Waste Your Many Blessings?

I awoke from a dream in the middle of the night. I hope I can report accurately, the wonderful discovery that dream held for me.

As with most of my dreams, it was somewhat abstract and my waking view of it doesn't seem as clear and clean as it felt as I was waking.

I can't recall any story to the dream, only a concept and how it made me feel.

The concept is that when God grants us blessings, too often we waste them by passing judgment either upon the blessing or upon ourselves and our capacity to receive them.

The illustrations I offer, are not, so far as I can remember, from the dream. I wish they could be. Still, I hope they illustrate what I somehow discovered in the dreams of the night.

So very often, the blessings of which I speak come wrapped in seemingly unpleasant packages. Once, when I was younger, I awoke and found myself unable to urinate, though I had a very, unpleasantly full bladder. After two hours of such suffering, I called in sick and determined I'd better get some medical attention before I ruptured something. On the way out the door I grabbed a book I was reading at the time, The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom. As waiting is part and parcel of the Emergency Room experience, I hoped to distract my self from the pain I was suffering by reading. I did have to wait. So I read. I was at the place in the story where Corrie and her sister Betsie had been imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp for hiding Jew's in their Holland home. Betsie had a Bible and read it to the women crammed in their barracks. One evening as she read, she commented on the importance of thanking God in all things and interpreted that to mean that they should be thankful for the fleas. Corrie couldn't imagine being thankful for the miserable wretched fleas! Prayerfully, she sought the ability to do so. And finally, still lacking any logical reason, she was able to express complete and heart felt gratitude for the fleas. She discovered later, that the guards molested women in other barracks, but stayed away from hers precisely because of those fleas.

I sat the book in my lap and wondered if I could be thankful for my inability of void my bursting bladder? Prayerfully, I sought that gift. Somehow, it was granted. I expressed sincere and heartfelt gratitude for yet another of life's many afflictions. I'd lived long enough to know that affliction is often a great blessing. Shortly after my prayer, I was invited into an examination room. On the way, I saw my aged friend Slim Hardy pass by on a bed bound for a room in the hospital. He'd come to the Emergency Room and they were going to keep him.

As for me, the doctor determined that my urethra was blocked by a kidney stone which had become stuck as it tried to escape my bladder. He suggested more fluids. That treatment seemed frightening as I was already miserable enough, yet the alternative was something akin to a Roto-Rooter. I chose the water method and began to drink in earnest. Soon the pressure had built to sufficient a crescendo as to force the plug on through. It was instant relief, if you get my drift.

Cured, with no collateral damage, my thoughts turned to Slim. I stepped down to his room. He wasn't conscious. His daughter Fae was sitting beside him. She asked if I'd give him a blessing. In that blessing Heavenly Father praised him for the good, fine life he'd lived and invited him to come home. Slim passed away in just a few minutes. Fae thanked me and then asked if I'd speak at his funeral; an honor I'll always cherish.

As I headed home, I glanced down at the book in my hand. I pressed The Hiding Place to my heart in profound appreciation for the gift it held for me. How thankful I was for my kidney stone. Were it not for that little obstruction, I'd have likely not even known Slim had passed away until I read his obituary in the paper, which came out the day after the funeral. I'd have been at work and oblivious to what I consider a great gift and tender mercy.

It would have been easy to judge my affliction as a curse, a punishment, an underserved annoyance. It would have been so very easy to have wasted a magnificent blessing.

I'm so grateful for this morning's reminder of that great principle. Even, in affliction, God is blessing us. Especially, if we don't judge the blessing to be a curse and God to be unkind.

Now, personally, I'm not as apt to misjudge my circumstances as I am to misjudge myself and my own capabilities. Too often, God offers me a blessing I don't feel qualified to accept. Too often I waste the blessing out of fear and apprehension. I'm not near as apt to think a blessing is not big or good enough more me; more often I think I'm not big or good enough for the blessing.

