Author: made4eternity

Last night, I went out with friends. We had a picnic supper of BLTs, chips, strawberries, and sweet tea while listening to Jazz in the Park. We then played sand volleyball for an hour and a half until it got too dark to see and hiked down to the lake to hear the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra play for free. We got there with the concert almost over, but their finale of “The Stars and Stripes Forever” was well worth the trek. As it was the first night of the world-famous music festival, Summerfest, they had what’s referred to as the “Big Bang” to kick things off – fireworks! And I didn’t get home ’til nearly midnight (quite the aberration).

OK, seriously, does it get any better on a summer night than that??

The old 50’s song, “If I Knew You Were Coming” (I’d’ve Baked a Cake)  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss941vaoe_A) started me thinking about contractions, and how I can’t imagine life without them. I mean, I cannot. Consider never using another contraction again. This is easier to do when writing, much harder to do when speaking. Talking gets clunky when we take out the contracted verbs and negatives.

Singing does too:

. . . I would have baked a cake, I would have baked a cake, I would have baked a cake . . .

Contractions are they’re good, especially lovely double ones like “I’d’ve”. And the song ain’t all that bad either.

I rediscovered the Boggle on Saturday night. It’s one of those games I remember playing as a kid at the kitchen table with Mom and my brothers, but I hadn’t played it in years. I forgot how much fun it was, but when you combine letters, obscure words (“boded”, anyone?) and a 3 minute time limit – wow! It’s great!

Also, when there’s the “th” letter combination right in the middle is helpful as it doth bringeth back the Olde English feel to things.

Psalm 27:13-14 – I found these verses to be very encouraging this morning, especially as I’m . . . waiting. (I always seem to be doing that!)

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living!
Wait for the Lord;
be strong, and let your heart take courage;
wait for the Lord!

Last night I had the wonderful experience of eating supper with a friend from grad school, her husband, and her Argentine in-laws. The food was fresh from scratch South American cooking, and English and Spanish flew about in equal quantities, much to the delight of my always-anxious-for-anything-international ears. We talked, via frequent translation, of Africa, languages, school, work, and a recently stolen lawn mower. They wanted to learn some Swahili words, and after going over only a few phrases, Swahili was proclaimed to be much easier to pronounce than cumbersome English words like “siblings”. I find that whenever my mind hears another language, Swahili is on the tip of my tongue. Of course, this is rarely productive when talking to someone from South America . . .

After dinner, we watched a World War I movie in which actors occasionally dialogued in French or German. And there we were, a farm girl from Iowa, her Argentine family, and the girl from Kenya, sitting in a living room in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, watching a film that took place in Europe.

And those continental connections sure felt like home to this alien and stranger.

That is, according to psychologist Cliff Arnall, who has actually developed an equation demonstrating variables that makes this, 20 June, the happiest day of the year. The following quote is from an article at ajc.com:

“Apparently it’s the combination of brighter evenings, childhood memories, and the prospect of summer holidays that puts the best possible spin on today.”

So . . . feel any better?

Even more wonderful than sunshine, good memories, and holidays, though, is this promise from  Romans 4:

“Blessed [Happy] are those whose lawless deeds are forgiven, and whose sins are covered; blessed [happy] is the man against whom the Lord will not count his sin.”

Hallelujah!

As I write this blog entry, I’m listening to comfort music. Just like we eat certain kinds of food because they are comfortable, so we listen to music that comforts us.

I was thinking about why I have certain songs that I play over and over again, and why my iPod has such a weird mix on it. One of my very kind friends described my music collection as “eclectic” (which I think is nicer than “weird”), and it is that. I have about every musical genre, including rap, folk, classical, pop, country, hymns – and some songs that don’t fit really well in any category. I imagine that most people have “eclectic” collections.

But why?

