along that information to them. She’ll be able to send home money the sooner she gets into the fields. And please pray for her, momma. The work is hard and she is so small and timid. I think she’s really struggling to fit in. I don’t how long she can handle it all. But, I know I don’t have to tell you what it’s like to be the odd one out.

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Anyway, it’s 4 o’clock and I’ve got a fair bit of work to do here before another week with the WLA. Gertrude is doing poorly, much worse than Uncle Joe let on, so I’m going to bake a few loaves of bread tonight so she doesn’t have to bother with it first thing tomorrow. If I get right to it, while the bread rises and bakes, I can put together a stew for tomorrow.

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Pass around the hugs and kisses! I love you so much momma and I miss you heaps.

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Love,

Lucy.

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* I think we all know about Rosie the Riveter and her iconic collective contribution to America’s industrialization during World War II, but what about The Women’s Land Army? Ever heard of it before today? Ever given any thought to who in the wild woollies worked the farms & orchards & dairies whilst the men were embattled elsewhere in a world war?

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Following are quotes from Stephanie A. Carpenter’s book, “On the Farm Front: The Women’s Land Army in World War II” that was published by Northern Illinois University Press in 2003:.

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Their experiences were about patriotism and success, not about wages, prestige, or popularity. After passage of Public Law 45 and numerous hearings held in the following months,the WLA and other labor programs got under way in the spring of 1943. (p. 55)

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Paid low wages, women found it difficult to make purchases outside their basic necessities. (p.65)

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Participation in the program remained high throughout the war. From its initial recruitment goal of 60,000 women, the WLA increased its expectation to 300,000 by July and by December had counted more than 600,000.

The WLA became a success despite being plagued with limited federal appropriations, slow recruitment, and an attitude of disinterest from the farmer, farm organizations, and federal administrators. Its success in 1943 changed unfavorable preconceptions about it. (p.73)

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Women who go into the farm work are not out after “big money.”They realize that, come what may, America and the families and the children of her allies must have food. They are willing to work for moderate pay. (p.59)

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.fporch vintage

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While the above letter is fictional, below is only a smattering of what was going on in America during 1943.

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January 18:

Pre-sliced bread sale banned to reduce bakery demand for metal parts;

US rations bread and metal.

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February 7: 

Shoe rationing begins in US

(may purchase up to 3 more pairs in 1942).

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March 29: 

Meat, butter & cheese rationed in US during WW II;

meat rationed in US (784 gram/week, 2 kilogram for GI’s).

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April 8: 

U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt, in an attempt to check inflation,

freezes wages and prices, prohibits workers from changing jobs

unless the war effort would be aided thereby,

and bars rate increases to common carriers and public utilities.

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May 1:

Food rationing begins in US.

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May 29:

Meat & cheese rationed in US.

June 10: FDR signs withholding tax bill into law

(this is W-2 Day!).

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October 19:

Streptomycin, the first antibiotic remedy

for tuberculosis, is isolated by researchers at Rutgers University.

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I cut & pasted the above data from www.historyorb.com

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~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

1. So, do you reckon the majority of Americans would willingly and patriotically endure hardship for the betterment of their country? I doubt it.  

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2. My utmost respect goes to the men, women, and children of this era in our country’s history. Without their sacrifices, America’s current slide into the johnny crapper woulda started long before now. 

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3. If you could whiz-bang-thwap! transport yourself to another era in America’s history for an entire week, what date would you set the dial to? ‘Course I’d go to where fictional miss Lucy is… I think I was built for it.

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* If you have a friend or family member

who served in the Women’s Land Army,

please, for the love of my sanity,

leave me a note in the comment box.

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I’ll Tell the Tale (part 3)

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I’ll tell the tale of who I am in Christ, Lord willin’ and the creeks don’t rise…

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So, have you seen this story where a rather robust fella in a Batman suit wrangles a bad guy and drops him off at the corner cop shop in Northern England? It’s funny and a tad disturbing, but inspiring nonetheless. In case you are wondering, I like it. A. Lot.

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Then there’s the guy in America who sold his cleaning business and walked away with a rather large wad o’ greenbacks in his wallet. He hired some fancy-pants Batman suit-maker dude to sew him a Hollywood-worthy costume. Now he spends nearly an hour cramming his self into it before he scooches into his rigged out Bat-mobile. He then cruises the streets, and apparently sometimes gets pulled over by the cops, who then get out of their cop-mobile to take his picture. Yessirree, there’s more than one reason why I don’t live in a big city. Anyway, this guy says he used to be “obnoxious” but now his newfangled superhero costume makes him all better.

