Tuesday, June 27, 2006

A Pregnant Life

I'm at my older daughter's house. She's having a baby tomorrow. Now that's the way to do it. None of the misery of waiting and wondering that I went through—thinking I'd never go into labor and never deliver the baby who had invaded and then overtaken my body. I simply concluded that I was destined to remain forever pregnant but never delivered. Is. 66:9 addresses that fear, “Shall I bring to the point of birth and not give delivery?” says the LORD. He is faithful to bring forth new life, at exactly the right moment.

Consider the definitions of ‘pregnant,’ besides “to develop offspring within the body.”

* Weighty or significant; full of meaning.

* Of great or potentially great import, implication, or moment.

* Having a profusion of ideas; creative or inventive.

* Producing results; fruitful.

When I look at these meanings I am first thankful that in my earlier years I experienced the joy of being pregnant and giving birth four times.

Now, in the year of my 50th birthday, I am longing to remain forever pregnant! To live a life that is significant and full of meaning. To be filled with great importance because in my earthen vessel I carry the light of the glory of Jesus. To be full of ideas; creative and inventive! And to be fruitful. That my life would produce results for eternity. “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit--fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.” (John 15:16)

The other comfort is remembering that when I am bearing a work inside me, a burden, a joy or a message, that I must allow time for the development of that work and trust the Lord to bring it forth at precisely the right time.


Monday, June 26, 2006

Upon A Star

Since I'm just about to get on a plane and not sure how much time I'll have when I get to Sara's I thought I'd post another story.
Blessings to all. Sue

UPON A STAR

A single star shone, amid a blanket of velvet sky, like a tiny diamond displayed in a ring box. But just as a ring is not seen unless the lid is lifted and is not enjoyed until placed on a finger, and has no meaning unless accompanied by a promise, so the star was waiting to be spotted.

“Oh!” Tanya’s hand shot up in response to the star shooting in a streak of light through the night sky. Pointing, she shouted, “Did you see it Danny? Did you?”

Her older brother ignored her, his thoughts on the curvy blond on the blanket near them. Tanya jumped up and down. Her joy expressed in excited little hops in the cooling sand of the beach. “A falling star! I saw it. I saw it.”

“Stop it! You’re kicking sand all over the blanket. Sit down and shut up.”

The child stopped jumping, yet her toes continued to wiggle around like happy little caterpillars, burrowing in and out of the grains of sand. “You missed it,” she said.

“Just sit,” he growled, yanking her down. “Why did I get stuck having to watch you?”

“Sorry.”

If he would have looked he would have seen sincerity in the dark brown eyes. He didn’t notice. Instead he stood and strutted over to the blond, leaving Tanya alone on the gray wool blanket. That’s when she remembered the part about wishing, so she closed her eyes and made a wish. She lay back, staring in wonder at the sky with its twinkling lights. “Where do stars go when they fall?” she asked the night air.

Tanya imagined that the tiny lights fell into a deep dark hole, swallowed up in black nothingness. Then she thought that perhaps that was wrong. Maybe all stars, when they were finished shining traveled to a place of rest—a star-resting place.

In that place stars didn’t shine at full brightness but blinked on and off like Christmas tree lights set on a timer. When some were giving light, others had their rest time. The little girl smiled, happy with her conclusion about falling stars and their final destination. In the background the surf rocked steadily and the sound lulled the child into a peaceful sleep.

When Tanya awoke many hours later it was very dark. She sat up and looked around. There was no one nearby. She saw only a few pale shadows of people way off down the beach. Her first instinct was to call out, to yell her brother’s name, but somehow she knew it would do no good.

Tanya pulled the blanket around her, up over her head, until only her large brown eyes showed. She remained silent and licked the saltiness off her lips. Then, in the quiet, she heard the tiny sound—a cry, a faint whimper, a calling out from someone even smaller than her. The voice was so frail, so weak that Tanya strained to listen.