Sometimes, a lot of times, I’ll add a song because it reminds me of a place or a time or a friend. I might not have otherwise liked and listened to it, but it has meaning attached. That’s why Horowitz’s rendition of “The Stars and Stripes Forever” bumps up against the Kenyan song “Chonga Viazi” which in turn precedes the thoughtful “How Deep the Father’s Love” which is incongruously followed by “The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything” which leads us, oddly enough, to “Canon in D” (that’s on shuffle, by the way).

And that’s why I have numbers like “Hey There Delilah” in my repertoire. That one is only in there because when I was home last summer, Noah was picking it out on his guitar. It reminds me of my brother, and I smile.

It’s my comfort music.

I woke up at 4 this morning thinking about Santa Claus. Yes, him. Despite the fact that summer, not winter, is nigh, and there are about a zillion other things I could/should think about if I happen to awaken in the wee hours of the morning, it was the Jolly Elf  on the tip of my brain.

I’ve been listening to the enjoyable audiobook memoirs of a girl growing up in rural Indiana. I finished it last night before going to bed, and in the final chapter, the author writes about when she received a much wished for gift at Christmas, complete with a handwritten letter from – you guessed it – Mr. Claus himself. The story was told in a very touching, sweet way, but early this morning I awoke to find myself contemplating the aftermath.

Millions of kids are told about Santa’s existence by well-meaning (and well-trusted) parents, and of course these young’uns believe the story. They have no reason not to. And in most cases, Santa has taken over the role of God – we know from that old holiday tune that he’s all-knowing, and pretty close to being omnipresent and omnipotent too. He is a really good guy to believe in.

Imagine the kick in the gut, then, when these kids are at recess with a slightly wiser friend who (smugly) disabuses them of their belief in Santa, revealing to them that they’ve been lied to their whole life. Ouch.

It reminds me (on an infinitely larger scale) of friends I have who have been saved out of religion. Some were told all their lives that you can get to heaven because of your baptism or good works, etc., only to discover that salvation is by the grace of God, apart from works, in the work and person of Jesus Christ. That revelation stings too, but it is a needed sting.

I realize it is probably one of the biggest barriers to a person placing their trust in Christ, and only the Spirit of God can break the walls down. May we be used of him to (kindly, gently) disabuse people of their faulty beliefs, and point them to the Light.

There it is – a month ago tomorrow. I figured since I spent a lot of time on this blog looking forward to that day, it might be nice to take a look back to 18 May. (And I think, good grief! Is that for real?) It was great to have both my parents (as well as a brother, my dad’s parents, and two sweet college friends) there for the momentous occasion. Thus ended my formal education, but it figures I would find myself back at school in the fall – after all, my friends call me a “lifer”.

I take that as a compliment.

“Not much to do when you got time on your side/You sit and think about your wasted life . . . “

I don’t exactly agree with the sentiments of this song that Emily Jane White sings, but I can relate. In the last month I’ve gone from student with two part time jobs to unemployed to employed to unemployed again. It’s a long story which I won’t go into on this blog, but suffice it to say that I currently have a lot of time on my hands.

Job hunting for summer work has proved fruitless to this point. I haven’t stopped looking, but have resigned myself that I might not be employed until the end of August when I start working for the school district. Which leaves me with . . . time – about 2 months of the precious commodity.

And unlike the lyrics above, I don’t want to waste it. I want to use it, to redeem it. (Ephesians 5:16) I want this “time on my side” to be used to glorify God.

So I’m going to start blogging daily again (that’s my goal anyway). And I’m planning to study in preparation for my job in the fall, memorize Scripture, go for walks by Lake Michigan, enjoy Jazz in the Park, listen to audiobooks from the public library, among other things. I’ll have a schedule.

It’s not what I thought this summer would be, but it’s what God has for me. He’s changed my plans before, he can change them again. That’s why this life is such an adventure.

So, onward!

barely

Yipes, ’tis for real. I got them yesterday, along with my hood’n’tassel. I woke up at 4 AM, too excited to sleep. I even flipped on the light to make sure they were real. They were. And I’ll be wearing them on Sunday.

