You can almost go to the bank with it. Put whatever in my hand and it will disappear while you are watching. The “it ” can be as important as a specific tax paper or just as ordinary as, ” Now where are my glasses?,” after I’ve taken a bath. This year has revealed three items, searched for and given up as lost.

I can’t even guess how long I had lost contact with item 1 – maybe 10 years. In my childhood home we had two pair of scissors. One was for sewing and the other lived in the drawer of the kitchen table and were used only for paper and string. They were the “Put the scissors back where you found them!” pair. I inherited them, brought them to Rice Blvd, felt I had moved them to Swift in 2014, but never laid eyes on them. In January of this year, I cleaned a drawer next to the printer and there they were, waiting to be found. As of this moment, I think I can go right to their new dwelling place. Rejoice!

Number 2 on the list vanished one Wednesday night last fall. I have a special house key ring of a giraffe that a first grader brought me home from Kenya. I take only my phone and that key to choir, have a ride home, and go on with life. Except one Thursday, the key ring had vanished. I looked under, and over, and in, and no key ring. I got in the house, didn’t I? I even checked the garbage can. Two weeks ago I put on a light weight jacket, stuck my hand in the pocket and there it was, waiting for me. Rejoice!

Number 3 has a story all its own. About 44 years ago a college student lived with us. At some point he gave me a special coffee scoop. One scoop equalled grounds for one cup of coffee. I kept it a glass next to the coffee grounds to avoid little black bits from collecting in the cabinet. Last fall I was reaching in the cabinet, knocked over the glass, and saw that the scoop had fallen out. It was not on the counter, not on the floor, did not bounce into the washroom. I even had middle son run a ruler under the refrigerator to check. Amazement and puzzlement, yet it was nowhere to be found until last week. I was being extra careful pouring water into the coffee pot and there was the scoop lying in the bottom, just enough space for it to lie flat and unseen. I called the searching son and said, “You’ll never guess what? Rejoice!”

In the 15th chapter of Luke, three items of various worth are lost. All are searched for and a celebration held when each is found. Join with me, my friends, Rejoice!

And when she has found it, she calls her friends and neighbors together saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the piece which I lost!”

Luke 15:9

A cliche or a wise saying: “It takes a village to raise a child.” For me, the words have matured. “The confines of a Village are needed to rescue an aging adult.” Except for four better forgotten years, all my life in Houston whether single, married, parent, or widow have been lived in or near a place known as The Rice Village. That identifiable space on a map helped me survive this past week’s true life adventure.

Sunday morning began orderly. I planned for a stop at The Village CVS on the way to church. Going in was fine. When I came out, the car had abandoned its get up and go. While not my most welcome happening, I had some leeway of time. Middle son was called into rescue mode. I had a meeting after church and a friend provided a ride home. Since no one could steal a sedentary vehicle, it camped out on the parking lot as a special treat.

Monday morning, son-in-law came into play as helper #2. The Village is a hub for several surrounding areas, so it wasn’t a chore for him to take me back to the car to see if a jump start solved the problem. It didn’t. However, I had already called my insurance to get the number for their towing service. I had specific locations for pick up and drop off. The cut off distance for towing is 15 miles and it is only 1.2 miles (did I mention The Village being centrally located?) to the dealership, so I settled in for the 60 – 90 minutes before help would arrive.

I had come prepared for some wait. I had time for a short walk to the post office and back by the coffee shop to buy a ham and cheese croissant and include a bathroom stop before settling in to read. Then the timing got tangled. The tow truck started from south/west Houston and while the CVS has a Kirby address, its orientation is like a strip mall and the entrance faces a side street called Bolsover. The tow truck driver, to his credit, did call several times to report in and a conglomeration of broken Spanish and Louisiana drawl finally got him to my part of the world, The Village.

Then it was like watching the punch line to the old joke about the man repairing the machinery by knowing exactly where to hit with the ball peen hammer. No words can explain how a 15 foot flatbed got put at the right angle for a seemingly immoveable car to be ratcheted up the incline and locked in place. The driver helped me up to ride shotgun five minutes to the area still within my geographical comfort circle to start repair.