The child stood, and headed toward the voice. She moved closer to the boardwalk, and the sound grew stronger. She followed the plea to a group of bushes. There, on the hard soil, under the branches, hidden in nighttime shadows, lay a naked little baby.

Tanya gasped in astonishment. “Oh!” She looked skyward and whispered, “Thank you.”

She bent and touched the cheek of the newborn with her index finger. “Shh, little baby. You’re okay now. I found you.”

Tanya’s exposure to newborns was quite vast even though she was just a pre-schooler herself. She’d become an aunt five months before when one of her older sisters delivered a baby. And that boy child, named Nathan, lived in the same apartment as Tanya and the rest of her family.

Tanya bent low. “Are you cold?” She settled herself on the sidewalk with her back to the bush, sharing a corner of her woolen blanket with the infant. From there she could watch the baby and sing to the baby and make sure the baby was safe.

Another star broke through the darkened sky, like a night light just plugged in and carefully positioned—it shone down on the two abandoned children. In that same moment, around the block, Sharon shook her husband’s shoulder.

“Larry. Wake up!”

“Huh?” he asked, his voice groggy.

“It was past Linda’s curfew so I got up to see if she was home. She’s in her room and she’s crying—real hard. Something’s wrong.”

The tremor in his wife’s voice was enough to get Larry out of bed. Together they went to check on their only child. That’s when they learned all she’d been through that day and all she’d been hiding for the last nine months. She sobbed out the news that their first grandchild lay under some bushes near the beach.

Sharon remained to tend to her broken daughter, remembering vividly her own travail in birth giving. Larry ran toward the beach, his feet slamming the pavement, his heart pounding in his ears. He struggled to absorb all the new information that had unexpectedly flooded into his life.

When he reached the spot, near the restroom, which his daughter had described, he found not one, but two little ones. Later, he would say that the light from a single star showed him the way.

He knelt there and whispered a prayer before waking the little girl. She woke and looked at him with big brown eyes. She registered no surprise or fear.

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Larry. What’s your name?”

“Tanya.”

“Who is taking care of you?” he asked.

The little girl pointed to heaven. Larry nodded and swallowed.

“I mean—are you alone?”

“No,” she pointed to the baby.

As the waves clapped upon the shore and broke with splashes of joy, Larry took his first look at his first grandchild. His heart trembled with love.

The little girl said, “My wish came true.”

Larry didn’t hear for his heart and hands were reaching for the baby. His large calloused fingers became a gentle cradle. He lifted her and held her to his massive chest. Her tiny chest rose and fell in response.

“My wish came true,” Tanya repeated.

“It did?” he asked, still kneeling.

“Yes,” she said and placed her hand on the baby’s head. “I wished that I wouldn’t be alone.”

Larry smiled down at the child. Then he peered tenderly into the brand new face of his granddaughter, wondering who she was and who she might grow to be.

“Her name is Star,” Tanya informed him.

“It is?”

“Yes. It’s a pretty name, huh?”

“Yes,” he said. A tear of thankfulness fell from his face onto hers—christening her—Star McCoy.

Somewhere, far away, in the place where stars go to rest, a certain newcomer star blinked on in silent witness that wishes, flowing from a childlike heart, really do still come true.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Grand-baby #5!

New baby on the way!

Next Wednesday our daughter, Sara, is scheduled for a c-section to deliver our fifth grandchild, a girl named Kayla Rose. I’m flying out on Monday. My job will be to take care of Kayla’s older brother, Cameron. Here he is wearing his swimming goggles, which he loves so much he only removes them at bedtime.

I’m sure their community pool will be cold but I am determined to be a good Grammy and take him swimming (it is easier than having a c-section).

Here Sara is holding Cameron when he was a newborn baby.

What a wonder—the cycle of life—and watching my children become parents is certainly one of the sweetest blessings I’ve known so far. “Thank You, Father, Giver of Life for the joy of children, the miracle of birth and the delight of grandchildren. Amen.”


Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Our Grandson the chef!




