I feel like I am going from the sublime to the ridiculous, yet maybe there is a path. First, this week has had happenings I just don’t need to comment on. Second, a funeral used Proverbs 31 which lists all the things stay at home wives do well. Third, devotions kept provided verses with the I Am statements of God, all that really needs to be said. So I thought of myself, and you, and people around the world and the varied I am and what each brings to the table. Some are chefs, some are accountants, gardeners, woodworkers, and today someone was even good enough at quantum physics to win a Nobel Prize.

So, I was and am a seamstress, a sewer. I am visual. I can look at a piece of fabric and envision possibilities. A delightful trip is always to a fabric store from Rosenblum’s in Hammond, to Krauss in New Orleans, to a little shop in Golden, CO, with an opportunity to touch the folds and be swallowed by the colors and patterns. From cottons to fine wools, from feed sacks to velvets. I have made at least one of all possibilities, my creative moments. I have made napkins and pillowcases and clothes to suit age and gender. Then there are quilts which began with bed size and a pattern and the leftovers become the title for today, the snippets, the scraps which still have possibilities. Oh, and don’t forget special individual baby covers which have been treasured to the next generation.

Now, what about you. When we sit in a group with a project or a problem in front of us, what is your contribution? How do you finish the sentence, “I can……” ” I am…..” Scripture has a serving section with lists, “And some are called to be……” All offerings can be holy and we weren’t cloned as robots. Various stories require unique leaders. Have you built any arks lately? Though I am more than the utilizer of a needle and thread, I do cherish several verses for my skill.

She makes coverings for her bed;
    she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

Proverbs 31:22

Forewarned this one’s personal, yet all blogs are. Here is a part of a comment I wrote sitting alone in my church about eight years ago. ” I focused on a thankful list as a start to private worship. Surprisingly each brought wet eyes. These surroundings mean so much to me. To a young single they were a welcoming place close to my apartment. David and I melded our marriage attending here. Three children were sheltered by these walls as they grew. I found ways to serve and was served in return. A next generation wedding was blessed and after fifty-four years a funeral was conducted. Others had built this to be His dwelling place on this spot in Houston, and I was reaping their commitment. In stillness my inner being received the word, ‘Welcome home.'”

Life moved on and last Sunday that church had a business meeting, something Baptist believe in because we are a congregational group. Several facets were in the discussion: location, condition of buildings, financing, use of property. For several years, people I trusted had met to offer a wise decision. Whatever we did would be CHANGE! All they were asking was permission. Nothing would happen tomorrow and certainly not in my lifetime. I looked at four young couples at a table next to me and voted yes, maybe for them and their children to have a haven I had had.

If you have read this far, you can match current news reports with the same type of hold your breath changes and do the best you can for future challenges. The values that give each of us strength and wisdom vary: a strong caring family, a broad education that challenged us to think individually and globally, a choice of a spiritual guide that makes us care for the good of all. A church at the corner of Main and Richmond provided the validity for my vote. In the larger sense, we all rely on our histories and the future we’ll never see and as we hold fast to hope for the best, we vote yes for life every day.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.

Jeremiah 29:11

Words fit a need, sometimes obliquely or in a circular fashion. This one offers a variety of approaches. Most of you recognize it as a machine that sucks air and all that is in it to clean an area, usually a floor. My mother’s machine was an upright that was pushed and pulled. Then came a canister version, followed by a robot that can be programed to a unique pattern to reach all corners of a room. I watched amazed as the German Shepherd who is my guard dog when at my son’s house stood still enjoying a furme sucking loose hair from behind her ears to the end of her tail. Cartoons show dogs running from a room and hiding under a bed to avoid that buzzing noise.

Another need and the same word. A fall project in my childhood was for my mother to preserve a variety of foods from late summer fruits and vegetables. A very precise sequence was followed of cooking the items, placing in a clean jar, then a rubber rimmed top and a metal ring to tighten. As the contents cooled a vacuum seal was created and a satisfying pop guaranteed that the contents would be safe to eat later. A variation for preventing freezer burn is to use a straw to suck air out of a ziplock bag as you fold it down.

