All the Pretty Little Horses

One of the great things about growing up on an Iowa farm, poor as we were, was that we had ponies. We rode in Fun Shows – rodeos without the cattle or bucking broncs. We rode in barrel races, pole bending, and keyhole races. Barrel racing and keyhole required speed in a specific pattern around barrels or poles and tires; pole bending was a long, figure-8 pattern around a line of poles. Speed was the required factor for winning, but knocking over any of the equipment or failing to fulfill the pattern was grounds for disqualification.

Our ponies were wonderful. Um, that may be hyperbole. Gyp wasn’t much of a race horse. Dad said he was appropriately named. A big friendly Paint, he just didn’t like to move. The only race he ever “won” was due to my little brother James’s skill at tying the baby goat after Gyp plodded out to the goat in record slow time.

Cocoa wasn’t that great, either. He was a Shetland pony, faithful to their reputation as ill-tempered beasts. He bit us and chased our visitors. He wasn’t much to ride, either. Our teen-aged feet dragged the ground if we actually sat on him.

We had more hopes for Zip, brother to Gyp. He was fast, with a comfortable gait. Unfortunately, he worked against us at every opportunity. The only time I was injured on a horse, Zip had a hoof in it. Later the same day, he tried to dislodge my brother John from the saddle by running at jousting speed through the barn door – the small one. John might have been killed if he hadn’t been quicker than the horse.

Usually at the Fun Shows, we didn’t win, place, or show. We just had fun. But Fun Shows changed when Dad brought home Beauty, a tall, lovely quarterhorse. If our feet were on the ground, we had a sweet and gentle friend. If our feet were in the stirrups, we were astride dynamite in horsehair. Beauty outran the wind. If we thought about turning right, we were already turning. If we thought about going faster, we were. The only thing Beauty didn’t like to do was stop. But if we thought about stopping, we had better be ready, because we were stopped. Right here. Right now. I never did understand how she knew what I wanted before I signaled her. John and I have stacks of ribbons, all earned by Beauty’s instant response to our will.

My memories of our horses used to be cheerful ones. Now they are convicting. God’s Word tells us not to be weary in doing well. (Gal 6:9 and II Thess. 3:13) How many times do I respond to God as Gyp responded to us – just don’t want to move? Or like Zip – always an argument or a contrary choice, hurting people in the process. Or worse – maybe just plain mean, like Cocoa. What if I always responded to God’s leading as did Beauty – instantly, joyously? What could I win for my Savior?

--Lynda Shenefield

Follow the Leader!

Well, friends, it's 2016. This is the year we elect a new President.  This is a big responsibility and a great privilege we have as citizens. I'm not entirely sure I would have been on the side of the revolutionaries back in 1776 (Don't judge; it's a complicated matter), but I am so glad that we have the freedom we enjoy. God's hand in our history is unmistakable.

It is with some fear and not a little trembling that I approach this coming election. The desire, of course, is to elect someone who is a person of integrity, someone we can confidently follow as the leader of our nation. Who might that be? I am forming some opinions, but here's the difficulty: Whenever I think I have settled on a candidate, I learn of some small feature in the person's policy that I am uncomfortable with.

The situation is not unlike being involved in any organization---including a church or a school.  We sometimes may be puzzled by or may disagree with a particular decision or way of handling things. But the question I have put to friends is this: Can we trust our leaders? Are these honest people who are seeking God's will and trying to follow Him? If so, then I will follow and rely on God to do the leading.

Now about the President. Whom can we trust? I am still working on it. How about you? Let us pray sincerely and then support an individual of integrity, even if we may quibble with fine points of policy. I'm looking for someone who has "clean hands and a pure heart, who has not lifted up his soul to vanity nor sworn deceitfully" (Psalm 24:4).

I'm also trying--by God's grace--to be that kind of person, for someone is following me.  Let us move forward in this new year with care but also with confidence. Our God is "the King of glory" (Ps. 24).

--Sherry Poff 

Does Jesus Care?

Does Jesus Care?

Merry Christmas!  Happy New Year! What a joyous time of the year—carols and gifts and family and food and laughter!  That is the popular representation of Christmas, but Christmas is not a joyous time for everyone.  For some Christmas is a time to dread—a time of family tension and strife, a time when the lights and music bring painful memories, perhaps of loved ones now in heaven, perhaps of those estranged and far from home, a grandchild missing, a weight of caregiving, a financial crisis, bills unpaid.  What if Christmas is angry words, misunderstandings, racking sobs, swollen eyes, sleepless nights?  What if it’s even fear, violence, suspicion?  What if it is loneliness?   

For many this is the real picture of Christmas.  But no one wants to admit to a scenario like this.   Sometimes it’s the hidden secret.  Put on a happy face!  For those who claim the name of Christ these scenarios may even carry a weight of shame. How can this be happening in my family?  This doesn’t happen in good Christian families.  The question is, ”Does anyone care? Does Jesus even care?”  The answer is “Yes!”

