Sometimes I write just for me to see if I can tell this story. If you’ve followed however many weeks, you know choosing to be a Christian is a part of me. Last week I ran into a Bible verse I never knew was there. What I think it means could be important to anyone, so here goes. Last week 4 year olds through 4th grades had a music camp and gave a production of Paul and the Shipwreck. My job was to come each afternoon and offer some spiritual thought other than wearing a Roman helmet and carrying a sword or being an angel on a stormy night. The first day was background as to why Paul was on a ship and the telling took some navigating through what they thought they knew.

Me: Paul was just 24 when he first knew about Jesus preaching. Boy: My brother is 23. He already knows about Jesus. Me: Paul held coats for the people who stoned Stephen. Group: Did he bleed a lot? I got hit by a baseball bat and it bled..and it hurt. Me. God got Paul’s attention with a bright light. An argument: Didn’t he know not to look at the sun without dark glasses? Aw, I could stare at the sun. That’s not hard. Slowly and surely, we got to the reason for a sea voyage and a 14 day storm. After that, I just had ten minute comments to hopefully guide a regroup each afternoon.

Then Thursday morning, I read Acts 27:24. The angel said, “Do not be afraid, Paul. You must go on trial in front of Caesar. God has shown his grace by sparing the lives of all those sailing with you.” Never had I thought of that. At sometime, I or you, may be on a special journey. It may even be difficult or dangerous. We will complete it. AND by grace those who are close to us on the fringe will be cared for also. Or turn it around. Maybe you or I are not the important one, but we are part of the crowd that survives in order to keep someone else safe. Turn the words over and think about them. Chosen for a purpose or just rowing the boat.

“Continue to be brave.” Acts 27:25

Tales from the Bermuda Triangle are vague and unclear. Disappearances in the Devil’s Triangle have never been proved true, yet neither are they totally false. That is not the case, especially for the Smith family, for examples of delayed overnight suitcases in the Denver Hub. Denver is a touch ground and take off airport from all points of the compass and many times the margin of connecting with both passenger and baggage transfer does not match. It happens often enough that Baggage Claim has a routine in place to quickly identify the not available item, a system for sending it on its way the next day, and a local at various points who makes a living collecting and delivering said items.

We Houston Smiths became aware of the process ten years ago. A private plane slid on an icy runway delaying a turnaround flight from Hayden, Colorado. I was able to start a pick-up rescue from our son, and I managed to have baggage pulled and held for his arrival. However, when Son Number 1 came, only one bag was available. The other had been sent to Dallas. Two relatives said, “No worry.” By tomorrow, it will be sent back, routed to Hayden, and delivered to Steamboat by the rescuing local they knew by name. And all was as said.

This past Wednesday I went to Steamboat for a first time visit in four years. One bag was unclaimed at the end of pickup, but it wasn’t mine. Plug in the system. All will be well by Thursday afternoon. The d-i-l provided toothbrush and sleepwear. Because it is Colorado, no one even noticed my attire, much less passed judgement. I revelled in cooler weather, had a birthday supper, and went to a local production of an opera. Sunday was a late turn around leaving for Denver. Can you guess what happened? A speedy wheelchair pusher helped me make the plane. My bag had no such luck.

Some necessary items were in my home stash. However, I had packed chargers for electronics, as well as all notes and plans for a presentation on Paul’s shipwreck to thirty children Monday afternoon. I decided that being without a suitcase was better than being crashed on rocks in freezing water and a good night’s sleep would restore equilibrium. Even though I had a most apologetic email from the airline, the item won’t be here until tomorrow.(Wednesday in the week being lived.) I charged my phone at the church while I presented. The story had enough drama and danger plus the addition of a snake to hold attention. Along with an admonition not to worry about food and raiment, the last verse of Matthew 6 sums it up succinctly.

Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:34 b

Somewhere out there is a person who has moved through life always reading directions and following rules. They may have lived a complete and satisfactory existence for themselves, yet I wonder what would have happened if they had thought through solutions and had just forged ahead. I don’t want to be a 100% breaker. Neither am I a 100% keeper. My most recent up short moment was the side of a ballpoint pen I was using. In very small print on the side are two directives. First, remove the tip protector before using. I vaguely remember that plastic blob that I had squeezed before the first use. Second, Always retract tip after use. That throws me smack into the rule breaker category. Maybe it is followed before I put in a purse. Also though, the pen can lie on a table for weeks unretracted and ready for instant use. If my husband had known that was a rule, he would have had shirts without ink stains along the bottom of his pockets.

Start watching around you. An interesting one is on the bottom of doors to various stores. This door is to remain unlocked during business hours. If this wasn’t said, would some owner suddenly decide he wanted to keep all customers in until a profit level was reached. He could lock the door and deliver a spending ultimatum. Form a line to the right with your packages and receipts for your purchases. Sam’s Club has already perfected the exit technique. A woman with a black grease pencil compares the sales slip with items in the basket and makes a squiggle down the middle of the slip. Then and only then you may exit toward your car.