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Yes, yes, he visits hospitals and entertains sick kiddos and offers funny-bone relief for parents who are wound tight with the stress of having a sick/injured child. And he also gives away money, and lots of it, I’m not knocking any o’ that.

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But what whaps me upside the countrified head about these two fellers in their superhero suites is that one does it incognito, barely stuffing the junk of his trunk into his $25 tights, whilst the other does it in a complete cannonball-esque Here I am, world! sorta way. Whatever floats yer boat and however ya wanna toot yer horn, right?

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Yes, both men are doing good.

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One man does what he can with what he has… because who really knows why.

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One man does whiz-bang-fancy things with that which will most make him like a big screen superhero… because as one interview I watched, he says he doesn’t wannabe obnoxious anymore.

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My baling twine, wrap it up, take-away insight is this:

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Whether you write a blog, pen a book, post images, sing in the church choir, don a suit and flit around town, the motives behind your mask will eventually be known. Is it for you? For others? For God’s glory?

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- – - – * - – - -

Buckaroos, as you cruise the grocery store aisles, talk to your children, haul out the trash, pick up dirty socks, bandage skinned knees, shovel manure, or any other of the countless things ya do in your daily lives  –

no matter what sorta cover you put on your book, no matter what pretty bow you put on your package, no matter what sorta Spanx you cram your belly and behind into, no matter what sorta polish you put on your nails

– who you really are beneath it all, it will be revealed one fine and glorious day. And that revelation will count for eternity.

.- – - – * - – - -

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Does a fancy suit make a person less of a jerk? Maybe. I don’t rightly know. It would be grand if it were true.

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Is the man from England a better man in a superhero suit than the one from America? Maybe. I don’t rightly know; but, I do know that I feel more akin to the pudgy feller because he’s not pretending so hard to show us who he ain’t.

..

I reckon the only way to be truly new is to recognize who you are in Christ.

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darstory2 Corinthians 5:12-21:

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For we do not commend ourselves again to you, but give you opportunity to boast on our behalf, that you may have an answer for those who boast in appearance and not in heart. For if we are beside ourselves, it is for God; or if we are of sound mind, it is for you. For the love of Christ compels us, because we judge thus: that if One died for all, then all died; and He died for all, that those who live should live no longer for themselves, but for Him who died for them and rose again.

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Therefore, from now on, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we have known Christ according to the flesh, yet now we know Him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. Now all things are of God, who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation, that is, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not imputing their trespasses to them, and has committed to us the word of reconciliation.

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Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were pleading through us: we implore you on Christ’s behalf, be reconciled to God. For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.

…

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What bothers me is that the American man

thinks the fancy-pants suit makes him better.

Look into thine heart, sir Batman.

If ya didn’t have the car or the costume,

what tale would be told of you?

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I’ll Tell the Tale (part 2)

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If you could see, right now, the vision before me, I wouldn’t feel inclined to tell ya about it. I mean, really, it’s another rather “duh Darlene” moment, isn’t it?

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vl3 SDMy vantage point is thus: I’m sittin’ on a small couch that my husband and I were given in-trade for building my sister a porch because her singlewide trailer stoop wasn’t big enough for her to maneuver upon with an armload of groceries, let alone a newborn in a car seat. This piece of furniture is as ugly as the day is long; the foam parts of the cushions poke out the original coverings (just like they did sixteen years ago when it was given to us) so the whole she-bang is topped with a now-threadbare slipcover, but ever since Christmas day, the sit down and lean on parts have been draped with a fancy quilt that I reckon was meant to be used as a decorative wall hanging.

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So, what I see as I sit upon my couch and overlook the valley through ginormous windows, is the Pacific Northwest, six o’clock morning moon. It glows with the very same white as it did last night when we sat down to eat vegetable soup and almost nearly burnt breadsticks. These glorious inverted fried egg colors of dawn’s moon mean something to me, and maybe, just maybe they mean something to you as you gaze through a lacy bedroom curtain while your spouse snores beside you, or as you peer through parted mini-blinds over the kitchen sink while coffee perks on the countertop, or maybe you showered through it and didn’t give today’s full moon remnant a wink, nod, or hat-tip.

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Each of our views is different, aye?

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Last week I told ya that I’ve been given an opportunity to tell a story. I have. It’s true.