It's difficult to live far away from most of our
grandchildren, but pictures by email ease the hardship.
Our oldest grandson, 4-year-old, Ben, cooked up a treat while his parents and his baby brother slept. Here is what his parents found when they woke up.






Ben's masterpiece, which he put into a sealed container and placed in the refrigerator, included the following ingredients: water lemon, flour, sugar, peanut butter, and crushed cereal. I think he will grow up to be a chef.

Dance of Thankfulness PART 2

Here's the end of Lizzy's story! Hope you're having a blessed day. Grammy-Sue


Lizzy smiled at the notion that she was beautiful to the Almighty One. In her smile was the acceptance that even though she was eighty-six, her work on earth was not yet over.

She stood slowly, and went to the bank of river Hurry. Of course the maps didn’t label it such, but as a youngster it seemed to Lizzy that the river ran through her world in an awful hurry. As she grew she noticed that Hurry wasn’t always in a rush. In fact the river slowed way down during the dry summer months. Like now, Hurry was taking its time meandering between the banks, winding its way to the next place.

She looked down river remembering the time her Charlie helped her down the steep bank to a small pool of water. He tried to teach her to swim by holding his hands under her back, saying, “Just relax.”

She remembered the way his strong shoulders looked bathed in shadows with the sun making her squint as she looked up into his adoring eyes. He held her with such tenderness that a stirring rose in her and she wondered about the love that soon awaited them.

Charles saw her daydreaming. “What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” she lied. His hands released her for a moment and she flayed in response, but he had her again in a second and was laughing. “Trust me, little Lizzy,” he whispered, “I will never, ever let you go.”

She smiled up into his dark brown eyes and decided that he was worthy of her trust. “I was just wondering about our wedding night.”

His response to her words puzzled her for they seemed to send a shock wave through him. He quickly put her down and headed for shore.

“Hey,” she hollered after him. “Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head but didn’t turn to face her, just grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist. When she reached him, he cupped her face in his hand and planted a tiny kiss on each cheek. “No, little darling” he assured her, “you said something right. But I’m trying hard to remember that it’s not fully right for another fourteen days. Understand?”

She nodded as if she did, but it would take quite some time before she would begin to really understand the ways of her man. Looking back she realized that their innocence had been such a great part of the pleasure they discovered as husband and wife—and carried them through years of growing passion.

She clicked her tongue. I wonder why that sweet memory came to me?

Elizabeth used to think that all her memories were stored in a filing cabinet, sorted and labeled and organized in chronological order. But now she thought of them as a bunch of confetti, little bits and pieces of her past tumbling together inside her and tossed up at unexpected moments. When one fluttered into consciousness you might as well accept and celebrate its appearance.

Elizabeth slowly approached the old wooden porch that surrounded the home she was raised in, but before she could put the tattered sole of her boot on the bottom step the front door burst open.

“Grammy! Grammy! Quick—baby Sara’s turning blue.”

Moving faster than she had in eons, Lizzy found the toddler in the arms of her distraught mother. “She fell—off the stool—”

A large red welt protruded from Sara’s pale forehead, a bluish tint colored her lips and seemed to be forming a growing circle around her tiny mouth. Elizabeth grabbed the child and lifted her straight up. If she’d been a tall woman, the child would have touched the tongue and groove, white washed ceiling.

“Almighty One,” she called, as one might call their lover, summoning their presence in a moment of need, “here is my kin—who you gave to me as part of my heritage here on this earth. Since you’re asking me to stay, I’m asking you to let her stay too. I’m asking you here and now to give life back to this child.”

Lizzy’s frail arms began to tremble with exertion, yet she held the child up in supplication until she felt the wind begin to stir. It began as a puff that kissed the cold lips of the little girl. Her mouth opened in response and the air kept flowing, filling her passive lungs, forcing them to move with the rhythm of life. Lizzy acknowledged the answer with a nod and a smile before lowering her great-granddaughter to her own breast.