Somewhere in the middle of this one, I realized I was boxing myself in. There is no way that some of the edicts of 2022 will be tied to a Bible verse. Since I am already in paragraph three I just have to soldier on. My favorite strong suggestion is outside every elevator. In case of fire, use the stairs. With flames leaping around you, why would you choose to close yourself in a box that could easily become an oven with you as the turkey? Be forever thankful to the person who offered you an option.

I hope you had a chuckle at one of these or maybe realized you could refrain from creating one of your own when a spoonful of common sense is all that would be required. Consider this and hum the second verse of one of my favorite hymns.

“Be Thou my wisdom, be Thou my true word.”

The world wants more contact with me than I want with it. A good part of what comes to me technically or newspaper (I still get one to go with morning coffee) is about protecting my privacy. Just ran a search, ( and that in itself may be dangerous,) and found lists of 7 best apps and 10 best apps to download for safety. Some I would have to pay for on a sliding scale. Others would be free, yet reviews say those sites lack the filtering that subscription sites have. I’m not sure how it works, but I was attracted by the name for an alternate search engine GODUCKGO, guaranteeing to limit information about me that could be gleaned when I used a site. The phrase I really took to heart about its effectiveness was “you’re essentially tracking who’s trying to track you.” Will it damage my self image if I learn nobody is really interested in my interests?

Maybe because of a lifetime of listening to various age children trying to con me into something, I am fairly savvy about the letter from the nun in Africa held hostage by the Chinese and send money or else. The ones that I always run by my very alert daughter- in-law are the e-mails on Amazon like stationery saying my account has been hacked, and it is closed down until I go through a special number and process to be reinstated. She takes one glance and declares it a scam because Amazon would never put that extra squiggle at the end of line two.

The habit is for me to write down a number if I make a call to a service or medical person who will need to call back. If you aren’t in my address book and really are a long lost cousin from Wyoming, the digits without a name doesn’t get an answer. Real people and robots both get the off button pushed if their opening sentence is, ” Mrs. Smith, how are you today.”

In spite of dire warnings, you who are part of my Thursday output are safe. The list of followers are mostly by e-mails, and I really don’t know you are there unless something catches your fancy and you reply. One unknown from California and one from Singapore have just sent a Like without requiring any response from me. I have just left them in anonymous status which suits them and me. So far, I have had enough wisdom or good sense or a questioning mind to avoid a snare. In this world I open e-mails for pictures great-greats who live afar, and I visit with voices I know that are more than a short drive away. I have no desire to lose contact with the world. I just want the right protection when it’s needed.

My prayer is not that you take them out of the world, but that you protect them from the evil one.

John 17:15

How is it that wee ones still know the sounds trains make though they may never have been to a train station much less taken a ride? A headline in the mostly ads weekly throw away for the neighborhood opened not a story but a series of snapshots of trains in my life. In Bellaire, the suburb/city of Houston, trains may not blow whistles during the night and disturb the sleep of residents. Trains of my first two decades were the second most available transportation after cars and four lines cut through Hammond to cover all points on the compass. One of my earliest memories is to turn over in the night, barely note that “lonesome whistle blowing,” and drift back to sleep thinking all was right in the world.

Like turning a page in a photo album, train memories are a little jumble. Maybe the station itself is a good place to start. A sturdy brick oblong building long enough to have a ticket office, an area for sitting, restrooms, and at one end an eatery that may have been the Whataburger of the time. Our house was at the foot of Charles Street which dead ended into the depot several blocks up. We could walk down on a Friday night for the rare treat of a bought hamburger. There were three tables with ice cream parlor chairs and everyone else sat at the counter.

Most trains rides were to New Orleans for shopping trips. Twice a year, Mother and I would catch the City of New Orleans at 9:00 a.m. coming south after its overnight run from Chicago. She always wore a hat and white gloves. Usually some other mother/daughter were available for visiting on the way over the lake and through the swamp. We shopped our way from Union Station down Canal Street, had lunch at Morrison’s Cafeteria, and were back to catch the 5:00 heading north to Chicago.

Riding trains taught me how to travel independently. My birth dad had a church in Marietta, Arkansas, and in Springdale, Arkansas. By the time I was ten, I was sent on my two week summer visit alone. I don’t remember having a name tag or being assigned to any helper. A porter helped put my suitcase overhead. Mother provided me with two new comic books, a library book,and a lunch with two sandwiches in case someone turned up who was hungry. When the call was made for Memphis or Siloam Springs, I gathered my belongings and disembarked. Someone I knew was always standing right there to hug and welcome me.

