CHRISTMAS, CATS, TREES AND A MANGER

CHRISTMAS, CATS, TREES AND A MANGER

by Brenda Agee

     I don't have a Christmas tree this year.  Instead, I have a cat.  That may not sound very profound to those of you who are reading this, but it is a profound statement for me.  

     We had a yellow tabby cat when we were children and her name was Miss Kitty.  When I was quite small, mama said she had a surprise to show me.  She took my little hand and guided me to the wooden cupboard where I kept my play clothes.  My play clothes transformed me into a princess because they were beautiful satin and lace dresses that had once belonged to one of my many older sisters.  When mama opened the cupboard doors there was Miss Kitty with a new litter of kittens.  Mama asked me what I thought and all I could do was stare down at that cat with these tiny little wiggly things stuck to her stomach and think of how Miss Kitty had ruined my favorite pink satin play dress.  I ran away from the dreadful sight.  I don't think I liked cats very much after that.

     My daughter had a cat when she was in her teens.  King was a pretty good cat actually.  He had personality!  He had found a place in the basement to go outside and come back in so he came and went as he pleased.  It wasn't long before we realized he dominated the neighborhood but he was gentle and docile in the house and let my daughter hold and pet him to his and her content.  Then there was the day that King brought us a trophy from outside and dropped it at our feet.  We didn't realize when we first saw him playing with a "toy" that it was a mouse.  The mouse was quite still and my daughter and I slowly bent down to see if it was dead when it suddenly started running around the room.  King happily chased after it.  Holly and I screamed and I jumped up onto the sofa while yelling at Holly to do something.  It was pure role reversal!  I was NOT going to protect my daughter from this gargantuan mouse that could have fit into a matchbox.  Instead, I kept squealing at her to do something.  Even with my eyes half closed I saw her get a broom and like any dignified woman, I closed my eyes so I couldn't see what she was going to do.  Let me just say that she took care of the mouse and was traumatized by doing so.  

     My reaction was to declare that I would have no more cats. Not ever!

     Then I lived with my daughter and son-in-law.  Every year in the winter a stray neighborhood cat would have kittens in the rafters of their garage and when the kittens were around a month old the mama cat would move them to live under the neighbor's porch.  Not quite two years ago, she had her kittens and mid-afternoon one day we heard what sounded like three dozen kittens, crying for their mama.  She never came.  My son-in-law tried to find the noisy kittens but couldn't.  He called a friend who came over and several hours later, they found one tiny kitten who barely had his eyes open.  When my daughter brought him into the house he was a tiny, dusty, dirty, gray tabby kitten and my first words were that he looked "smokey" and barely a split second later my three year old granddaughter cried out that he was "bananas", so yes, his name is Smokey Bananas.

     I took Smokey while Holly got milk and a medicine dropper ready, and I placed him on my neck where he could feel my pulse.  He quieted down and started to nestle into my neck.  I was the one who fed him, bathed him, let him lie on my neck, and became his surrogate mama.  I just couldn't give him up.  He became my baby and he still thinks I am him mama.  He still buries his head in my neck and does that little tapping thing with his paws while he sleeps.

     So now that this is my first Christmas in my apartment, I don't have a Christmas tree.  I have a cat and I am content.