Lizzy didn’t hear the echo of voices saying, “Thank Heaven you were here, Grammy.” She just held the child gently, remembering the touch of her husband. Her tears fell, tender drop by tender drop, upon the child’s face, like rain bringing new life. And Lizzy swirled in graceful circles around the kitchen, dancing the old familiar dance of thankfulness.

- END -

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Writing Opportunity

Hi All
I interupt this short story to bring you this late breaking news on a writing opportunity! Here it is:

I've got great news! Adams Media has ordered up three new Cups of Comfort, and I wanted you to be among the first to know. I hope you will forgive me sending this to you as a group email, but it's the only way I can get word out to everyone quickly ... and when you see the deadlines, you'll understand that time is of the essence is my getting word out about this paid publishing opportunity with the popular Cup of Comfort book series.

I'm really jazzed about these new anthologies, as the themes are near and dear to my heart: dogs, single moms, and writers. And I hope you'll submit stories for all three.

Below, please find the call for submissions and guidelines for these books. Please feel free to share them with anyone you think might be interested in submitting stories for publication consideration in any, or all, of these books. IĆ¢€™m on a tight deadline with both the Dog Lovers and Writers volumes, so truly appreciate your assistance in spreading the word. And I look forward to reading your stories.

Thanks!

Warm regards,
Colleen Sell
Cup of Comfort editor
wordsinger@aol.com (direct)
cupofcomfort@adamsmedia.com (via publisher)

A Cup of Comfort Call for Submissions

Dance of Thankfulness

Today and tomorrow I'm posting a short story in two parts.

DANCE OF THANKFULNESS

by

Sue Cameron


Elizabeth tenderly traced the heart carved in the bark of the aged oak. “Sadie Girl, you sure are standing up to the years better’n me.”

Elizabeth was about six-years-old when she named the large oak, which grew near the river that marked the edge of her parents ranch. Old Sadie had watched the little red-haired girl grow from a fearless youngster, climbing her branches to tie ropes for tire swings, into a young woman who embraced a young man under her shade. He used a knife to record his love for the girl and Sadie still bore the scar and stood as a proud witness.

The woman stroked the rough bark thoughtfully. “Don’t ya think it’s fittin that my Charlie is buried amid your roots?” She settled herself down on the hot earth, leaning her curved spine against Sadie’s trunk. “Lands above,” she complained, “you’re getting more uncomfortable all the time. Guess I got to bring a pillow when I come to chat.”

Some folks thought it a strange thing that Lizzy (as her daddy called her) talked to trees. She also conversed with snakes and bugs, leaves and any manner of inanimate objects and they seemed to respond to her somehow.

At age eleven, when a drought threatened their ranch and the dry ground yielded no new growth for the cattle, Lizzy pleaded with the heavens to release their rain and water the parched earth. Sure enough, the rain came, slowly at first, tender drop by tender drop to wet her upturned face. In response she danced a dance of thankfulness. She swirled in circles as the waters poured down in delightful abandon to drench the young girl and her piece of the world.

Some grumbled at Lizzy and accused God since the Horton’s ranch seemed to be singled out for the blessing. Oh, a few drops splashed on the lands of their neighbors on either side, but it was Lizzy’s voice that brought a response that year.

After that, if ever there were a need or a situation, even if it didn’t affect her directly, Lizzy would be asked to pray.

“I don’t reckon I’m the praying sort,” she said since she never closed her eyes or knelt or said religious things. “I just say what I’m thinking and know Someone is listening.”

“I don’t care what ya call it, Lizzy,” the people said. “Just do it.” Then they added, “Please, if ya don’t mind.”

“Course I don’t mind.” Can’t mind being who I am, can I? she thought, looking at the adults with questioning eyes.

To her life was simple and to be enjoyed—even when it hurt. Her heart was surely hurting this afternoon as she leaned against Old Sadie. “It’s been eight years since Charlie died,” she spoke to her ancient friend. “I want to go too. Why do ya suppose the Good Lord keeps someone like me around? I don’t do much and I reckon the food I eat could go to strengthen someone who has something to give out.”