              Does Jesus care when my heart is pained too deeply for mirth and song;

              As the burdens press, and the cares distress, and the way grows weary and long?

              Does Jesus care when my way is dark with a nameless dread and fear? 

              As the daylight fades into deep night shades, does He care enough to be near?

              Does Jesus care when I’ve tried and failed to resist some temptation strong;

              When for my deep grief I find not relief, tho my tears flow all the night long?

              Does Jesus care when I’ve said goodbye to the dearest on earth to me,

              And my sad heart aches till it nearly breaks—Is it aught to Him?  Does He see?

              O yes, He cares—I know He cares!  His heart is touched with my grief;

              When the days are weary, the long nights dreary, I know my Savior cares.

           

            When life is a burden, when troubles come, the God who is identified as Jehovah Rapha, the God who heals, is there.  He is the God who comes with healing in His wings.  Oh, yes!  I know my Savior cares.

                                                                        ~~Faith Himes Lamb

Mark Lowry singing "Does Jesus Care?/God Will Take Care of You"

Thanks for Christmas!

We've been out looking at Christmas lights. We drove over to Camp Jordan in the drizzle and enjoyed the spectacle of lights and music that is there. I appreciate the causes they're collecting money for, so I'm glad we went, but my favorite thing is to drive by the homes and see the decorations individuals and families have put up for our enjoyment.

I like to think of all the people who worked--alone or with a helper--to string lights on the eaves of the house or along the porch rail. Some mild Saturday afternoon, they got out the stepladder, fluffed up the wreaths, straightened the bows, and beautified their homes in honor of the season.  In honor of Jesus.

I know that not everyone thinks of Jesus as they put up their lights and arrange the tree so that it can be seen through the window. But I do think it's the image of God in us that gives us generous impulses. His goodness is seen throughout the earth, and any goodness we have comes from Him.

So today I offer my thanks. Thanks to each one of you who worked hard to make things nice for the season. I have loved--loved!--seeing your lights and garlands and wreaths. Thanks most of all to God for giving us Jesus and for creating all the goodness in the world, goodness that endures in spite of all the horrific things that happen every day. Still people are baking, buying, and wishing one another joy.

"The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof." (Psalm 24:1)

Joy to the World!

--Sherry Poff

My Mount Rushmore

My Mount Rushmore

              In the fall of 1990 my family drove to Alaska, seventeen states and four Canadian provinces in three weeks.  One of the highlights for me was Mount Rushmore, a mind-boggling monument to four of our most prominent presidents.  A couple of weeks ago I read in the Chattanooga Times Free Press an article by Dr. Clif Cleaveland listing his Mount Rushmore of Teachers.  That got me thinking about the teachers I have had over a lifetime.  I have chosen my faces to put on Mount Rushmore.

              The first would be my third grade teacher, Mrs. Sywalka.  I thought she was very stern and intimidating and I was afraid of her.  But then she caught me with a book on top of a book.  I was reading the one I wanted to read and sliding up the book the class was reading together, just in time for my turn to read aloud.  To my humiliation she sent me to the cloak room as “punishment”.  I wept until I realized she had permitted me to bring my book with me.  So I read until called back into the classroom.

              Later Mrs. Sywalka kept me after class to give me a book wrapped in plastic.  I was to wash my hands before I took the book out of the plastic, then return it to the plastic when I was finished.  She exchanged that book for another until I had read an entire series, the Elsie Dinsmore series, in the original copies, at that time probably seventy years old. 

              Mrs. Sywalka understood a bored little girl who craved the knowledge available through books.  I think of her often as I look at the little drop-leaf desk she gave me and the scores of books around my house.

              The second figure on my Mount Rushmore would be Mr. Field, my ninth grade French and English teacher.  He was a brand-new teacher, a recent graduate from Harvard, and very hip.  He sat cross-legged on top of his desk, his tie (required by the school!) tossed over his shoulder.  He gave me a firm foundation in French (traditional formal pronunciation only), but his greater influence was on my writing.  Each week he assigned a topic for a paragraph of no more than seventy-five words.  The topics were imaginative and stimulating, for instance, how to ride a nightmare.  But to this teenage girl who loved words, his assignments were very difficult.  You see, he counted words before he graded.  If you had over the seventy-five-word limit, he didn’t even bother to grade the paragraph.   I loved verbosity, a gushing, flowery garrulousness.  I would write my paragraph, then start cutting.  I often had to cut out half of what I originally wrote in order to meet his requirements.  So when I write today, I cut, in honor of Mr. Field.