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Almost as soon as I decided to pen this saga, that ole blasted enemy started to flail about in my head and heart, whispering things that I had no business listening to.

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Oh, would you look at that. The moon has done gone and disappeared, dissipated, and/or dissolved. Either way, poof! – it’s gone. An airplane just streaked across the blue and pink sky canvass and left behind a stringy, gray trail. Long, narrow clouds rest above blackish mountains where trees poke through snow like two day old beard stubble.

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Okay, back to the story about the story. That ole bum-diddly devil’s been talkin’ trash and I’ve been listening. For shame!

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He told me things like:

  • You don’t look and talk like all the other purties out here, so what sorta chance do ya think you have?
  • You don’t have a platform, a logo, a standard profile picture, or a streamlined theme.
  • You are too country.
  • You are too hick.
  • You aren’t slick. Enough.
  • You are plain.
  • Pistol-packin’ mommas are a little scary.
  • Your legs are often hairy.
  • Your floor is concrete and your windows have no trim.
  • You don’t even have an indoor bathtub.
  • You are too feisty.
  • Sometimes you wear your sin-skin too tight.
  • You set the fire alarm off with your cooking at least twice a week.
  • You have no talent.
  • You have nothin’ to say that any reasonable, straight-laced, God-fearing person would wanna read.
  • Put your puny pen down.

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And at about the same time, my internet service went into the pot. Well, really, what happened was that I met my upload and download 30-day quota amount before my new month, so my spectacularly speedy (I lie) and super efficient (I lie, again) rural satellite internet service was dropped to dial-up speed. The normal speed would be reinstated in several days. So, here we are, it’s been several days… and ya know what? I’m fixin’ to show that dastardly devil the working end of my sword. The sword of the Spirit (which is the Word of God).

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It’s the only offensive weapon in the whole armor of God and I’m gonna poke that punk full o’ so many holes he’s gonna squirt like a sieve with no bladder control.

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Basically, he’s gonna pee down his leg whilst I pick up my pen.

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‘Cause I gotta tell a story. It’s nothing new – because there’s nothing new under the sun. Or the moon. So, I aim to tell you ‘bout is His story through me.

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Oh, it’s true, God’s redemption story is not exclusive to this countrified nutcase of a girl, it is free for the taking, the accepting, and the acknowledging.

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But, maybe, just maybe, by telling it from my point of view, my thread-bare, slip covered, ugly couch vantage point, my story will demonstrate that even though God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, each of His children is unique. And loved and valued and purty and worthy.

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So, therefore, as a result, in conclusion, all in all, and blah-blah-ity-blah-blah, like I told ya last week, my story is about God in me. And if that is good enough for the King of kings, it’s good enough for me.

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Looky, looky, the pink has been swallered up by sunshiny blue. Yesterday’s three inches of snow has melted and the trees are naked in their green needles. The clouds have turned to wisps. Frost glitters a little bit on the snow, the fence posts, and yes, even on the frozen lawn fudge on the icy driveway. (fyi: lawn fudge = dog turds)

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If you could see, right now, the vision before me, I wouldn’t feel inclined to tell ya about it.

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* By they way, I’ve been informed that a few blog posts got sent out in the email alert subscription gizmo just a short time ago…These were old blog posts. Why they got re-sent out is a mystery to me. I reckon the blog fairies got bored with my internet inactivity, so they rustled up some moonshine, took to partying in the techno-shadows, flicked and fumbled with the gizmos, and gave ya all a taste of their intoxicated blog fairy escapades. Bad fairies! I’m gonna clip your wings, paint your toenails purple, and kick ya square in your ruffled hind-parts.

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** So, if you know of a doodler, an artist, someone who can sketch me an image of, well, me, then drop me a note, would ya please. I need to be more concise, recognized, uniform, and consistent in my internet presence. Whatever. Dude, I’m not sure if I’m buyin’ what the literary geniuses are sellin’ about being able to build a cage that can contain countrified crazy.

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I’ll Tell the Tale (part 1)

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I’ll Tell the Tale (part 1)

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Okay, I’ve recently been handed a choice, an option, a big ole opportunity, if you will.

 

 

I’ve mulled this thing over and chewed until it was barely recognizable. I pulled it inside out, tucked it’s cuffs under, straightened ‘em out, and then I set the whole she-bang aside. I picked it up again and dragged it through the mud so’s that I could sit on the mountaintop with it.

 

I ignored it; it scuttled slow -n- low, sulked, and then slept in the underbrush.