Joyfully.

Also at 4 AM, I read Romans 4. Verses 18-21 reveal Abraham to a stunningly faith-full man, who believed in a God, who to this day, and through all eternity, is stunningly promise-keeping.

“In hope he believed against hope, that he should become the father of many nations, as he had been told, ‘So shall your offspring be.’ He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was as good as dead (since he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah’s womb. No distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised.”

May I be that trusting, believing in hope against hope, fully convinced of my God’s abilities to do what he has promised.

I finished graduate school last night, taking the last exam of my educational career. I sat there for a few minutes after completing the test, staring at it, not really believing that I was done. I didn’t feel sentimental or nostalgic – it’d be hard for anyone (except for some hard-core statisticians) to get worked up over a final on quantitative analysis, confounding variables, and nonparametric tests. I got a little emotional on the phone when I called home afterward; there was such a sense of relief, an overwhelming sense of “doneness”, and a deep sense of gratitude to the Lord for bringing me through.

Hard to believe, this.

So now, I begin a whole new journey as a productive member of society. In August, Lord willing, I’ll be a Speech-Language Pathologist in a public school. It’s nice to be employed (or to be “pre-employed” until I officially sign the contract).

In the meantime, I’m applying to the zoo. Seriously. I’m doubtful that I’ll actually get that job, but if I do, I’m sure I could teach the lions a thing or two about protecting their vocal cords.

Onward.

Psalm 150 seems so appropriate right now (ok, it’s always appropriate):

Praise the Lord!
Praise God in his sanctuary;
praise him in his mighty heavens! 
Praise him for his mighty deeds;
praise him according to his excellent greatness!

Praise him with trumpet sound;
praise him with lute and harp!
Praise him with tambourine and dance;
praise him with strings and pipe!
Praise him with sounding cymbals;
praise him with loud clashing cymbals!
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord!

A 1999 Letter to the Editor of National Review on the clunky term, “Congressperson”. It is best read aloud.

Dear Mr. Buckley:

Ms. Ellen P. Ward’s letter to you regarding the use of “Congressperson” when referring to a member of Congress does not go far enough. Since the last syllable (son) refers to the male gender, the politically correct term of address for a female member of Congress is “Congressperdaughter.” This, then, brings into question the use of “female” to refer to a member of the feminine sex. Again, the politically correct term should be “feperdaughter” (God created them male and feperdaughter). This gives rise to other absurdities, such as “woperdaughter” for “woman,” “huperdaughterity” for “humanity,” “woperdaughteracles” for handcuffs used on “feperdaughters.” It then makes a work written by a “woperdaughter,” a “woperdaughteruscript.”I’m sure that I need not belabor the point.

Sincerely,William F. Brna Monongahela, Pa

No, really – happy May Day to you all.

The trees are budding, so spring is here. Yes, even in Wisconsin.

Happy sigh.

You won’t find crystal

In a Styrofoam cup,

Just like you can’t swim in concrete

And you’ll never fall up.

And you can’t get to Heaven

By your good deeds

Just like you won’t grow flowers

When you’re planting weeds.

“And to him who does not work but believes in him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is counted as righteousness.” Romans 4:5

No, not really . . . I do love my Eagles, but I sure got a kick out of George Carlin’s comparison of baseball and football.

“Baseball is a 19^th century pastoral game.

Football is a 20^th century technological struggle.

Baseball is played on a diamond. In a park – the baseball park.

Football is played on a gridiron in a stadium (sometimes called ‘Soldier Field’ or ‘War Memorial Stadium’).

Baseball has the 7^th inning stretch.

Football has the 2 minute warning.

Baseball has no time limit. We don’t know when it’s gonna end. We might have extra innings!

Football is rigidly timed and it will end even if we have to go to sudden death.