    I always loved Christmas trees and decorating them when I was a child was more fun than I can describe.  However, when I about 8 years old, I moved back from the tree and sat beside mama and what I saw was horrible!  The upper two-thirds of the tree was lovely but the lower third was ugly, ugly, ugly!  I looked up at mama and asked her why it was so awful.  She just put her arm around me and softly chuckled.  She said it was always like that because she and daddy always let us children decorate the tree and the youngest children could only reach the bottom while the older children always decorated the upper part of the tree.  The little ones put things in clumps and without any thought of beauty.  They were simply too young to know the difference.  I argued that it hadn't been ugly the year before but she just laughed a little more and said that was because I had been too young the year before to notice the difference.  I understood what she meant and I was mortified.  Mama was a wise woman though.  She kissed my forehead and told me to be patient because in a couple of years the younger ones would be old enough to notice and the whole tree would be pretty.  However, she got a little misty-eyed and said the tree that I thought was ugly was beautiful to her and that when the younger two children were old enough to decorate a pretty tree, she would always miss the little mis-matched decorations. 
     This might seem like an odd introduction to a "Christmas" blog but it was the tree that started my thoughts.  I do own a lovely tree and I used my cat as my excuse to not put it up.  And yes, I know that I am to train my cat and not let my cat train me but I think this year, although maybe not next year, it is enough for me to enjoy the trees that I see in the windows of beautifully decorated homes as I drive by them.  I thoroughly enjoyed watching my son decorate his tree and his excitement was quite infectious.  I went to see my daughter's tree the day after they decorated it and it, too, was just beautiful and exciting to see. 
     Everywhere are lights, trees, wreathes, decorations of all kinds.  Most years we find new ideas to try and new decorations to make or hang up.  We see Christmas in our minds even before we decorate.  We have parties, drink hot chocolate, eat candy, sing Christmas songs of all styles.  We hug, we laugh, we wave at people, and say "Merry Christmas!"  It's beautiful!  It's fun, it's exciting!
     For most of us it is the celebration of the birth of our Lord, of God Himself as the tiny baby in Bethlehem, and we want to celebrate big, as it should be.  We are, after all, celebrating the birth of the King of kings!
    He is our King!  And He deserves the greatest birthday celebration we can give.  But this year, I can't get passed the manger.  The King of kings, the one and only living God, the Almighty Lord of lords, the one who was placed in a rough hewn wooden manger, was Jesus, Emanuel, our Lord.  Here the tiny baby, wrapped and swaddled, who nestled against his mother, slept with the lowly sounds of animals eating or sleeping nearby.  God chose the most humble of beginnings for His only son.
     I love Christmas and I truly believe that as Christians, we should celebrate the birth of Jesus, celebrate Christmas, more remarkably and joyously than those who do not know Jesus!  
    My mother missed the unsightly lower third of the Christmas trees we decorated when we were just tiny children and yet, to her, they remained the most beautiful trees of all.  As we celebrate the birth of our Lord, may we also reflect upon how truly beautiful the manger was, for the manger was the first bed in which God our Father chose to place His only begotten Son!  In the midst of our beautiful, exciting celebration of Jesus' birth, may we also reflect on His humble beginning, His humble way of life and love, and may we in turn be humble in our gratitude and love for God and for each other!

*****************************

     Oh, Father, we celebrate you!  We celebrate the birth of Jesus!  We celebrate our salvation and eternal life through Jesus Christ!  Father, as we celebrate in a big way, may we first remember the humble manner in which Jesus was born and in which He lived so that we might one day know Jesus, know You, in all Your glory in Heaven.  And in so doing, may we humble ourselves before You this Christmas season and forever!  In Jesus' name  . . .  Amen!

      

     
   

    

Thanksgiving Buffet

THANKSGIVING BUFFET

by Brenda L. Agee

 

          Thanksgiving Day and my thoughts always go back to the buffet when I was little.  It was filled with wonders and delicious treats just like the tables or buffets in homes across our country.  But I wasn't aware of their buffets, just ours.  The dining room table, which was also in the kitchen, was filled with large dishes of food and the air we breathed that day was filled with marvelous aromas.  But for me, it was to the buffet I repeatedly returned.  We all have our favorites but my oldest sister's cream cheese stuffed dates were divine.  Plus, they were the closest to the edge so they were easy to get to! 

 

In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in 

Christ Jesus concerning you. 1 Thessalonians 5:18

          

          I was one of the youngest (the 10th out of 12 children) and most of the older ones had already moved away, gotten married, and were having children of their own.  Everyone was excited to see who would arrive next and what dishes and treats they were bringing to add to the already crowded table and buffet.  One year the older ones would come home for Thanksgiving and then go to their in-laws for Christmas and the next year they would switch.  So they only came home every other Thanksgiving.  

Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the

 Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Ephesians 5:20

          When I was really small I couldn't reach the middle of the table so I couldn't sneak anything.  But, the buffet was eye level and much more narrow so I could reach around and over and take little samples, or tidbits, of whatever I chose.  My mother or one of my older sisters occasionally caught me and I had to stop, but soon they were busy elsewhere and I was back at the buffet for my samples.  Some foods were the same from year to year but there were always new recipes that my sisters made so, yes, it was a feast.  

Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: 

be thankful unto him, and bless his name.   Psalm 100:4

          I loved walking around the kitchen and listening to my mother and older sisters and sister-in-law talking and laughing.  When it was time to eat, Daddy would say the blessing and thank God for not only the food, but for what he most thankful for; his family.  Always it brought tears to his eyes and to they eyes of mama and my older siblings.  I was too young to understand then, but I understand now!  

And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, 

to the which also ye are called in one body; 

and be ye thankful.   Colossians 3:15

          There were so many of us that we couldn't sit around the table so we just found a place somewhere and for most of us, put our plate on our laps.  At first everything was a bit quiet but it was easy to tell when people started getting full because the talking increased.  

Give thanks unto the Lord, call upon his name, 

make known his deeds among the people.

I Chronicles 16:8

          The boys would go out and play football while the men watched a game on television.  The women cleaned up and talked and the girls . . . I don't know what they all did because I think I was still looking at what was left on the buffet!

That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, 

and tell of all thy wondrous works. Psalm 26:7

  

       For days afterward, I would close my eyes at bedtime and let the excitement play over and over in my head until I drifted off to sleep.  Little tidbits of food, food for thought, laughter, gratitude, praise to God, and thanksgiving remain in my memories.  That is what this blog is also: little tidbits of praise, thanksgiving, gratitude, and laughter.  

But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through 

our Lord Jesus Christ.  1 Corinthians 15:57

And on Wednesday night, Thanksgiving Eve, remember to tell yourselves:

 Being enriched in every thing to all bountifulness, 

which causes through us thanksgiving to God.   

2 Corinthians 9:11

          My last thought for you this holiday is . . .

 O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: 

because his mercy endures for ever.

Psalm 118:1

May God Bless you and may you have a wonderful Thanksgiving . . . 

Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the 

remembrance of his holiness.   Psalm 30:4

**************************************************** 

Oh Father, Righteous God, may I always be grateful for Your blessings of Salvation through Your love and mercy, through Your Son, Jesus Christ.  May I sing of Your praises to all generations for Your mercy endures forever.  Thank You, my Lord, for life, for those You have entrusted unto me to love, for those who love me.  Thank You, for I come to You with a grateful heart for all You have given and provided.  Be glorified, oh my God, be glorified!   In Jesus Name, Amen and Amen!

   

SHARK & CATFISH

SHARK & CATFISH

(or, Resting in Jesus)

by Brenda L. Agee

          A few months ago my daughter and her family went to Florida for a short vacation to the beach.  My grandson said he was sure there was room in the car for me to go also, but of course there wasn't and even had there been room, I'd most likely have stayed here at home in the air-conditioning!

          One of their days on the beach during that vacation, my five year old granddaughter went to the ocean's edge - you know, where you can just stand there in the sand and let the water lap at your feet, gently roll back, and then come to cover your feet again.  This particular time though, she went to the water and suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs, " SHARK!  SHARK!"  She was serious and she was scared and ran back to her mama and daddy, still yelling, "SHARK!"

          I don't know about you, but if I'm on a beach or in the water and someone yells, "SHARK!", no matter how young or how old the voice sounds, I'm heading for higher ground!

          The first thing her parents did was try to comfort her but she was having nothing to do with the comfort so they took her to the place where she saw the "shark".  With one glance her parents saw that it was a dead salt-water catfish.  They tried to tell her that instead of a shark, it was a dead little catfish but she wasn't convinced and continued to yell "shark".   Now, I don't know if this part really happened, but according to her brother, which to him makes for a funnier story, she even ran a short distance up and down the beach yelling "shark".  She may have or she may not have but either way it sounds funny to me just thinking of what the other beach goers might have thought. 

          A couple of nights ago I told my granddaughter that I was going to write a short story about her thinking she saw a shark and she looked at me quite seriously.  "But, Grandma, if you ever go to an ocean and see a dead catfish, you'll know that it looks just like a shark!"  It seemed to me at that moment that maybe she isn't quite sure even now that the dead catfish wasn't a shark.  I do know she'll remember it the rest of her life.