I'm wrestling with that right now and hence, perhaps, the dream. I have long, longed to be a writer. Since my unemployment I've done more of that than I've ever had time to do before. Yet, every day, I fight a battle with myself over whether I deserve such a blessing; whether I can measure up. I read other writers I admire and think I could never approach their level of performance. Time after time I find excuses to excuse myself from what my fears tell me is a foolish quest. This has been a pattern all of my life. Still, as I pray, my confidence is restored, accompanied by encouragement to carry on. I don't get to know if I'll ever be published or if my writing will ever touch anyone beyond myself. But I do get to know that a blessing is being offered me and, if I can just believe, it might not be counted to me as a waste, but a blessing.

I'm thankful this morning for the refreshed realization that I must neither pass judgment on the adequacy or desirability of God's blessings, nor on my capacity to receive them. He can make my circumstances big enough for me, but better than that He can make me big enough for my circumstances. What a blessing.

Book Review - Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

The second The Hunger Games series, Catching Fire is even more compelling than the first. I ordinarily take my time, savoring as I read. Not so with Suzanne Collins' books. They are captivating and so thoroughly engrossing that the sensation of my eyes scanning a page of words vanishes from my consciousness.

I can't ever seem to predict where things are actually going to go with these stories. The actual outcomes seem too impossible until the entirely credible solutions resolve before your eyes.

A master of the twist and turn of story and a genius of inventive imagination, Collins has blown me away again! Once again Katniss and Peeta are placed in the most awful of predicaments. Situations that commonly provide the Capitol with much amusement and predictable, controllable outcomes. The Capitol, is still attempting to clean up the mess these two, unpredictably created in The Hunger Games. But these two are not cast from a predictable mold and what the Capitol previously deemed a "situation" now turns into impending disaster. Never underestimate the strength of loyalty, integrity, devotion. If you have, The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, will convince you otherwise.

It's going to be a long wait for the final volume of the trilogy!

Growing Up in Himni Utah - Episode 5

1938 Harley

Lew Hopkins always rode a motorcycle. I knew nothing about them and am a little fearful of them even to this day, probably because of hanging around with Lew.

Lew lived up the Canyon on a nice little farm nestled against the Dry Fork of Omner Creek. The creek ran in the spring and early summer, but most of the year was just a strip of cobble rocks. His dad rarely got a third crop of hay because the water petered out. Funds were tight for the Hopkins’ and 12 miles to school didn’t help. Mostly Lew rode the bus. After his sophomore year though, he got a job at a Winslow’s Auto Parts and bought a Honda 350 to ride to school and work. Even then he didn’t have a lot of pocket change.

School lunch was 25 cents and often Lew would offer to do loony stunts for a quarter so he could eat with us. One time he said, “If I lay down in the middle of the crosswalk to the Seminary building and using my shoulder as a pivot, spin a full 360 in the road with all the girls watching, would that be worth a quarter?” “Sure.” Or, “If I jump off the folded up bleachers in the gym, onto the, six foot in diameter, push ball, would that be worth a quarter?” “Sure.”

Heck, now I’m going to have to tell you about that one. Lew was a big kid even then. The top of the bleachers had to be 12 feet off the floor. That’s a six foot drop to the ball. I feared the huge canvas covered ball might pop. Or what if he missed? He stood there calculating a moment and leapt. He did a seat drop and landed slightly forward of top dead center. He sank deep into the ball and then shot at a 90 degree angle out across the gym floor, where he gracefully slid to a stop against the bleachers on the other side of the gym. I gave him a dollar.

Often, after work on a Saturday, Lew would pick me up on his Honda and we’d head up the canyon for some exploring. One evening we were coming down the canyon and we spotted a doe running beside us on the opposite side of the fence that paralleled the road. Lew decided to race her. We’d nearly caught her when she decided to jump the fence and cross the road in front of us. She landed right on the front fender and was gone, as quick as that. We stopped and shook it off. Examining the bike we found deer fur jammed between the fender and the front shocks.