 

But as soon as I stood, wiped the debris off my britches, and tromped back toward the house, the thing chased me. I turned, faced it, caught my ragged breath, and decided to give it a go. I reached for it and it skittered off so I hounded it up and down and up and down. Heaven help me, but that blasted, stubborn thing outran me.

 

And then it hid. I said, “Phooey on this opportunity. It sure nuff ain’t worth all this effort.”

 

But, God.

 

His plans are His.

 

This morning the simplicity of the matter all but bit me on the behind.

 

 

I mean, really, I had a “duh, doofus” moment

that very nearly outshone all others.

 

I cannot, will not, and in no way, shape, or form, nor am I able – to do this thing on my own. He brought me to it, through it, and I reckon if He wants me to tell the story –

 

 

it’ll be for His glory, not mine.

 

My salvation, redemption, and ongoing sanctification are about how & why & when & where God worked out His glory IN me.

 

What I’m trying to say here, yes sir – yes, ma’am, I. Will. Tell. The. Tale. By the very grace and strength of the Lord God Almighty.

 

I’m in. Literally.

 

pmc untold storysdIn.

Him.

 

p.s. Boy-howdy am I ever glad that God doesn’t ever toss me aside, no matter how  wild, wily, wacky, weird, or countrified I am.

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Scary Hairy

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Today I am hanging out with friends over at the BibleDude’s place. Come on over to read my bit o’ rambling, if’n a like.

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When we are in the muddy middle of challenges, we don’t necessarily see ‘em as chances to roll up our collective sleeves, flex our muscles, grasp the opponent’s hand, and then grunt the scary hairy arms flat to the wrestling match table.

Slam! I won! Right on, buckaroo!

No, we probably just do the next thing that needs doin’ in order to survive.

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Question: What’s at the center of an opportunity?

.opportunities

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Answer: U.

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Manure Shuffle – Wanna Dance?

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If ya don’t want to get anything on you and/or take a trip ’round the funny farm, I reckon you had better leave now.
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This is an edited version of my seventh blog piece, some 623 blog posts ago. Boy-howdy, that’s five years and whole lotta of writing. Anyway, here is today’s episode of countrified life application logic.
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Oh, lest I should be a rude hostess… to the buckaroos who stayed, you best tuck your britches into your boots before ya read on.
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On this chilly Saturday morning I see my husband outside doin’ some farm chores. Back and forth he goes as he pushes the full wheel barrow from here to there and back again. Is he bringing in firewood? No, not yet. Is he moving fresh hay to the chickens? No, not today.

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He is doin’ the Manure Shuffle. And I’m certain he’d be thrilled to the moon and back to know I’m writing about such a topic as this. (Oh indeed, he was, he surely was. Not.)

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What the hey-diddle diddle? What’s that? The Manure Shuffle?
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Yes sir, yes ma’am, although not generally spoke of in button-up sweater -n- loafer shoe crowds, because quite frankly, this is an often poo-pooed topic, the Manure Shuffle is a dance that every cow-pokey must perform. And if said farm-boy/farm-girl decides to neglect this activity, one’s critters, and likely some members of one’s family, would do a lot of poop-a-loop-a-trompin’. And there ain’t nothin’ fun about that. Trust me.
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So, whaddaya do? What’s an equine-centered family do with all them hot horse apples?
 
Well, we move it from the stall to the edge of the property and dump it into a low spot in the ground. I’ve heard tell of some manure movers who relocate it in a systematic manner, occasionally flip it, sometimes stir it, let ‘er simmer for nearly a year, and then add it to the garden for a reduce/reuse/recycle sorta vegetable mulch. Oh this sounds like a most yummy -n- magnificent manure mandate. Righto? I reckon once we get that low spot leveled off, we will trade the Manure Shuffle for Manure on the ‘Maters.
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Neato-mosquito Darlene, but what in Harry Hornbuckle’s wool underoos does this have to do with me?
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Some days it seems that all we do at work and/or home is move manure from here to there, and back again. Righto? And on a good day, it’s real chilly and the poo is froze so there’s not a lotta smellin’ going on whilst ya shake your tail feathers to the Manure Shuffle music. But, on the other foot, and on the not-so-good days, it’s high-noon-hot and the load you are pushing is warm and gooey and there’s a whole lotta stinkin’ going on. Goin’ up. (Goin’ up your nose, actually.)
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Land sakes, I nearly forgot to mention those daze when ya are in a hurry and the ole mind trap, trap mine, trap door, whatever, is a bit rusty, and yes, it’s one o’ those sizzlin’-spit-on-the-sidewalk-hot sorta days and the dern blasted front wheel drops into a badger hole, the barrow makes a frightful jump, and you get wallopped in the face with a steaming pile of horse turd pancakes. Okay, so maybe your stinky day isn’t quite so literal — maybe someone cut you off in the turning lane, or someone down-traded your Lean Cuisine with a week-old tuna sandwich, or your Spanx gave out and you bulged where ya wanted snugged… Just know, that some of us actually-factually have in real-life, horse turd-tastic days.
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pmc man shuf
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Yes sir, yes ma’am, and those are the times when you gotta wash your hands and face before supper.
 