Fast forward. Both car and I are home, three blocks away from The Village where the adventure started. One of my favorite back of mind verses is Ezra 8:31 to be offered after journeys when the worst that could have happened didn’t. Through it all, I was in a place I knew, I had family to call on and a phone that worked, the weather was pleasant and the icing on the cake was a free car wash and an in-warranty battery replacement which cost me $0.00! Definitely deserves a “Praise God!”

 And the gracious hand of our God protected us and saved us from enemies and bandits along the way.

Ezra 8:31

Eighth graders taught me this term as one’s acceptable excuse. Two plunges into could have avoided mistakes were my entrance to the forgiveness of Lent. You are released from having to read to the end if you, of either sex, have never put a strong colored object in with an all white load and had to redeem a wardrobe of a faded undefineable hue.

Start a week ago afternoon with time to spare before an Ash Wednesday service. Cleaning out a drawer revealed a half bag of dried black beans. One of my favorite soups requires overnight soaking. I brought to a boil, turned off, covered, and sat the pot on the back burner with a mental check to start next step after breakfast in the morning. Except the remember part didn’t happen until late the next afternoon when the sour odor of fermented carbohydrates required abandoning the project. Not noting my mother’s admonition, “You know better than that!” I picked up the pot, poured contents in the sink, and ,oh, yes, hit the disposal button. Whirrs and spraying and a total absence of draining. I channelled my daddy, went out for Drano, and it took three full pour and wait sequences to have a clean sink. Little actions can cause a big mess.

I was chagrined and careful until almost the end of Friday. I promised one friend to find a document, write a few personal notes, and let all wobble over that wire that transverses the universe. I didn’t need a lot of time and thought I had just enough until I pulled down the contact list, wiggled the right pointer finger and moved deliberately to send. Correct first name, totally wrong waiting person. I followed with an apology and tried again. The reply was, “Don’t worry. We all make mistakes.” Not doing right seems to lurk.

In spite of errors, I went on to try an excellent new recipe with canned beans and also had a heart to heart needed contact with a friend. For myself, after these two rushing into action impetuously, I want to pay attention during these days ahead: to choose carefully, say kind words, and ask for that forgiveness that was affirmed during this time. Daily, I want to read and reread the words that John the Beloved sent to remind. They are important.

⁵ This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. ⁶ If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. ⁷ But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin. ⁸ If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. ⁹ If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. ¹⁰ If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.

1 John 1:5 – 10

A lot of love squeezed into five days. This is the time of year that evokes nostalgia that parades. circuses, and Carnival call to mind for some of us. Whether they involve high school bands or college clubs’ homemade floats or looking for a cheap parking place so you have time to push through the crowds to be nearer the action, there is enough noise and giddiness as one waves arms to gather whatever is being tossed as the treat of the year to crown the moment with joy.

Carnival is the time before Lent where being part of a local happening counts in South Louisiana. We who were non-driving teenagers could maybe finagle a slightly older peer driver so we could go without an adult to Ponchatoula or even Covington for an afternoon offering. As Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, the very last day to celebrate approached, all of us non-drivers were a little antsy as we conjoled and begged various parents to take a group to New Orleans for the Krewe of Rex Parade. The King of the Krewe was always an older moneyed businessman and the queen was maybe a senior in college with flowing blond hair who held a jeweled scepter while performing the “queen wave’ with her other gloved hand to her clamoring crowd. The traditional Calliope float played. As it moved along, the song followed, ”If ever I cease to love, if ever I cease to love…” Sometime after noon, we piled in the back seat of the car and counted our beads , stopping for a hamburger at LaPlace before heading for Maurepas and home.

Wednesday 2024 opens the possibility for an extra drop of love on Valentine’s Day. However, most parishes from Rapides south have all week off, no togetherness easily available. Moving north Thursday and Friday, districts have school, yet they have missed the designated love day. Poor Caddo parish, in the northeast corner has no holidays, so Valentine’s Day is still safe for a hand-made or store-bought exchange. You may have to be inventive to make your declaration of true love this Leap Year.