I tried to give our sons the thrill of the ride. I put a five and four year old on a local at the same depot I knew. My daddy left ahead of time to be in Ponchatoula to pick them up. They were already the generation of airplanes and the train in Hermann Park may have been as exciting for them. For me, it was their rite of passage. These reminiscences have been longer than most, and some of you know I have left out David stories with railroad passes and a bell business. Maybe the only good comment about Mussolini is, “He made the trains run on time.” My train lesson is you need to have a ticket and be ready to go when the train comes along.

Whenever the cloud lifted above the tent, the Israelites set out. At the Lord’s command, they set out.

Numbers 9:18,23

The metaphor is “Life is a journey”. Unless you make it a simile, “Life is like a journey.” If you haven’t clicked delete already, the like provides you with reasons while the flat metaphor allows you to make up your own. A journey can move quickly and smoothly down I 10 to the right exit for a destination or a rest stop. Secondary roads can provide the scenic route or take you out of traffic jams. Dirt roads are adventures or total confusion, and you’d better have a vehicle equal to the requirements for either. Once we were vacationing at Rainbow Trout Lodge with verbal directions, took an unmarked left instead of unmarked right, and the way ended when only trees were ahead of us. Thank goodness for reverse and try again.

All of us have road blocks. A big one now is quarantine and pandemic. A child throws up just as family is ready for church. The cat eats the turkey sitting on the counter. (Another true story). Life happenings of a new baby or a death. Next step is check the gas gauge, pass out emergency rations (always leave home prepared), and then see what turning around requires.

My life this week is not a full stop, yet definitely a haven’t been here before place. For the first time since I was 17 and had a 4/5 choir in a small Baptist church, I have only a 2 minute sermon to prepare for a 1st and 2nd grade church service, a task I can do as I fall asleep on Saturday night. One at a time I have passed points that were highlighted on my map of life. Three retirements finally put on end to planning classroom presentations, activities, and tests. I made it to tutoring which put me face to face with a child and able to chart growth until masks and certification erased that option. I still had a 1st grade SS class to create and direct. Like one of those detours, a schedule necessity closed that road. This week, I am adjusting. I’ll make two minutes be as good as I can, eat cookies, and see if another town close by offers any other attractions. Who knows, I may become a Master Gardener.

Forget about what is happening. Don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand new!

Isaiah 43: 18-19 The Message

I write and enjoy it. Sometimes you respond which says I connected and that pleases me. Last week I was jerked up short which gave me pause. ” I thought you were going to tell about the painted rocks.” Rocks can have different takes and obviously I missed what that person was expecting. A geologist can collect and know the various minerals they represent. An ad man made over a million dollars in the 70’s selling Pet Rocks: no food, no care, just uniquely yours. Some of us may find an unusual color or shape and put it on display just for our pleasure. I’ve been drawn into rocks being a vehicle for words and pictures.

Contacts start in a small way. A sale bin in Walgreens had rocks with messages. One with BELIEVE was worth $.50 and found a home by my front door. Then a rock painted with the open jaws of shark appeared on the table of the Little Free Library. Children noticed and played with it, yet no one took it off. One day, I saw a woman going through the books. She was from Mission, brought a husband for MDA treatments, collected books for her granddaughter and was leaving rocks she painted as payment. All had a river motif.

Something caught on. I didn’t see it happen: however, new rocks were added. Some had rainbows or singing birds. Most interesting was one with a cracked edge. It was decorated like an M & M cookie with a bite taken out of it. One day I saw a family of three boys and a mother. They had brought their own colors and were stopping for an art moment. Two weeks ago they left a carryall of supplies for others to create as and when they wished. Rocks had become a THING. For Christmas I was given a two piece green rock. When it was separated, one inner side had a brown pit. I was told the name was Angie the Avocado. Now it is a topic of conversation on a living room table.

Rocks and stones are from the foundation of the earth and are themselves foundations. They are the identifying structure of buildings and walls. Cairns are created as memorials or as trail markers. When the Israelites crossed the parted waters of the Jordan to enter the Promised Land, they were to bring twelve stones as a reminder to ask the question, “What do these stones mean?” My memory stones are a balanced group in the back yard that remind me of a journey from Rice Boulevard to Swift with its painted rocks created by children and a green avocado that evokes smiles.

Thus far the Lord has helped us.

1 Samuel 7:12

What was chosen to begin banishing chaos, to see what was, and to start the way to creation? A spoken word,”Let there be LIGHT!” Yet this was not chosen as an attribute for Advent. l felt its absence in my scientific musings. I’ve ever been fascinated by the tilt of the Earth on its axis and the elliptical orbit it follows around the sun. These two create definitive moments of light for each hemisphere. On December 21 of 2021 at 3:59 p.m., an event named the Winter Solstice occurs. At this defined time, the Northern Hemisphere is at its darkest moment. The sun rays are tangent to the earth in the Southern Hemisphere. Imperceptibly, small increments of light are added to each day leading us into a new season.