Lizzy looked high into Sadie’s branches and caught sight of a single leaf dangling from a twig. Like me, she thought, barely hanging on.

A wind presented itself out of the clear blue sky and swept over to the leaf tugging it from its twig. Lizzy watched in wonder as the small dry leaf floated on the breeze, riding up and down and twirling to a smooth landing as an offering at her feet. She accepted this gift with gratitude and held it in her palm like a treasure.

“Still has a beauty, even in its old age,” she explained to the One who hears all thoughts and desires and needs. A response, clear as a bell, came to her heart, “Just like you, Lizzy.”

She smiled at the notion that she was beautiful to the Almighty One. In her smile was the acceptance that even though she was eighty-six, her work on earth was not yet over.

(Part 2 tomorrow)

Sunday, June 18, 2006

To My Husband on Father's Day!


Here is a picture of my husband with our four children when they were young.


Sunday is nap day. Today, as I woke, I looked at my husband sleeping. How I love the sight of his face, the sight of him. I wondered, “What will he look like in thirty years?”

We’ll both be about 80 if the Lord gives us another 30 years together. So far, Craig has been fabulous as a husband, provider, lover, friend, father and more recently, as a Granddad. Will I get to watch him hold his great-grandchildren and see the love in his eyes as he makes funny noises that will cause them to giggle? I hope so.
Today I am so thankful to this man, my lover, my friend, my husband, daddy to my children.


Friday, June 16, 2006

For Moms of Young Children

Here is a picture of my older son, with his second son. It's a good father's day picture!


Today I spent some time with a friend and her four young sons. Handsome sons. Busy sons. Sweet sons. Boys who will be men one day!
These boys are blessed to have a mom who spends her days, her engery, her creativity raising them. Sunday they plan to crown their daddy king for the day. Coranations take careful preparation. The boys will be learning to think of others, to show honor, to be grateful for their father on Fathers Day. I bet it will be a ton of fun. Being a good mom takes a lot of work, but it's worth every ounce of love you offer.
Here is a story (from my days of little ones) for all the precious young moms who are working so hard to raise their children. Just a reminder to take time to enjoy the moments because the years go by too fast.

A TIME FOR EVERYTHING

by
Sue Cameron


Not too many pounds ago I was younger, spending my days with four pre-schoolers. Some of those everyday moments were the longest of my life. Once, when I was trying to plug in the fan, I climbed on top of the desk and reached behind it, feeling for the outlet. My arm got stuck there between the wall and the desk. Unable to turn around and look my toddler in the eye, I blindly tried to convince her to stop crying long enough to go for help. I could have asked my four-year- old, but he was too busy laughing.

I didn't laugh the day he painted his window with a whole jar of Vaseline, or the time he used his dad's buzzers to give himself a hair cut. Punk was not in style yet. He's a boy ahead of his time.

Maybe he got that tendency from me. I like to run ahead of God's timing. To rush past the present moment for the future. To sacrifice the now for the will be. I miss the joy of today for the promise of tomorrow.

I think, if I can just get the house clean, this job completed, the taxes done, then I'll have time to enjoy my family. But joy won't be scheduled. It pops in and surprises us at unexpected moments. And if we are unwilling to let go of control, we are unable to grab hold of the joy.

Like the other morning...


I stand with my back toward our youngest, Eric. I'm making sandwiches for lunch pails. He is eating cinnamon toast.

"Do you want something to drink?" I ask over my shoulder. "Some juice or milk?"

No response.

I continue spreading peanut butter. "Did you hear me?" I ask. "Do you want a drink with your toast?"

Still no sound. Here is the moment of choice. Usually I would demand a response from my disrespectful offspring, instead I glance back. I see a limp boy; arm dangling over the back of his chair, eyes dull, head drooping. His posture captures my curiosity before angry words capture my tongue. So I approach him cautiously.

He is definitely unresponsive, but still breathing. Then in a slow, run-down-battery type of voice, he says, "I-I-I'm tu-u-urned o-o-ff."