How to wrap this up. Well, truthfully, I have moments I feel like a dirty floor. A person has called up an inappropriate response or confusion of a day has left a pile of dust. Maybe vacuum is not exactly used, but cleaning is definitely what is needed. Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. (Psalm 51:7) In moments that feel like hot water is destroying, I need to remember a plan may be in order for preservation. Preserve my life, for I am holy; You are my God; Save Your servant who trusts in You! (Psalm 56:2) Cleaning and preserving, multiple meanings, one reason.

 Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others.

Philippians 2:4

To reach another place requires movement, voluntarily or otherwise, and part of the process is some preparation. Columbus’s trip beyond the horizon was not made casually. Before wagon trains headed west someone had to gather supplies and plan a route. A friend of mine was in an Army family and moving always involved her choosing what would be familiar in a new strange place. Currently, travel is less daunting, yet preparation is still a necessity. . Brochures can familiarize the new area. That useful internet can produce transportation: cost and timing. While maybe not appreciating the whole process, some three year olds have boarded a plane in Houston and debarked in Paris. Just not my story.

Childhood going somewhere for me was by car, period, To Baton Rouge and New Orleans to shop, to Shreveport to visit relatives, and two vacations of my whole life to places outside the state. Summer jobs took me to Santa Fe and David and I did have some plant provided trips. Even though I know the routine, leaving home is still an adventure. As you read this, 4/6 of current Smiths will be in the air to visit the other 2/6 in Colorado. I was a fringe organizer and either provided my own lists or had them given to me. A plane ticket awaited on my computer and I needed help to download. I ran afoul of the USPO and needed a neighbor to gather mail. Labeled zip-lock bags will keep me from going cold turkey on medicines, and the suitcase stayed open several days for additions. Yet, I was gathered at 7:30 this morning, locked the door, and moved forward.

There are several going forth and getting there stories in the Bible. I am most impressed by the precipitousness of leaving Egypt and that same repetition of time to move on now that announces the impetus of let’s go for 40 years. Mention is made of 600,000 men (imagine that line at the airport) but no number of the women who had to check daily if a cloud said they could stay put. Granted, their wanderings were guided by fire, yet the females were still the ones who had to again tie on the breadboard, gather the children, and head across the desert. Considering that, my defined preparation for a one day journey seems like an easy effort.

 Whenever the cloud was taken up from the tabernacle, the Israelites would set out on each stage of their journey,  but if the cloud was not taken up, then they did not set out until the day that it was taken up.

Exodus 40:36-37

If I stop and put my mind to it, I can feel one step better than a pioneer woman with a pot swinging from a hook over an open fireplace. Somehow what I had to cook with never mattered as much as what I could cook and that was what satisfied hungry men: hot bread, real meat, potatoes or rice, and dessert. Granted, I can vary and have expanded a little, but gourmet was never my middle name. I felt I had taken a step forward in the 1970’s with a matched set, some of which I still use, of green Club aluminum wear. and there was always an iron skillet, well-seasoned, and its study larger cousin, the Dutch oven.

I realized I was falling behind when the variety of colorful sets came out. I tried lifting one and dumb bells would have been lighter. Now, I do have a Crock Pot. All jokes aside, it served a teaching mother well enough that I still have it stored on a shelf, in case. Gadgets came and went. A good paring knife replaced an apple corer and a strawberry huller. I tried three salad spinners and always ended up blotting with a towel. Don’t even mention options in coffee pots and many of my friends have a variety of Insta-Pots near an unused plug and open space on their counter tops. However, it is amazing how useful a set of funnels turned out to be from measuring and mixing powdered milk to filling the hummingbird feeder.

At the end of the day, two things matter the most. First, I guess, is that we really are fed. Food is available and we are provided for. Second, though it may be the most important, is having someone to share with. These days I cook with what I have and I mostly eat alone. No children tumbling in, no adult to say, “Smells good in here!”, or only sometimes a friend to sit at the table and review happenings. Elijah stories are among my favorites and when he arrives hungry and needs to be fed, the widow says she has only a little oil in a flask and a handful of flour. I don’t know what utensils she used, but what she made, simple or not, was enough.

¹⁵ She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. 