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I reckon this is enough countrified poop-tastic logic for the day. Probably, it’s enough for the entire year.
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I’m sorry.
You’re welcome.
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Swift -n- Slow

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Today, I’m gonna try real hard to be swift -n- slow…

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So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God. (James 1:19-20 NKJV)

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The way of a fool is right in his own eyes,
But he who heeds counsel is wise. (Proverbs 12:15 NKJV)

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~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


If you swallow your pride long enough to see

past your own private pain,

you’ll find the two of you

are more alike

than you think.

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ind-whisk

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And that you can learn

from him.

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~ Martin, Charles. Where the River Ends. New York: Broadway Books, 2008.

.~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~..

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He who answers a matter before he hears it,
It is folly and shame to him. (Proverbs 18:13 NKJV)

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In the multitude of words sin is not lacking,
But he who restrains his lips is wise. (Proverbs 10:19 NKJV)

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Pricked -n- Convicted

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I have no notion of these men’s walk with the Lord.

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As you well-know by now, Chris Kyle, former top Navy SEAL sniper, was killed Saturday, along with his friend and neighbor, Chad Littlefield. Although I knew not either man personally, I have friends who are in deep mourning because of these losses, primarily because of Kyle’s positive impact on their lives through his post-military work with veterans.

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And because they suffer great at the loss of their own.

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Saturday night when the news came down the line, I was shocked. I immediately chatted with a Marine Corp wife – understandably, she and her wounded warrior soldier man were both heartbroken. As I’m sure a lot of you have been, I’ve been praying for these fallen men’s families and friends and comrades. But ever since Saturday night, something about these men’s passing has been niggling at me. Something in addition to sadness, frustration, anger, and grief.

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This morning as I read a Fox news online update to this story, the niggling became a nick in my heart. This quote in particular pricked me to painful conviction:

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“He (Kyle) didn’t have any fear at all as far as working with an extreme case,” Cox said. “Just like in combat he would take it on head on and do whatever he could to give these guys assistance. There was no fear in helping anyone that may have an extreme case. He was willing to help anyone in need.”

[read full news report here]

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Come again.

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He didn’t have any fear at all… He was willing to help anyone in need.

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Am I? (willing to help)

Do I? (do whatever needs doing)

Why don’t I? (help anyone)

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As children of God, we have a duty. Lots of ‘em, actually. But, the main one being to love… To love as Jesus loved. To love others better than our selfish self. To love as a brother. To love a neighbor.

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We have a duty to take love outta our hearts and put it into our collective hands by making actions out of His command.

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Even though news reports focus mainly on Chris Kyle, both of these men carried out God’s directive, didn’t they?

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They came alongside comrades, brothers, friends, and the kin of such… And in doing so, dare I say, they offered hope, shared healing, taught about civilian life readjustment, demonstrated resilience, and encouraged some of America’s most in-need to carry on. The brokenness of people didn’t turn them away; in fact, by all appearances, it drew them closer, it drew them deeper.

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Do you, as a child of God, a soldier in the Divine Army, feel as I do this morning? Pricked -n- Convicted.

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good soldier sd

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Like I already said, I know nothing of either man’s salvation; but I shall not let their lives, their families, and/or their legacies, smolder under ashes of denial.

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In their name, in their honor, and in ways that reflect my Heavenly Commander in Chief’s orders, I, too, shall come alongside and help.

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Yes sir, yes ma’am, I admit that sometimes, okay, oftentimes, the cost of doing so scares me, annoys me, or doesn’t always quite jive with my wants and needs. But the things I covet and hold tight in my sweaty palms  -  well, that stuff ain’t worth nothin’ honey.

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But the broken souls of men and women are worth the cost.

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… willing to help anyone in need ..

 

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