          Life is like that even for us.  There are things that have happened that stay with us.  There are things that scare us or cause sudden fear that are sometimes hard to release.  In my own life, there have been many things that have stayed with me, just like the image of what she believed to be a shark on the beach will stay with my granddaughter.  I've said that we all have a story and we are all on our own journey with God but at times it seems as though Satan throws up a detour and our journey, our path, can become hurtful, sad, or even fearful

          The fearful heart is an easy target when tried by the fires of everyday life.  I admit that when uncertainty guided my footsteps, my direction seemed aimless.  However, God kept before me a path of love that illuminated my soul that I might know Him more. That's all I wanted.  I wanted more of God so I could be free.  All I wanted through those years of pain, and even now, is more of Him.  Jesus is and always has been my 'absolute'.  There's nothing about Him that has changed but He has changed me.  I knew God; I loved God; I rejoiced in God.  But there was a panic inside that I couldn’t' explain. 

          There are many things I learned during those painful times years ago.  I learned that sometimes people may say things that are rather insensitive although they mean to be encouraging.  One such statement, for me at least, was, "Well, if you would just pray about it, all would be okay!"  Oh my! I prayed all of the time.  I prayed standing up, sitting down, kneeling next to the bed or sofa, while lying on the floor crying my heart out.  In fact, I cried so much as I prayed that I smudged the words on several pages of my Bible and had to buy a new one.  I prayed when I walked through the grocery store, I prayed while washing dishes, or when in the shower, or when driving the car.  I always prayed.

          I also learned that Satan didn't need to send others to judge me and condemn me because I was doing a pretty good job of that, myself.  I simply couldn't understand how I could love God so very much, and how I could be so joyful in Him and yet feel that panic inside.  To pray, to rejoice, to sing, to teach, to minister, to encourage, to lead others to Christ were a strong part of who I was and still am in Jesus, so why the fear and panic? I never once lost my faith that He would bring me through everything.  Never!  I knew He would.  Why else would I pray so much?  There were, however, people who thought my faith was extremely weak or that I had no faith and they didn't mind telling me so.  With my self-condemnation already in place, what they said caused even more unrest.  So again I told myself that I must be out of God's will.

          Much of the fear and pain inside me started from being abused.  I wrote briefly about it in one of my earlier blogs titled, "I Found God."  There was much inside me that had festered and rotted - like I had an unspiritual food poisoning - and God was bringing it up and out of me.  Not a nice picture, but neither was it a nice experience.

          In Romans, chapter 8, we are told that when we have no words, the Holy Spirit prays for us, crying, "Abba!"  The term Abba is more than just meaning "Father"; it's more endearing, more intimate.  Abba means "Daddy".  What!?  The Holy Spirit calls Himself, God the Father, "Daddy" when we are at our deepest need? 

          I'm the one who thought there was something wrong with me.  God never said to me, "There is something so wrong with you, Brenda, that I'm just not going to use up any more time with you."  But instead, He saw in me, who I am in Jesus and God wanted me to heal and then rest in Him.

          That is another thing that well-meaning Christians would say: "Well, just rest in Jesus, Brenda.  Just rest in Him."

          Yes!  Okay!  Now you are telling me what I need to hear.  So, how do I do that?  How do I rest in Jesus?

          The answer I usually got was back to what I earlier said I was told, "Well, if you just pray about it, it will all be okay."

          It was like I had jumped onto an evil Ferris Wheel that had only one seat, one chair, which was my chair.  There were words printed on each side of that chair.  On the right were the words, 'You don't know how to pray' and on the left were the words, 'You'll never know how to rest in Jesus'.  I didn't know how to stop the self-condemnation or panic. 

          Until . . .

          There was nothing different that particular night when I cried and prayed in my bed.  But I remember it just as vividly as a little girl I know who will always remember thinking she saw a shark on a beach.  I prayed the same prayer I had prayed for years, "God, no matter how much I love and serve You, I'm scared and I don't know why.  I just don't know what it means to rest in You."

          And there it was: rest.  God showed me by reminding me of my own two children when they were little.

          My son, when hurt, would run to me, crawl up onto my lap, melt back into my arms for only a moment's cuddle and without a word, he just knew Mama made it better.  Sometimes with a little kiss and sometimes without, he would jump down and go play.  All was perfect again. 