After dark on Tuesday, sweepers begin cleaning the emptying streets in New Orleans. A new observance takes over the calendar. In church parlance, we wrap up and put aside the raucousness of Carnival, finish feasting with the crumbs of a King’s Cake, and move into the fasting liturgical season of Lent. The first Ash Wednesday Masses in some churches are as early as 6:30 a.m. The parade for the next 40 days is individual for each of us as we choose to be a part of the group moving toward crucifixion and Easter and resurrection when exuberant love breaks out again. That which is tossed toward our outstretched hands is more lasting than the tawdry beads of an earlier time.

This day, this year, this time, find your way to the parade whose finality is always the same.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.

John 3:16 – 17

To settle on this week was “like herding cats!” I knew where I wanted to end collectively, and cats individually chose their own way. Finally, an hour after playing with people and ideas, with a rest stop for breakfast and a second cup of coffeee, I had written seven snazzy titles. That was good. Seven is a perfect number. It denotes completion and that’s part of the week’s purpose.

I really wanted to start with Taylor Swift. I may not know a single song, yet I know her name and that she made it successfully to the top for four straight years. Success and completion were to be my ultimate themes.  They could be a requirement of the life journey of mothers. Our pastor says, “A mother is only as happy as her neediest child.” One comes home in tears from kindergarten after being passed over for line leader. Another is only the water boy for the football squad. Mothers ache for what is denied. Surely a degree from a prestigious college would guarantee a better success in life. Mothering can define any person who is there for encouragement and support and to say, “You have been kind and thoughtful and helpful. I have noticed.” Love smooths the journey.

So let’s go back to Moses. If ever someone clawed his way through life by hope it was he. Born to an exile, placed in a basket, raised in a palace, became an angry murderer, fled for his life, called to a leadership he didn’t want, gave forty years to “herding cats” and all he got was to stand on the mountain and hear, “I will give it to your descendants, but you will not cross over into it.” That was enough. He got his people there.

Businesses of any variety count on people from sweepers at night, to workers on the production floor with clipboards, to some in suits in lower lever offices. Managers may earn the most money, but recompense is given along with the heaviest load of attention and worry. The ones at the top are the ones who are responsible for perseverance and direction that send the message, “Hold the course. Find a solution. Do your best.” Honestly and consistency are a foundation.

You don’t need my story, but In February 2024, I feel like I am standing in each M place.  You may have a story of your own requiring redirecting, honest comments, loving. I do not know the final word yet or how it will count for me. My mother at 101 lay in a nursing home bed and would shake her head and say, “Only Jesus knows.” A slight breath, ” And that’s enough.” Whatever will come to me is better than the Emmys.

All that’s left now is the shouting – God’s applause! Depend on it, he’s an honest judge. He’ll do right not only by me, but by everyone eager for his coming.

2 Timothy 4:8 Message

This idea started down a wide road where I chose to begin and suddenly I was at a crossroad of multiple choices, some tangled with unkept bushes, and some leveled by generations of feet. I made a choice, yet be prepared for that day in April when you think, “Oh, This ties to the beginning of February”

While you are tying your hiking boots to join, look around your room and mentally give a date to when you acquired certain objects. My guess is some go back to whatever defines your first independent space, single or married. Though not a cow, they meet the definition of trousseau or the more easily spelled dowry. Something given so you don’t have to live in an empty room or sleep on the floor.

iI’m on a choosing to wait several days to run the dishwasher. The obvious choice is to air dry in the strainer next to the sink. Morning requires putting away. This morning I picked up a worn and tarnished iced tea spoon. The pattern is an unadorned curve called Flair by 1847 Rogers Brothers, a lone survivor of a 1958 starter set of silverware bought at Adler’s Jewerly. That set and Fern Dell Francisco dinnerware set me up as an single housekeeper in a one-bedroom apartment in Shreveport and served me well three years there and into a move to Texas and, for an unknown reason, with me to this day, one spoon. I polished it one more time and then put it back in the drawer.

One of my sons took my mother’s bedroom furniture to a small house outside of Beorne. The bed came back to me and the chest to my daughter. A sister-in-law had furniture made by her father that I think is now with a grandson. There is a platter a grandmother used to present the thanksgiving turkey. These objects give depth to our lives and a reminder of the continuity of love. I chose this verse before I started. Rebecca comes across miles to be married to a cousin she doesn’t know. Issac meets her and takes her to his mother’s tent, a place where, at a beginning, love grew among familiar and cherished things.