I Kings 17:5

Granted, I like having seedless red grapes all year long, even if the January ones come from Chile. Just having them seedless is in itself a huge step forward in my opinion. However,, I do appreciate the slogan, “Buy locally.” Having certain fruits from a special place at a certain time stirs my blood like telling a hunter, “Deer season opens next week.” Strawberries at their best were in April/May in Tangipahoa Parish. Freestone peaches, though more costly, still arrive from the Carolinas in August, yet fresh peach cobbler with just picked Fredericksburg peaches makes July 4 extra special. I have fought birds to be the first to just ripe LSU figs, yet I never knew of Elephant Ear figs until I drove to Glorieta to teach over several summers.

My childrenhood story of what Labor Day means is this. My daddy’s edict was that was the last time to trust eating a good watermelon. Faithful readers will know my daddy was an ag man and could have written the Farmers’ Almanac. Memorial Day to Labor Day or you missed your chance. We never bought one that I remember. Instead we drove down parish roads to a student’s family farm. After crossing a cattle guard to the fenced pasture, we engaged in back and forth conversation with the owner, who would then bring out one or two to see which passed the thumping test, a rite of taste testing I never understood. I think a hand shake took the place of monetary exchange and we went home to cool the melon. Finally the moment came to cutting thick circles, quartering, and eating them in the back yard, so the juice running down your elbow fell on the ground.

I don’t really have a place to cool a uncut melon nor the skill to cut perfect circles and then to complete the final step of trimming the green rind off to make watermelon rind preserves, a crispy treat never found on grocery shelves. I’m 308 miles from a summer memory and had to salve a longing with a plastic tub of prepared red fruit from Kroger. Houston has provided its own treats for each season, yet part of me understands the longings of the Israelites for the variety that for them was once grown locally.

“We remember the fish which we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic,”

Numbers 11:5

The crossword clue was Jason’s ship. I am a historian enough to enter Argo and on to thinking Argonauts and Latin I never had formally and words than contain naut- and suddenly there was no going back. The subject of ships I know and phrases they call to mind became a dinner table discussion. First place probably is the Titanic and we certainly want the Mayflower. However, even if you know a British warship’s attack on Baltimore led to our national anthem, did you know its name was the Tonnat? Build your own list. I’m going to tell you a personal story and its allegorical ending which leads to a spiritual moment. Come aboard. Time to set sail!

As part of a different story, David and I were invited in January, 2009, to the commissioning of the USS George W. Bush. Armed forces know how to do pomp and circumstance. It was a sunny crisp morning when we sat on folding chairs facing 1092 feet of impressive steel. Sailors of various ranks in dress blues lined up in regimental order. A procedure was followed as political and naval professionals made speeches. Then Doro Koch, sister of President Bush and sponsor of the boat, came to the microphone and proclaimed in a ringing voice, “Man the ship and bring her to life.” The sailors moved swiftly to their assigned places on each deck while planes roared over the flag flying from the highest mast and the resonance of “Anchors Away” brought all of us to our feet.

Time for an allegory – actions with a deeper meaning. I’ve always been drawn to Psalm 107, a call for everyone to thank God. Then it is a list of various messes we who praise get into and how we are led through to safety. A common phrase likens the days we live to being on the Ship of Life, setting sail and not knowing exactly what the journey means. There was no Israel navy and stories like Jonah, and Paul in a shipwreck, and John exiled to an island circled by water were a little terrifying. We have had the words said to us by our sponsor, “Man the ship and bring her to life.” Read all of Psalm 107 and copy this verse in your log book.

They were glad when it grew calm and he guided them to their safe haven. Let them thank the Lord for His unfailing love.

Psalm 107: 30-31a

Even if they are sparse in the winter months, birds are abundant in Houston in spring and summer. Right? Sometime in April I will get up to find the yard covered with a flock of red-breasted robins moving through. They subsist on bugs or worms in the grass and then by mutual agreement are gone. By May I hear the early morning call of doves, “Who cooks for you?” A faint “cheer-up” requires me to look for a cardinal, usually a pair: a bright male and a dull female. A mess in the street shows that the neighborhood night herons have returned to their tree nest on an overhanging branch. I have two feeders in the backyard that are emptied by doves, cardinals, and many sparrows.