          My daughter, when hurt, would come to me and occasionally crawl up onto my lap but most of the time she would just stand in front of me, crying, waiting for me to pick her up, which of course I did.  Either way, she didn't cuddle.  She wanted my comfort just as much as my son did but she stayed a bit stiff, she struggled.  I always put my arms around her, said the soothing words a Mama says and rocked her back and forth.  I would tell her I love her and that all would be okay.  It took awhile, but slowly she would lie back in my arms and eventually rest in my embrace and stay there.  Still crying, still with bloody little knees or a bruised elbow, she rested in her Mama's love.  And all would be perfect again.  I ached for her and she never knew how many times my tears mingled with her own.  She was my baby and I wanted so much for her to not hurt or struggle with her hurt.  Eventually she would just run to me for comfort.  But for a couple of years, it was difficult.

          I knew when God reminded me of my two beautiful babies, which one I was with Him.  I knew to go to Him and I knew He would take care of me.  But somehow, I struggled with my hurt.  I didn't want the hurt but it was there.  I didn't want to be bruised and bleeding, but I was.  The pain and memories were just too much to bear.

          When I realized that night what God had shown me, I softly cried and I softly said to my Abba, "Oh, Holy Spirit, please just hold me."  And, I rested in Him.

          I believe that most of us have something in our past, or in our present, with which we struggle.  We don't mean to, but we just do.  And, it's not easy to find that rest.  We may hurt so much that we just don't know why we aren't at peace when we love God and He loves us.  But pain is pain!  Rest in Jesus is spiritual first and given by the Holy Spirit, Himself.  Then the emotional pain lessens.  For some of us, I think we get the two mixed up.  We think emotional pain is somehow spiritual as though we are out of God's will so we don't know how to let God hold us, sooth us, and tell us that all is okay. 

          Being at rest with God is like a day at the beach for a child.  All is so wonderful and exciting.  Nothing could be better!  We run with the waves, we stand at the edge of the ocean and let the water lap at our feet.  But then, something catches our attention.  It could be a deep hurt from our past or it could be a recent tragedy or maybe someone just said something hurtful.  We cry, "Shark!  Shark!"  

          For some, when our Father, Abba God, says, "No.  It's just a little dead catfish.  It's dead and can't hurt you," they just say, "Okay!" and run on to play.

          But for others, even when held in the arms our Father, Abba God, we continue to yell, "Shark!"

          "No, Baby, it's not a shark"

          "Yes, it is.  It's a Shark!"

          "No, Baby, it's just a little dead catfish."

          "It's a Shark!"

          "I've got you.  It's okay.  I'll never turn loose.  You'll always be safe"
          And then, we rest!

*****************************************************

Abba, Father God, thank You that You love and hold us when we cry in pain.  Thank you, Holy Spirit, that you speak for us when we have no words.  Thank you, Jesus, that you carry us when our burden is too great.  Thank you, oh God, that Your perfect love casts out all fear.  Thank You for rest!

*****************************************************

BED-NIGHT STORIES

BED-NIGHT STORIES

by Brenda Agee

 

          Reverend William Archibald Spooner.  Who?  You say you've never heard of him?  Well, I bet you've heard "Spoonerisms" but you may not have known the term.  A spoonerism is a term used for when a person gets one or two parts of two words mixed up and uses them in a sentence without knowing the difference.  Reverend Spooner (1844–1930), Warden of New College, Oxford, was notorious for this and thus by the year 1921, the term "Spoonerism" was well known.  One of his most well known and quoted was "Kinkering Kongs their Titles Take" but what he was saying was "The Conquering Kings Their Titles Take".  However, my all-time favorite was not said by Spooner, but by an aunt of one of my childhood friends.  It was in the early 1950's and coming home from a vacation, she was telling family that she and her husband were thrilled to have stayed in one of those new "mo-conditioned airtels."  If you haven't figured out, she was actually saying "air-conditioned motels."  Yep, good old Spooner!

          I'm telling you all of this because the title of today's blog is a "Spoonerism" that became part of our family vocabulary.  When my youngest grandson was about three years old, I was living with them.  One night he wanted me to read to him a story.  In my mind, I was thinking that I would read his bed-time story I would then kiss him good-night.  But what came out of my mouth instead was, "Of course I'll read you a bed-night story."  He picked up on it and laughed but I didn't get it until he told me what I had said.  It was so funny to him, and to him mama when he told her, that the term "Bed-Night Story" became part of our every day vocabulary. 

          Stories, no matter what we call them, are part of our lives.  We have bed-time stories, fairy-tale stories, once-upon-a-time stories, family stories, etc.  Again, stories!  Some, like the one I just told, are true while others are just make-believe.  How easy is it for a small child to know the difference, especially when we say we are going to tell them a Bible story right after we've read them a story about fairies or talking rabbits?