Early one summer Lew got word that his friend and hero Billy Wainwright had been killed in Viet Nam. They were neighbors and Billy had been the big brother Lew never had. Lew was devastated. After the funeral Billy’s mom took Lew aside. She assured him that Billy loved him. Then she explained that she wanted Lew to have Billy’s old 1938 Harley Davidson motorcycle. “Billy would have wanted it that way.” Lew was thrilled.

He worked on the old worn-out beast for a month. One afternoon I was up there helping him try to get it started. Nothing seemed to work. The Hopkins’ lane had a nice downhill slope to it. It ran along an alfalfa field to the bottom of the slope then made a hard right and went out to the main road. We decided to try to push start it. The Harley had a foot clutch on the left side and a hand shifter on the side of the fuel tank. Lew put it in second gear and depressed the clutch pedal. I started pushing him down the road. The first couple of clutch pops had no results. We still had some momentum though so we kept going. On the third attempt she fired up and the old hind wheel started churning. Lew was way too close to the corner though, and was forced to cross through the hay. Flames were shooting six feet out of the exhaust pipe and a 20 foot rooster tail of green alfalfa was spraying into the air. I laughed so hard I had to step into the bushes.

Now she was running, we had to go to town and show her off. We put our ball caps on backwards and headed down the canyon. There was no second seat so I had to sit on the back fender. We got down to the intersection of Himni Avenue and Main Street and stopped at the light. We were in the left turn lane. While we waited for the light to change Mitch Warner pulled up next to us in his rod. He rumbled the engine. Lew responded by wrapping up the Harley. Just then his foot slipped off the clutch and the bike pulled a wheelie, through the red light, right out into the intersection where it dumped me smack dab on top of the manhole cover in the middle of the street! Lew went on to careen over the curb where he finally got control in the parking lot of Hanley’s Department Store. Aside from a sore rear end and singed eyebrows I was no worse for wear, just a little smarter.

I rode home with Mitch.

Book Review - Mort by Terry Pratchett

When this world gets a little too heavy for me, I love to travel to Disc World. Terry Pratchett has created a place of humor and perspective that always lightens my heart and reorients my thinking.

In this most delightful story yet, young Mort is taken by his father to the market in search of an apprenticeship.

Reminiscent of those youthful days when two captains choose up sides for a ball game, Mort is picked last. He is apprenticed to DEATH. That's right, the grim reaper.

Mort has quite a time learning the ins and outs of his new job. And we get an inside look at the meaning of life, the burden of history and the power of choice.

Pratchett's writing and thinking are always off the wall. But don't assume you have to sweep it under the rug. You're reading along having the time of your life, laughing, shaking your head, wondering what antics he's going to come up with next and suddenly you realize, hey, this guy really has something to say! It's kind of hard to get your mind around, sort of like worshiping on a roller coaster, or meditating at the arcade.

Here are a couple of my favorite quotes: "Poets have tried to describe Ankh-Morpork. They have failed. Perhaps it's the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or maybe it's just that a city with a million inhabitants and no sewers is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder. So lets just say that Ankh-Morpork is as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colorful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound."

"Death gave Mort the look he was becoming familiar with. It started off as blank surprise, flickered briefly towards annoyance, called in for a drink at recognition and settled finally on vague forbearance."

"One of them had drawn a knife, which he waved in little circles in the air. He advanced slowly towards Mort, while the other two hung back to provide immoral support."

Don't miss this delightful read you're sure to have the time of your life, er, DEATH.

Halting Between Two Opinions

Here is a bit I wrote a little over a year ago. I just returned from an LDS Addiction Recovery Program Conference and what I wrote back then seemed pertinent to what we discussed today. I decided I'd post it again here. It all still applies.

As you know, my life has had it's ups and downs this Summer. While I have not fallen off the wagon, I have wandered some distance down the wrong road. My blood pressure has been up and my anxiety levels high.

You need to understand that addiction is not what it seems. The outward manifestation, be it drugs, alcohol, gambling, porn, Twinkies, is just that, the symptom, but not the problem. The problem is something deeper and painful and quite possibly unidentified. I’ve been writing and pondering madly for days trying to identify the fork in the road that took me in the wrong direction.

