Hoarding’s back.
I’m sure it never went away, but it’s been back in the news over the last month. Banks are hoarding money. People worldwide are hoarding rice. Myanmar officials and residents are warned about hoarding aid.
People are scared, and when they’re scared, they hoard. OR, somebody else hoards and looks to make a killing off the really scared people.
In a previous post, I mentioned that there are four alter-egos to LifeVestors – consumers, hoarders, gamblers, and codependents. Hoarders are the most unique of these. While consumers live as if there is no tomorrow, hoarders live as if there is a tomorrow, and wherever/whatever it is, it’s gonna be ticked off. Hard. Terrible. And we have to plan for it today.
It’s one thing for literally starving people to make sure they have something to eat for the next few days. It’s another to live with a spirit of fear, even while you’re being wonderfully blessed.
It’s one thing to save and invest for retirement or a rainy day. It’s another thing to create an ongoing bunker mentality based on fear of the future.
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I’ve said it often in church life: there is nothing more useless (and sometimes obnoxious) than a new grandparent.
Uh huh.
So anyway…
Amazing creatures, these babies – resting peacefully in somebody’s eager arms or lying in the bed, quietly watching the world go by. Filled with wonder at times, filling the room with noise at times. Innocent and defenseless, yet powerful enough to hold your heart in their tiny hands. So capable of needing and being needed, even before she takes her first nap. Babies! I realized the other day how long it had been since I had held one, or played with one. I remembered how little we still truly know about them.
How does God do that anyway? How can one life be created in the image of two, a miniature version of her Mommy and Daddy? How can she be so unable to care for herself, yet totally equipped to learn, to grow, and to develop? What’s really going through her mind as she lies there quietly? What will she become one day? Will she be a woman or a witch, an angel or a devil? We talk of “accidents,” but God never does. What does God have in mind for her? How much of God will she ever truly experience? What kind of God will she see in me? Or in her parents?
“But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law” (Galatians 4:4).
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We welcomed you into the world today after a lot of prayer and waiting, filled with joy and anticipation. You didn’t disappoint! Other little girls have been and will be born. Other grandchildren will surely grace our family. But you will always be our first. And your arrival will always be a memorable moment in our lives.
On this day, May 12, 2008, it’s a crazy world. But I guess people would probably have said that on the day I was born 49 years ago, too. It’s an election year in America. Here in Lubbock, our mayor just lost a reelection bid two days ago. Soon the Democratic party will choose between Hillary Clinton and Barak Obama for their nominee for president. Either one will represent an unprecedented step in American politics. Republicans already have their candidate – John McCain. An earthquake hit China today. American soldiers are fighting in Iraq in an unpopular war.
We worry about the world you are inheriting. But we don’t fear as those who have no hope. We know in whom our (and your) hope lies.
For a short time, I get to be your pastor. That’s really cool. But I’ll always get to be your grandfather. And that’s even more cool.
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“The winter is over. The rain and snow have gone. Come away with me, my love, come away.
“I miss our time together. How long has it been since I heard the sound of your voice in the morning? Come away with me, my love, come away.
“I have seen you struggling, and I’ve heard your cries in the night. I have been with you, even when you felt alone. I have been faithful, even when you were losing faith in Me. I have been patient, even when you were impatient with Me. Now the flowers are budding, and the time of singing has come. Come away with me, my love, come away!
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Take a look at this exquisite photo. It was taken by a guy in the UK named Wez Smith. I found it yesterday, and remembered again what an amazingly beautiful world is that we live in.
Know what it is?
I’ll tell you in a minute.
Don’t you love how even the seeming imperfections of each petal all come together to form a beautiful whole?
How even the “rough edges” all come together in a symphony of striking color?
How whatever that seed part in the middle is called (I’m no botanist) suggests the amazing reproducible wonder of future life? Future potential? Even more beauty?
Figured out what it is yet, Mr. Green Jeans?
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“You wanna see what the room looks like?” Geoffrey asked. “The room” was the hotel room where my son was staying. Geoffrey was his best man and is his best friend.
I was a bit out of the loop. I thought I was going to be looking at a brochure of the Houston Marriott or something. What Geoffrey brought instead was a camera.
Off and on during this wedding day I had wondered what the heck Joel was up to. Why was he running behind? Why wasn’t he at the church when I thought he was supposed to be? Why were people calling, looking for him? What was so important?
I had showed up at the church about 4:45 – 15 minutes late myself. He was nowhere to be found. Getting the car washed, Geoffrey said.
Car washed! Photographer was waiting, people were wondering, and he? He was washing.
Now, some five hours later, that clean car has just left the building with the newlyweds on board. And Geoffrey is scrolling through the pictures on his camera. These weren’t publicity pics. They were the results of a groom’s labor to prepare a place – a special place – for his bride. I’ll spare you the details, but there were candles, rose petals, a picnic basket, and much more, I’m sure.
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(A Turning Point Story)
This is an article I first wrote about my son 16 years ago, about what a powerful thing encouragement can be. It means as much to me today, if not more, as it did in 1993. Click “share this” and forward it to the encouragers in your life. Thank them for being your “Face in the Window.” And let somebody know you’ll be theirs….
It was one of those forgettable days, when nothing seemed to go right. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. The summer heat was unbearable, the humid West Alabama air unbreatheable. But I had to bear it, and I had to breathe it on this day.
Name a pitiful emotion – I’m sure I felt it on that day. Rejection, anger, discouragement, depression, loneliness, fear, shame – they all showed up with the intention of staying.
“Nobody needs you,” they said. “And nobody believes in you.”
It was a day of giving. Normally that rejuvenates me, but not today. On this Saturday, I had given time, love, and tenderness, together with a whole lot of physical energy. I had given my best (I thought). Apparently, others had disagreed, and I had been humiliated in front of a large family gathering.
I was spent. I would say that I came home with my tail tucked between my legs, but honestly I don’t think I was standing that tall.
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“I’ll say good-bye to love,” Karen Carpenter once crooned. Ha! She never knew Hugh and Mary.
Dede Long shared the wonderful story below of her grandfather who proved that you’re never to old for love or romance. Enjoy!
In 1920, my paternal grandparents, Hugh and Peggy Stuntz, went to Santiago, Chile as Methodist missionaries. While they were there, they met a single woman named Mary Sweaney. Her husband had been killed by lightning when they had only been married eleven months. Mary was in South America running a Methodist girls’ school. The three of them became lifelong friends. My dad, his brother and sister were all born while they lived in South America.
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Fran Cotton is a PK – a preacher’s kid. She saw love demonstrated by her pastor/father in a myriad of ways.
In response to my request for love stories, Fran shared the following example of how loving your neighbor can make you zigzag your way across your yard – and into someone else’s heart.
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Lisa Collins is a friend, a ministry partner, an extraordinary worship leader, and a bride-to-be. In response to my request for love stories, she wrote to me about how her father modeled God’s grace. I think you’ll like it! Here goes….
The casual observer might glance at my Dad and not notice anything that distinguishes him from any other man. He is average in height and build. His hair is showing some gray-which is expected of a man in his sixties who survived raising two daughters. His home is modest and under a mortgage. His job is nothing that will bring him acclaim, wealth or notoriety – he is a plumber. He is a husband. He is a father. He is a “B-Poppa”-short for “Big Poppa” in case you don’t speak his granddaughter, Daphnee’s, language.
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