          Last year, while still living with my daughter, my two youngest grandchildren came home from a local church and when I asked my four year old granddaughter what Bible story she learned, she answered quite seriously, "But Grandma, we don't ever have Bible stories!"  I asked my eight year old grandson the same question.  He said basically gave same answer.

          You mean, they spent two hours a week at a church youth program and never heard a Bible story?  My granddaughter then said, "We don't have stories, we just learn about Jesus."  My grandson again explained further.  He said the Bible is not made-up stories because it is all true about the people who lived then.  I had never thought of it like that.  However, it made sense and the more I thought of it, the more I liked it!  The Bible isn't made up of a group of stories, but it certainly does tell us the truth about those who lived such a long time ago, the truth about what God wants us to know.

          Recently, I mentioned the incident to one of the children's Sunday School teachers in the church I now attend and I was both surprised and pleased to hear that she does the same.  She said she didn't want the Bible to be listed as one book in a long list of other story books.  She wanted them to know that there is a difference.  I appreciate what she said!

          But I promised you a bed-night story and I want to tell you one of my all-time favorites.  My grandma, on my mother's side, was truly one of the great story-tellers.  I'm sure she could have sat with Mark Twain for days with each telling their stories with equal abandonment and laughter, neither one out-doing the other.

          To give you a time-frame, Grandma was born only a few years after the daughter of Laura Ingalls Wilder.  When Grandma was a child, Great-Grandpa and Great-Grandma moved the family from Michigan to Missouri in a covered wagon.  There were numerous stories Grandma told me about their travels.  In fact, if I were to say to you, "Sweet-potato.  Quickly, now tell me a story."  What would you say?  I can remember Grandma telling about the very first sweet-potato they saw, cooked, and ate.  It was a fantastical story of wonder, mystery, delight and I could almost taste that first bite myself.  A sweet potato, for goodness sake, and yet what a story!

          At one point, my Grandma's family lived in a large wooded area.  Great-Grandpa worked at a saw mill - he lost a couple of fingers at the sawmill and even telling that story, Grandma had us on the edges of our seats - and when he got home of course all the children wanted to tell him about their adventures of the day.

          One evening they all gathered around to tell Great-Grandpa about a new adventure.  My grandma was one of the two oldest of a quite a number of children, and I'm sad to say I don't remember how many children.  The children told Great-Grandpa about a new patch of ground they had found that they had previously not seen.  It was greener than the rest of the grass and had water bubbling up from under it.  They told him how they had all jumped up and down on it for hours because it was spongy and gave a bounce.  She said they all stopped talking because Great-grandpa turned white and fell back into his chair.  He reached forward and grabbed her and a couple of the other children who were closest to him and just held them.  When he gained his ability to speak, he sternly made them promise to never go near the spot again and then he took Grandma with him to show him the place where they had been playing.  Returning to the house, he told them what he had feared.  The patch of bouncy, green, watery grass was a quicksand bed that had not yet broken through.  Again, he made them all promise to stay away from the area.

          Immediately the next day, Great-Grandpa started building a low-bridge over the area because they would need upon occasion to cross from one side of the quicksand to the other. And just as he had predicted, not long after he finished the bridge, the quicksand broke through and the danger was very real.

          Now realize that my Grandma and her siblings did what Great-Grandpa had ordered.  They stayed away from that watery, grassy area, but once the bridge was built, they didn't see any reason why they couldn't go look at the quicksand as long as they were on the bridge.  It didn't look so dangerous, she said, and they wanted to see just what the quicksand would do.  They first tried throwing rocks or twigs in it but nothing much seemed to happen.  But, what if one of the little ones were to be safely put into the quicksand?  Grandma and the oldest brother, convinced the little ones to strip down to their petticoats.  Grandma and my great-uncle laid down on the bridge, locked their hands around the wrists of the youngest child and lowered the little one into quicksand.  The little one sank almost up to the neck and then Grandma and my great -uncle pulled the tiny child out.  Since the young ones were so little and no weight to them, thank God, they were able to be pulled out of the quicksand with no problem.  They were all excited!  They found out about the quicksand and what it would do but they also were able to put a child in and pull a child out.  A new game!  What fun! 