Finally, the objectives of the 2 games are totally different:

In football, the object is for the quarterback, otherwise known as the ‘field general’, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with a deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use the shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he moves his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack which punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy’s defensive line. . .

In baseball, the object is to go home. And to be safe – “I hope I’ll be safe at home!”

Good stuff.

I just read Dave Berg’s article at nationalreview.com on Ben Stein’s new film Expelled, which exposes “Big Science” (i.e. nearly all institutions of “higher” learning in the U.S.) and it’s stonewalling of any discussion regarding the possibility that evolution might not be true. I found this statement by Mr. Berg to be particularly revealing, as he gets to the crux of the issue.

“The film’s endeavor is to respond to one simple question: ‘Were we designed, or are we simply the end result of an ancient mud puddle struck by lightning?’

Big science doesn’t like that question because they can’t answer it. Underneath their antagonism toward explanations that suggest an intelligent cause, lies a fundamental egoism. Science wants to deny any evidence of a supreme being precisely because it wants to be a supreme being.”

The apostle Paul would agree with that idea. He wrote the following in Romans 1:21-23:

“For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things.”

Big Science, you lose.

I could not do without Thee
O Savior of the lost,
Whose precious blood redeemed me
At such tremendous cost.
Thy righteousness, thy pardon
Thy precious blood, must be
My only hope and comfort,
My glory and my plea.

I could not do without Thee,
I cannot stand alone,
I have no strength or goodness,
No wisdom of my own;
But Thou, beloved Savior,
Art all in all to me,
And weakness will be power
If leaning hard on Thee.

I could not do without Thee,
O Jesus, Savior dear;
E’en when my eyes are holden,
I know that Thou art near.
How dreary and how lonely
This changeful life would be,
Without the sweet communion,
The secret rest with Thee!

I could not do without Thee;
No other friend can read
The spirit’s strange deep longings,
Interpreting its need;
No human heart could enter
Each dim recess of mine,
And soothe, and hush, and calm it,
O blessed Lord, but Thine.

I could not do without Thee,
For years are fleeting fast,
And soon in solemn oneness
The river must be passed;
But Thou wilt never leave me,
And though the waves roll high,
I know Thou wilt be near me,
And whisper, “It is I.”

– Frances Havergal

Ok, not mad in the sense of insane, and the pope doesn’t really make me feel angry. It’s more that the whole idea of this man, (yes, man)  being worshipped by people around the world, and this country in particular right now stirs me up, gets under my skin. The hullabaloo in the media has been rather magnificent – you’d think that Jesus himself had stepped on to American soil this week. Hmmm.

I’ve heard Catholics say that they don’t worship this man, that they just “venerate” him . . . strange – it looks a lot like worship to me. They bow, they kiss his hand, they are thrilled just to “breathe the air he’s breathing” as I heard someone say on the radio, they call him the “holy father”. The “holy father”? The only person we should call Holy Father is the One who is the 1st Person of the Triune Godhead. The pope is neither holy nor anyone’s father. He is not some mediator between God and man. He is a sinner in need of a Savior just like everyone else in the world.

I have a friend who recently got saved out of devout Catholicism, and his eyes have been opened to the lies and the folly associated with that system of religion. He was the one who brought up the “holy father” deal last night, and it got me thinking about how many millions and billions of people are being deceived by another wolf in sheep’s clothing; deceived right into a tormented godless eternity.

Religion is one of Satan’s favorite tools, no doubt about that.

Where am I going?

I think this is my favorite of the four major life questions because it fills my heart with sense of peace to know the answer. I’m not being proud in saying that – I have read what the Bible says on life after death and I’ve staked my eternal destiny on the One who promises everlasting life to all who trust Him alone. (John 3:16)

I’m going to Heaven. How about you? Are you going too? Or are you one of the billions who are currently on their way to the lake of fire (i.e. the very real Hell)?

You can  know the answer to this question, one that nags at the mind of every person in the world. Click on the “Good News” link to the right. It’ll tell you the whole story.