I reach out and push on his head. "Ding. There."

"No-o-o," corrects the groggy voice, "my-y-y button's in the middle of my bel-l-ly."

I lift his shirt. "Oh, the belly button, huh?" I gently push it. "Ding!"

The eyes light up, the back straightens, the head tilts, "Milk!" he proclaims. I smile and say, "Coming right up."

All day the memory of that encounter delights me. And I think of the countless magic moments I squelch - moments God offers me as a gift. I am challenged to relax a little. To stop rushing past this moment in pursuit of another. To make living and loving, today, my goal. To take time to enjoy my children. For in God's economy there is always time for every good thing.


Humor in the Kitchen


Sometimes you just have to look at yourself to get a good laugh. Yesterday morning as I prepared for a group of ladies coming to watch the video Love and Respect I made two kinds of iced tea. I labled each one. The first, "Lemon, Unsweetened" and the second which was suppose to say "Peach Tea" accutually looked like this. (If you can't read it, it says 'Pea Tea'!) Good greif, no wonder no one tasted it! By the way, the video series is excellent, all of us wives (from young to old) are astounded at how important respect is to our husbands and about how little we know about being respectful. "Lord please teach us Your Ways!"
It's been over 100 all week. I'm so thankful to have a pool and a little friend to float with me (even if she is bossy). Here's a pict
ure of Ethne and Grammy.
I've added some links of some of my friends. Marlene Bagnull, who directs two great Christian Writers Conferences, a friend Julia who makes wonderful illistrations with fabric and some homeschool friends!
Have a blessed day.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Some Are Denser Than Others

I have great plans for this little corner of my world! It will be loaded with pictures and video clips and offer links to some of my favorite sites--as soon as I figure out how to do it. This is true for many items in my life, like our new expandable phones, this lap top I'm typing on, our camera and my cell phone. Each of these has great potential, fancy features, helpful tools--yet I don't know how to fully utilize them. It's because I refuse to read the instruction books. There's a good reason, I don't want to. The print is dense and there are no color pictures. It doesn't appear to be worth my time, so I lose time being frustrated because I can't get the blasted phone to work. Did I say dense?


Tuesday, June 13, 2006

A Clay Pot

I hate to disappoint people. Especially when what they’ve asked me to do might impact lives. My passion is to communicate the love of God to others. To speak and write in refreshing ways about timeless truths.

So far I’ve written 2 of 3 assigned articles for a web site. After scrapping my first attempts, and submitting new articles with a fresh angle, I still fell short of providing what the editors wanted.

Do you ever battle discouragement? Thoughts that you really don’t have much to offer? Makes me want to forfeit my pay check and withdraw my offer to write a third piece.

Funny, the Lord was talking to me today about one of my favorite verses. 2 Cor. 4:7 "Now we have this treasure in clay jars, so that this extraordinary power may be from God and not from us."

This morning that verse filled me with delight because it says God chose to fill me, just a simple earthen vessel, with His power. I felt strong. I knew I was called to write. Now, the verse is reminding me of the fact that I’m just a clay pot, dependent on a power not my own, to fill me and pour out from me, to offer anything lasting.

I read this quote, attributed to sculptor Henry Moore, in a little book, Chosen By God, published by Harrison House. “The secret of life, is to have a task, something you do your entire life, something you bring everything to, every minute of the day for your whole life. And the most important thank is: It must be something you cannot possibly do.”

That is me and writing. A clay pot, yearning to be filled with the extraordinary power of God, so that His voice will be heard in my writing. “Please Lord, fill me. I don’t want to fail You.”

Monday, June 12, 2006

THE NEED FOR FLAGS!


My sister-in-law called today. "Hi Sue, I read your blog. Good job.” Of course I smiled at her sweet comment until she said, “But. . . ”

Those three little word can act like a pin deflating a balloon, or a knife stabbing the ego. So I clutched the phone as she continued.

“Did you know there is a button up on the top of your page?”