 And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent, and took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her:

Genesis 24:7

Moments are momentous. That’s what gives them value. Truly, my first poem that I composed and wrote down was when I was in the 5th grade. It was about twelve lines and told of brushing my teeth. (I will wait until the laughter stops.) I felt very creative and quoted it to a friend who giggled, covered her mouth, and said, “Oh, Charis, really?” From that point, I tried to stick to research and non-fiction. I kept running into the problem of connecting interesting sentences and of correct spelling before the days of typing and spell-check. In the 8th grade I turned in a paper to a very handsome, by my standards, male student teacher. Every 14 year old girl was sure that 21 year old male came to class to be with her. He returned my paper with a red circle around navel. When I thumbed dictionary pages, I found I had chosen the word for belly button (how personal could I get) instead of naval for a ship on the water. Again a hiatus from brain to hand to paper to sharing.

Then, thank goodness for Miss Dunn. She was the town spinster who lived with her mother and from the beginning of the world to the end, she taught English to groups of eighteen freshmen through seniors. What one didn’t master first time around appeared again the next year. From athletic jocks to blinking eye-lash eyed girls, we memorized poems and read banned books. We wrote book reviews, different genre of poems, and biographical stories. Peer reviews were the three important statements: ”I really liked…,” ”I didn’t understand…,” and “I want to know about…..”

From that period on, my passion was and is daily reading and writing. I have several notebooks where I have entered sentences or amassed facts, not to reuse unless quoted, but to be diving boards into depths I want to explore. I have led students from structures that sustained them through beginning efforts to their becoming the boy who waved a paper in my face proclaiming, “I wrote a perfect sentence last night.”

If asked by a small circle who know, I can write a note, or a paragraph, or an explanation on request. In a bookcase, I have four rows of twenty-five years of daily journals with prayers, fears, aspirations, and accomplishments with the addition of stickers or photographs. After David’s death I anchored myself with the task of writing Letmetellya every week as a discipline. All the above information was provided because a whole WSJ section this day is on Artificial Intelligence and Chatbot. I’m not against changes. I’ve welcomed some. Yet, I want you to know that I, and only I, am responsible for what I offer to you. Handle it tenderly. Words matter to me and they have an even greater value to the world.

Jesus provided far more God-revealing signs than are written down in this book. These are written down so you will believe that Jesus is the Messiah,

John 20:31 The Message

People who live in certain latitude zones have four identifiable seasons and know what to expect when. My friend in Alaska sees the first snowflake and reworks her closet and prepares to carry on until next May. The older son lives in Colorado after growing up fifty miles from the Gulf Coast. He was riding the ski lift with a high school girl and casually asked her about “snow days.” She looked puzzled and replied, “We’ve never had one. The buses come and we get on.” For some of us a really cold day is an HAPPENING that requires preparation, survival, and is remembered as a specific event in time that needs retelling. We did go to school after an ice storm when I was in the 6th grade, but we were allowed to stand outside for a short time. Sonny, Ottley, Jane Earl, and I thought the ice particles were to toss at our friends and we were sent to the principal’s office. We missed the math class teaching about tablespoons, teaspoons, pints, quarts, and gallons and I have never completely mastered those relationships.

Anticipation is the mixer that stirs up change. Newspapers and weather stations start a week ahead of time issuing dire predictions of roads blocked in the Mid-West and showing pictures of cars piled up. Insurance and companies that provide heat begin issuing 3 -P warnings: People, Pets, and Pipes. Lines grow in grocery stores for provisions and in hardware stores for plant and pipe coverings. Various shapes of white sculptures are scattered over lawns where greenery once stood. Those who know plan when and how to cut off water to the house and in sprinklers while making sure bathtubs are filled and other sources for drinking and some type of cooking are available. Those who are less environmentally focused are fortunate to have a gas stove in case of power failure. As the temperature drops, your story is formed.