Today, I was given my answer. I was writing, something I always do, to sort things out. I was expressing the dismay I’ve felt of late about my new job and my uncertain future. I’ve taken a job as a salesman. I have a lot of uncertainly as to the frequency and size of my paychecks. The economy troubles me. The price of fuel dismays me. My own inadequacy frightens me. I don’t know what the future brings and it gives me a great deal of anxiety. Then, a phrase of scripture came into my mind, “How long halt ye between two opinions..?” I had no idea where to find it, so I looked it up in the concordance. I found it in 1 Kings 18:21.

It was the story of Elijah’s famous contest with the priests of Baal during which God consumed Elijah’s offering with fire, while that of the false God did nothing. Elijah was calling upon Israel to make up their minds. Unlike Joshua who had earlier declared, “Choose you this day whom ye will serve…but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:15) The verse was inspirational and encouraging but I couldn’t see the answer that was before me. I was still stuck on the decision regarding my choice of employment. I couldn’t see how that could be a choice between God and Baal. Surely, I was choosing the Lord, wasn’t I?

Then another phrase of scripture passed through my mind, “Oh thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?” I found that in Matthew 14:31. Here is the story of Peter walking on the water. I'm not being facetious. I've never understood why we typically call it the story of Jesus walking on the water. That was no big deal. The big deal was that Peter walked on the water. The phrase was the Saviour’s mild rebuke of Peter who, fearing the waves began to sink beneath them. I wasn’t too sure what this story meant for me, but I determined to find out.

At my new job I have made a new friend. He is Pastor of a local Landmark Baptist congregation. His specialty at Divinty School was Coyne Greek. My good friend has taught me, that much can be gained from understanding the original Greek meanings of the words found in the New Testament. I just recently acquired Bullinger’s Lexicon of New Testament Greek.

I decided to look up the original meaning of the words in Matthew 14:31. Two words were most informative. I looked up faith and found that in this case the Greek word chosen had only been used four times in the New Testament and all by the Master himself. It has been translated into English as

'of little faith’ and means: to rebuke four states of mind, viz., anxiety, fear, doubt and forgetfulness. I felt my searching was on the right track. I was full of fear, doubt and great anxiety. I didn’t yet comprehend forgetfulness. Then I looked up the word doubt. The definition of the original Greek word translated as doubt was this: to stand in two ways, being uncertain as to which to take. I was shocked, for it lead me right back to my first prompting, “How long halt ye between to opinions….?”

It was then that I realized what Heavenly Father has been trying to tell me. I am like Peter. I am figuratively walking on water. My struggles of late have come because I have taken my eye off my Master and have allowed myself to look at the boisterous waves of economic and political commotion that surround me. No wonder I have been sinking in despair!

This is not a new concept for me. I have long considered my ability to proceed through life entirely free of my addiction to be no less a miracle than walking on water. To the flesh, they are equally impossible. Yet day after day, I go forth, temptation free, to live a life of joy as though I had never been an addict. I was foundering and in need of rebuke for my forgetfulness. I had forgotten to whom I must look for my safety and salvation.

My struggles came because I had taken my eyes off of the Redeemer, who sustains me in recovery and had looked in fear at the turbulent chaos around me. They were prolonged because I supposed the fork in the road that was troubling me was whether or not to change employment. Instead, however, I discovered that the real decision was, is and always will be, whether or not to trust God and keep my attention focussed on Him.

My heart is led to these words given of Jehovah to Joshua, and all of Israel, including us: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” (Joshua 1:9) Whithersoever – no matter where I go or what paths in life I choose, if I can but ignore the turmoil around me and trust in God, I will be sustained above the stream.

Like Peter, I called out to my Lord saying, “Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught” me. I felt the anxiety, fear and doubt drain out of me. I had been so stressed that I felt ill, but now I was renewed and refreshed.