“There is?”

“I pushed it and was taken to a porn site!”

Danger signs flashed across my mind. Has someone linked my brand new blog to a porn site?

The thought enraged me because I hate porn. I despise what it can do to families, to children, to innocence and purity and to God’s beautiful perfect design for human sexuality.

I lost no time. Rushing into my son’s room I woke him by shouting, “I need your help immediately!” No matter that he is recovering from surgery and that he was fast asleep.

He squinted at me.

I franticly explained the conspiracy, concluding with, “I’m going to have to close down my blog!”

“No Mom,” he corrected sleepily. “Hitting the ‘next blog’ button simply takes you to a random site. The great majority are not offensive. No one did that on purpose.”

“Isn’t there a way to block such sites, or at least report them?”

He rolled over. “I’m sure there is. Did you read the instructions?”

My eyes grew wide with guilt, his had closed again, so he didn’t notice. Tip toeing away, I closed his door quietly.

There’s a reason I don’t read instructions. I don’t want to. The print is usually dense with no color pictures. But today I was motivated by a desire to keep blogging. So I read some information under “Blogger Help” and learned about the FLAG button located beside the ‘Next Blog’ button. This is very helpful information. I copied it here, in case you’re like me and don’t like to read instructions.

Here's How It Works

When a person visiting a blog clicks the "Flag?" button in the Blogger Navbar, it means they believe the content of the blog may be potentially offensive or illegal. We track the number of times a blog has been flagged as objectionable and use this information to determine what action is needed. This feature allows the blogging community as a whole to identify content they deem objectionable. Have you read The Wisdom of Crowds? It's sort of like that.

Happy Blogging!

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Defining Marriage

Like many folks, I avoid conflict. So, right off let me say, I'm not looking for a fight, okay? But so many people are debating the merit or lack of merit of a Marriage Amendment and I do have something to say about that topic. I want to thank you in advance for taking the time to read my views even if you don't agree with them.

Defining Marriage

Marriage has been a part of the human experience since the dawn of time. But was the concept of two lives joined as one birthed in the mind of man, or in the heart of God?

If marriage is a human institution, then men have the right to altar or change the definition as they wish. However, if the concept of marriage originated with the Lord God, and is given as a gift to the human race, then only He has the authority to decide what constitutes a marriage.

For those who believe that the Bible offers God’s voice and His view, it’s clear that marriage is the idea of the One whose thoughts and ways are higher than any human.

First, the Creator fashions humankind in His image as male and female. He molds their physical bodies to fit together perfectly. The natural result of this joining of bodies is the birth of more little human beings. This is as He intended, for after forming this first couple He blesses them and says, “Be fruitful and increase in number,” (Genesis 1:28). This is His first command to the first couple, and He designed them to be able to do what He instructed.

Having kids is not the only reason God established the relationship of marriage. We see, in Scripture, that He was the One who said, “It is not good for the man to be alone,” (Genesis 2:18). The Lord God saw Adam’s need for companionship and met it by creating Eve. When Adam first saw her, (and really liked what he saw), their Creator said, “For this reason a man shall leave his father and his mother, and be joined to his wife; and they shall become one flesh,” (Genesis 2:24).

In this declaration, God established His definition of marriage. It is a man and a woman, each leaving their families of origin to form a new permanent union. Later, when Christ Jesus walked the earth, He repeated and endorsed this ideal.

Marriage meets two basic needs with reproduction as the natural outcome. First, our need for companionship is met when we are united in marriage. Next, God said that in marriage husband and wife would become one flesh, which refers to our sexual needs.

While many relationships of various kinds might provide for our relational needs, and can even address sexual drives, only the joining of male and female has the additional outcome of producing the offspring, which God desires.

In our day, the meaning and definition of marriage is being questioned and debated. But legally altering the existing definition of marriage won’t change God’s mind about what marriage is and is not. His original design will stand when all else passes away. It’s good to remember that when our lives pass away we will each stand before Him and give account for the choices we made that defined our lives.