A friend’s children were three days getting home from skiing because of airline problems. Another had pipes in the attic they had forgotten and had a ceiling that dissolved. I lost 14 quarts of fresh blueberries when the power stayed out, yet the neighbors eventually had blueberry cobblers. We played games by candlelight. Children made decorative ice cubes with cookie cutters left out overnight. Come July, we will crank up the air conditioner and say, “Do you remember that winter it froze?” This is our little part of an eternal plan.

It was You who set all the boundaries of the earth; You made both summer and winter. –

Psalm 74:17

Three words are important if you choose to continue reading. Spoiler is a fair warning and this will be different from my usual presentation; however, how violent do you expect me to be? Second word is oral tradition, a story that is only told sometimes gets tweaked according to the audience. The last one, maybe most important, is copyright. Though never written down, this is a family story that maybe only four people can vaguely remember and its origin is way beyond a time of legal protection.

I heard this story only once, maybe sixty five years ago and the actual happening was nearer seventy years. I was a bride, new to the family, and my husband’s older brothers were seven years into marriage and children, They lived in El Paso, an easy walk over a bridge to Júarez for an afternoon of culture and a meal. Somehow the middle brother started telling how as newlyweds he had taken his wife, not totally willingly, to a cockfight. I noticed her posture changed. Feet were planted flat on the floor, spine straighten, and hands were grasped tightly in her lap. He found the palenques (pits) and convinced the gatekeeper they only wanted to watch. They didn’t bring combatants to enter and they didn’t want to bet. They were the only gringos in a group of sweaty, smoking, drinking men. The point of the contest is for cocks, maybe armed with an extra metal spur on their legs, to attack and draw blood until the time of the opponent’s mortal finish. My sister-in-law soon had enough. Leaving was a bit of a chore, pushing their way toward out while the crowd around wanted closer to the action. As the narrator gleefully wrapped up the story, he suggested we six could cross the bridge for our own afternoon of fun. In a moment of silence, my sister-in-law said, “You still owe me for the first cock fight.” Neither the story nor the suggestion came up again.

Why would this ever be a topic? It is a perfect example of all that happens, good or bad, intentional or unintentional, lodges until it is jogged to the forefront of memory. I have had eye problems the last year and most mornings I read headlines, resorting to a magnifying glass for content if necessary. This was the headline; Cockfighting ring busted; dozens of roosters rescued. Here are key points: 100 roosters, rehabilitation ranch, and an animal cruelty call.

The broad wrap up would be to fill your inner space with good thoughts, words, and deeds. You never know when they will pop up. “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” Philippians 4:8. Or, more to the point, avoid cockfights.

A righteous man regards the life of his animal, but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.

Proverbs 12:10

I do wonder at times if heaven will be a place without calendars and definitely without passwords, only open arms. Between creationists and evolutionists, some group is saying with surety that the earth is 4.5 billion years old, and that doesn’t count the universe maybe having a beginning beyond that. That phrase “In the beginning..” leaves a lot of room for possibilities, especially when one throws in a Gregorian and a Julian calendar and does away with ten days in the wisk of an eraser. 

Yet, last week most of my faithful readers celebrated along with 45 per cent of the world December 25 as the positive day that Jesus was born in Bethlehem and a tree was decorated and presents exchanged. Somehow I doubt that December was the name of a Jewish month. However, you can still have a celebration on January 6 or 7 with some groups if you wish. My personal favorite option is the sole choice of the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem which honors January 19.

Don’t quit too early. In addition to learning how to spell it, Epiphany awaits. That feast honors the traveling kings or wise men who opened a space for the Gentiles by following the star. On January 5 in the evening, a church in Dallas gathers the greenery from Christmas and has a “burning of the green” in the Cloister Garden accompanied with cups of hot chocolate and toasted s’mores. Now that is worth a field trip!

Beyond all the above paragraphs’ foolishness is a moment of truth that came “in the fullness of time.” We note with gratitude that Emmanuel, God with Us, was gifted to us from a God to whom “one day is as a thousand years ,and a thousand years as a day.” Psalm 90:4. Along with all the days we think we are numbering, “This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24.

Beginning with the first day of maybe 2024,

Teach us to count our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart. Psalm 90: 12

In that wisdom, may we declare,

From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised. Psalm 113:3

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