          Need I say more?  They played the game for days: the littlest were sucked into the quicksand and then pulled out.  When the games were over, they all went to the creek, or pond, and jumped in so the little ones could wash off the quicksand the older ones could get wet so it looked like they had all been playing in the water.  I do know it wasn't long before Great-Grandpa found out and the game ended quite abruptly never to be played again.

          The Bible teaches us in 2 Timothy 3:16 that "All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness" and I believe we never know what might happen or when God will use a situation to teach us.  Such as . . .

          I want to tell you one last story.  It is a true story.  It happened to me only last Sunday morning, October 19, 2014, at the church I attend.  The date, time, and place will forever be etched in my memory.  Well, maybe not, but the details will for that morning I learned what the time period is for the "twinkling of an eye".  (1 Co. 15:52; KJV)  

          I had been ill and missed almost two weeks of church services.  I was determined to go to church on the Sunday dated above, regardless of my health, and to  stay from start to finish.  We had a breakfast at church before Sunday School and I went.  We had Praise and Worship team practice after the breakfast and I went for that.  So far, so good.  Then, of course there was Sunday School and I was quite pleased that I made it all the way through.  Next, the Sunday Morning Worship service: I played the keyboard, I played the piano. I sat through all of the announcements and a Pastor Appreciation presentation to our wonderful Pastor.  Yea!  Making it so far.  When it was time, I went to the front pew and sat down.  After a short period of time I had to, as delicately as I can put it, go to the lady's room. 

          In our church, as the lady exits the lady's room she has to turn left to go back to the sanctuary. There are all of two steps from the lady's room to the vestibule, or foyer.  After those two steps to the vestibule, there is s a wing-backed chair on the left hand side.  When I left the lady's room, turned left, and took one step, I still felt fine.  But, by the time I took the second step and was beside the chair, I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me and like a runner's metaphor, I hit the wall.  I literally flopped into that chair and could not move.  I felt like crying and barely held back the tears.  Only moments later, one of the gentlemen came out of the sanctuary with his infant grandson.  When he saw me, he asked if I was okay, and don't ask me why, but I said I was.  He reminded me that my son was seated in the back row of the sanctuary and that he would be glad to get my son for me.  I thanked him, he got my son, and I told my son I had to go home.  My son understood and walked down to the front of the sanctuary to get my things.  He came back, and very considerately helped me up, walked me out, and drove me home.

          But when we got home, oh my!  He pulled up to the curb and I got out on my side of the car without help while at the same time he reached over to the floor on my side to get my things.  Suddenly he yelled, "Mom! Stop!"  Shocked, I turned around toward him and heard him yell again, "Mom, the bottom of your skirt is tucked way up into the waistband of your skirt!"  I just screamed over and over, "What?  What?"  So he repeated, adding another ending, " . . . the bottom of your skirt is tucked into the waistband of your skirt and I didn't know grandmas could wear that color of under . . . "  Well, I'm sure you can figure out the rest of the sentence. 

          All I could think about was:

• what if I had not gotten ill and had to sit down immediately after leaving the lady's room,
• what if I had entered the sanctuary like that,
• what if I had walked all of the way to the front of the church with my skirt all hiked up,
• oh no!
• oh no!
• oh no!

          So that's when I decided that in the "twinkling of an eye" between step one out of the lady's room and step two to the chair, God the Father must have said to Jesus, "We've got to do something about this!  We've given her enough strength to hold her up all morning but we better take away some that strength so she doesn't walk into that sanctuary like that all the way to the front for everyone to see!"  So, between step one and step two, in the "twinkling of an eye", I felt too weak to go on and I had to sit down and then go home.

          Well, there it is!  There really isn't a lot more I can say about that.  That is my Bible lesson for the week.  Maybe that isn't exactly what you think God means by the "twinkling of an eye", but for me, it's good enough.  So to close, just let me say . . .

Thank you, God!  Thank you, God!  Thank you, God!

*************************************************************

          Thank you, God, for the truth of Your Word above all things.  I thank you for the stories that are our legacy from our parents, grandparents and all family members.  May we be willing to pass our family legacies on to our children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews.  I thank you for laughter even in the most unusual of circumstances.  How funny things can be at times!  You are the joy.  Thank you, my Lord!

from HubPages