TOO HOT TO STAY

It seemed like a good idea. We didn't want to sit

at home wasting Memorial Day Monday. So we

loaded up the van and drove to White Sands.

My comment of, "It's not even crowded," was met with a blast of intense heat when I stepped out of the air conditioned car.
Still, we plodded up a massive sand dune carrying umbrellas, water and plastic lids from various storage containers. These were meant to act a sleds as we gleefully swished down the slopes of sand. Never happened. We tried and failed. Ever try to drag yourself down a pile of burning sand with a smile on your face?
I reasoned, "Maybe the sand isn't as slippery when it's over 90 degrees." Everyone nodded in agreement.
So, we trudged back to the van, emptied our shoes, brushed off as much sand as possible and climbed in. We switched on the A/C full blast.
Amy, our son's girlfriend said, "Makes you grateful for our soldiers and what they're suffering. It's hotter than this."
My husband agreed. "And they're in full uniform, loaded with gear."
"Isn't 110 or 115?" Our son, Eric, asked.
"Go-go-go?" Pleaded the 15-month-old.

We all looked at the baby and considered the wisdom of her request. So we drove the hour and a half to get home, in our air conditioned van.

But, not without remembering, in our own small way, and sending up our prayers of appreciation.

Friday, June 09, 2006

My Favorite Blog

I've just started to blog and so far my favorite site is: likealittlebean.blogspot.com, because it is all about my granddaughter, Ethne. (Chances are it will remain my favorite, you should check out the wonderful pictures, my son-in-law is a gifted photographer.)
The other day Ethne wanted to get up on the sofa. I went to get her little stool, intending to show her how to use it to climb up by herself. She didn't understand that I was helping her and had a major fix. It was as good as a tantrum from a 2 year-old, even though she's only 16 months. I couldn't explain, she wasn't listening, she was arching her back and screaming.
Sometimes I'm like that with God. He's trying to teach me something that will make my life easier. Offering a little insight. Instructing me on a better way to do things. But I'm so busy being mad that He won't do what I want Him to do, so frustrated that He is refusing to do things my way, that I miss the chance to improve.
I finally just picked Ethne up and put her on the sofa. She was so happy, but I felt sort of sad.

Thursday, June 08, 2006




Here is my first posting. I wrote this article over ten years ago. It's still one of my favorite.

Love Will Remain
by
Sue Cameron

After 15 years of marriage I just discovered that my husband, Craig, has this— habit. He reminds me of love. Like on Tuesday night at 6:30. Bible study is in our home tonight, at 7:00.

I am frantic. Frantically throwing dishes into the dishwasher, fanatically issuing orders: Josh, Sara, Aimee, Eric, finish your homework and go upstairs!

But, Mom, says Eric, “I’m only in kindergarten. I don’t have homework.”

Then help Josh with his!” I scream

But, Mom,” says Josh, “I’m in seventh grade. I don’t think he can help me much.”

I scowl at both of them. That’s when Craig strolls into the kitchen. Cool, calm, collected.

I thrust the coffee pot into his hands. “Make the coffee,” I demand.

But he doesn’t. He puts down the carafe. Takes me into his arms and tells me I’m beautiful. He likes the looks of a harried woman. Normally, I would sigh and roll my eyes. Not tonight. Tonight, after 15 years of being loved when I’m a raging maniac, a wonderful truth begins to dawn.

Although he’s never said it in words, Craig is reminding me of an eternal truth. Love is the greatest treasure. Love will remain. Dirty dishes wont remain. Hectic moments wont remain. The self-imposed pressure of this hour wont remain. Love will. Love is the important thing. Lets not miss this moment. Lets enjoy the love.

So, instead of yelling at my husband, “Help me do all this stuff,” I kiss him back. It is nice. It is an uncommon response. I think it is better than yelling.

The coffee gets made. The dishes get washed. And I am reminded that this moment is worth enjoying because love will always remain.


these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” (1 Cor. 13:13)