Light opens new possibilities. Seeds need light and the warmth it brings to split and start growth. Trees grow new leaves and provide shade. More children play on sidewalks. and I can walk away from my desire to avoid the grey skies by making the day one long nap.

Light has its own vocabulary: a glow, a flicker, a flash, a burst. John Rutter’s Candlelight Carol provides a special list for the birth of the Christ Child. “Candlelight, angel light, firelight, and star-glow Shine on his cradle till breaking of dawn.” Another carol defines the daily reminder of a reaction to light. “He is come in joy like the sun at morning. Filling all the world with radiance and with light. “

Advent Sundays in my church have names and banners that offer a focus. The overarching theme is this year is Light and Life to all He brings .That draws together four individual words, ties light to the life that begins in this season, and reminds us that this light is for all because the child became a man who declared, “I am the Light of the World.”

The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp. Revelation 21:23

I taught with a friend who was very specific about what she grew in her yard. Plants that took over if she left town for a week and didn’t keep them under control, she named “thugs.” In one of my beds, the thug is rucellia. Arching red branches that attract hummingbirds have roots that creep and sprout as you watch. The truth of the matter is seeds and plants do what they are made to do. We are the ones who want to control where they do it. Thoreau reminds us our task is “ making the earth grow beans instead of grass.”

True stories of surprise growth. Two weeks ago on a late evening walk a neighbor was pulling two- leaf volunteers massed by his front sidewalk. We both shook our heads in ignorance and I went on, Another stroll this Saturday. The mystery was solved. When the pumpkin was carved, the admonition was not to mess the driveway, and the children dumped seeds in the grass. Water and sunlight did the rest. I don’t know if a Swift pumpkin patch was a possibility, but the thought was worth a vision and a giggle.

Next is a story from a long ago pastor who grew up as a farm boy. One warm spring day he had the task of planting corn down a field of long rows that ended by a creek. The rule is three kernels at a time: one for the birds, one to sprout, and one to weed out later if not needed. The day got hotter. He reached the end of a row with just a handful left, dumped them all in the last hill, and dove into the water. “Yes, dad, I finished it all.” That sentence worked until mid-June when his dad called him to the dumped spot where multiple small emerging shocks covered that particular space. Moral: Your sins will find you out.

When I started this, I really didn’t know where it was going. I was just trying to write this early because Wednesday, the 20, middle son and I are leaving town. This is a trip that requires my world will stay in orbit for four days without tending. I’ve thought about Bloom where you are planted, just do my best wherever I am. Then there is Whatever you sow, you shall reap. Whatever I leave undone when I go will be here when I get back. Look at your day and put something in to grow. I’ve paid a bill, had lunch with a friend, packed a suitcase, and set an alarm for early rising because this is where I landed.

Sow your seed in the morning, and at evening let your hands not be idle, for you do to know which will succeed.

Ecclesiates 11:6

A saying is that everyone thinks they have a book in them, This may be mine. I have several weeks worth of looking at change. Like turning a kaleidoscope, varied twists cause change and different patterns appear in result. Today, think of seasons. Factoid: I am a geography minor. One of my favorite times is to stand in front of sixth graders and with a ruler and a globe explain earth tilt and daylight and seasons. If even one face lights up with understanding, I feel justified for including it in the curriculum. A side result of this is I have never wanted to live at the equator. Even if just a small dose comes, I want to experience the change.

This year that forerunner of fall came on the date of the Autumnal Equinox, a wonderful phrase! Though ice had not made it to the valleys, snow had already come to the mountains of Colorado, even while Houston still had 80 degrees at daybreak with humidity above that number. When I opened the door into pre-dawn, I knew things were different Coolness caressed my cheek and I didn’t break into a sweat just getting the paper. Past experience decreed this wouldn’t be permanent, yet I imaged sweaters in a bin wiggling in anticipation of coming out once more.

More subtile changes. A cheer for the welcome knowledge that hurricane season is over – probably. Flowering plants need deadheading unless the seedpods are left to drop into the ground and begin that cycle for the time we long for a season of warmth instead of cool. Politicians in charge puff up with importance when they declare a day of time change, though truly the sun’s circle just goes on as usual. What we call it doesn’t make a bit of difference.

For this season, activities change. Children have begun school, albeit different this year. Forget the personification given to sweaters. With anticipation, humans who own blankets and jackets start checking where they were put away at the end of the previous season in order to ready them for another useful moment. Meals become more substantial to provide fuel for more demanding days. Hopefully, this season of unsettledness will also change. Stay tuned for another take. I feel a migration coming on!

He (God) changes times and season; he deposes kings and raises up others. He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning.

Daniel 2:21