However, this spring something went awry. No familiar sounds and not many birds. We do have a red-tailed hawk that soars and he may have been part of the problem. Also I bought one new feeder with only perches and not a tray for comfortable resting. An ornithologist friend of a son thinks I didn’t put out food when birds were marking feeding territory. I have filled both feeders and only the one on the right gets emptied and never when I am watching. I’ve seen only one female cardinal actually partaking. I have baffles on the poles and sneaky squirrels can’t be blamed. It’s a mystery!

So, as often happens, I am trudging on not sure of the answer. I refill the one feeder when it is empty and leave the other unused. Yes, there actually is a web site “Why birds might avoid new feeders” with six reasons from innate caution to picky eaters and the list ends with a call for patience on my part. I am proceeding even if cautiously because I am sure that whatever I am doing right or wrong, birds of Swift Blvd are not starving. I have Biblical proof.

 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.

Matthew 6:26a

This time is like mid-December. How can you ignore it? Change is in the air. Tuck Everlasting is a children’s classic about drinking from a magic spring and living forever. It’s not my favorite, though I had a friend who taught it to 6th grade every year and even for a lesson to her women’s Sunday School class. It is so popular there is a six and seven week wait list to checkout in local libraries; however, the quote I wanted is well-known enough to be on the internet. “The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. All of us have come to this point climbing through church and school calendars, tending to gardens, going for vacations, or just attention to days of the year. Stop, breathe, look back, and then move on.

Being at the top means not climbing any higher. From this point on, all will be new and moving down to get off this year and start another. Teachers are already beginning meetings and students are gathering supplies to go back to a classroom this week or next. I am deadheading the summer growth and thinking of zinnias on to pansies and maybe renucula that will come for another spring. Just this morning the weather bureau said a disturbance is in the Atlantic, and we have had hurricanes of force in September before.

So turn slightly in your seat while holding the bar carefully to look back. What do you want to cherish that brought you to this point and maybe prepared you to let go of if necessary. Of what will you say, “Whew, I survived that climb?” I’ve read several books on the Camino de Santiago and all emphasize the importance of friends along the way. That’s why I chose this as a verse for the trip down.

I will be your God throughout your lifetime— until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you.

Isaiah 46:41

The words really do mesh. Morning first. Either by requirement, or habit, or genetics, I start the day just before the promise of bright light. My mother had the sidewalk swept and the house ready for company soon after her feet hit the floor. No teenager could be caught sleeping in a bed right off the living room. Ingrained habit: eyes open, get up. (I was in demand as a co-counselor at camp to greet early risers and serve coffee as needed.) By the time I made it to the kitchen, my parents had emptied the first pot of coffee and were ready to move out before the heat set in.

In south Louisiana there is a magical moment, especially in the summer time when the air still has a hint of coolness and if you walk barefoot across the grass, your toes can collect moister from the dew. That’s also the moment to check the sky and water against the possibility of no rain that day. Before sprinklers, we had faucets at each compass side of a square house. Attached to the faucets was a long green hose coiled precisely. Hoses are like Christmas lights. One false move and untangling is the next demand before use. Most mornings, especially in August, mother soaked the azaleas to help them survive. These were the senses touched by the process. The light that still cast flat shadows. The rhymic patter of drops falling on the ground and the side of the house, releasing an ozone smell as they fell. Birds fluttering in for an early drink. Now, I set my sprinkler to run early and sometimes open the door to check. Watered yes, magical no. The sidewalks are already drying in rising heat and no final steps are waiting for painstaking preparation for another morning’s care.

Drought is a dismal word. It denotes not only a current problem, but also predicts trouble in the future. Very light “scattered showers” have reached my back yard all week long. I’m sustained by a memory and a promise. Job 38 reminds me that not by any effort on my part, I have been given mornings. The Bible was written in a language I can’t read, so I’m glad The Message has God speaking firmly to Job. ” “Have you ever ordered Morning (Get Up!) Told Dawn (Get to work!)” Once up, I do what I can and wait for the promise.

For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground.

Isaiah 44:3