              The third figure on that mount would be Mrs. Harris.  She was my private speech teacher in college for two years, the time leading up to my senior speech recital.  Mrs. Harris was a stickler, by definition, “one who insists on something unyieldingly.”  Now that’s the word for Mrs. Harris.  She demanded excellence.  I frankly was terrified of her.  Her words often sent me back to the dorm in tears.  I once unwittingly failed to meet her expectations.  My notebook that day said in huge capital letters, “James 4:17, To him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, to him it is sin.  When I tell you to do something, don’t rebel!”  I slowly learned that what to me seemed unreasonable, was designed to draw my best from me.

              It is because of Mrs. Harris that I am today a college speech teacher.  She first persuaded me to change my major from interpretative speech to speech education with an interpretative proficiency, that while I insisted I didn’t want to be a teacher.  In addition, it was she who persuaded me to apply for graduate school for a master’s in interpretative speech.  You cannot get a job as a college teacher without a master’s degree.

              In graduate school came my fourth figure, Mrs. Edwards.  I had Mrs. Edwards in undergrad for two classes, but in graduate school she took her place on Mt. Rushmore.  If Mrs. Harris represented discipline and excellence, Mrs. Edwards represented compassion and excellence.  In addition to classes such as Advanced Interpretation of Poetry, Mrs. Edwards was my faculty advisor and private instructor for my graduate project, an hour-long monodrama, researched, written, memorized, and performed under her guidance.  Those two years were difficult for a number of reasons, but I had Mrs. Edwards.  She also insisted on excellence, but with a rare understanding of other things in my life.  She prayed with me, allowed me to weep, sympathized with me, then pushed me past that to perform.

              There are the four faces on my Mount Rushmore of Teachers, Mrs. Sywalka, Mr. Field, Mrs. Harris, and Mrs. Edwards.  They were all very different, but all a part of my shaping.  As a teacher today, I want to be on someone’s Mount Rushmore.  I want to influence my students as these four influenced me.  Hurrah for Mount Rushmore!

                                                                                      ~~Faith Himes Lamb

Light on the Earth

According to google, it was Elly Derr who said, "A diamond is a piece of coal that didn't quit under pressure." I'm afraid I have no idea who Elly Derr is, but I have heard that little bit of wisdom before. What, though, is coal?  It's plants, mostly. And where do plants get their food? Primarily from the sun. In fact, the sun is the source of all our food, too.

Back when I taught fourth grade, I enjoyed assigning food charts. I had the fourth graders keep a list of everything they ate. Then we looked at where all the food comes from. We traced every bit of it back to plants, which depend on the sun for photosynthesis. So all our food really does come from the sun. And all our coal.

Have you ever gathered, on a cold winter day, around a coal stove? It's been years since I did that, but I can tell you, it's a warm place to be. These days we don't heat our homes with coal directly, but some of our electricity comes indirectly from that source. I love thinking, when I am enjoying light and heat in my home, that it's really all sunshine.

Like many of you, I crave sunshine, and too many gray days really put me in a funk. But when we can't get it directly, we can have the benefit of the sun in other ways. Just think of God's foresight and love to make--way back on the fourth day ever--a source of heat and light for us to enjoy in 2015.

"Then God said, 'Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons, and for days and years; and let them be for lights in the firmament of the heavens to give light on the earth'; and it was so" (Genesis 1:14-15). And so it is.

--Sherry Poff

My Portion Forever

Psalm 73:25-29

Whom have I in heaven but You?

And there is none upon earth that I desire besides You.

26 My flesh and my heart fail;

But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

27 For indeed, those who are far from You shall perish;

You have destroyed all those who desert You for harlotry.

28 But it is good for me to draw near to God;

I have put my trust in the Lord GOD,

That I may declare all Your works.

Recent events in my life have caused me to do a lot of soul searching and deep thinking. If you know me, then you know I am not a deep thinker. I pretty much have always been very accepting of the way things are.

Oh yes, I have strong convictions and can be pretty opinionated, but just have never been one to really dig deep or put another way – “think that hard.” But, lately, I have been doing a lot of deep thinking about change. This year my life has been full of change! There have been good changes, not so good changes, and some that are just different. I am forming a new perspective on life. Maybe, just maybe, I am beginning to learn what God deems important!

The other night I was reading Psalm 73 and these verses jumped off the page. “Whom have I in heaven but You? And there is none upon earth that I desire besides You. My flesh and my heart fail; But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (vs. 25-26) You see when I got the news of my brother Ivan’s death, I was shell shocked! I guess one is never prepared for such news, but even now as I think back to that moment, it still seems like a dream and at times I think I will wake up and it will be over. But no, we all know that’s not the way it will ever be, at least not here on this earth! But, during this time of grieving, I have spent some very precious time on my back porch with the Lord, baring my soul. I have come to realize that what the psalmist says in Psalm 73:28 is worth remembering: “But it is good for me to draw near to God; I have put my trust in the Lord God, That I may declare all Your works.” (vs. 27-28) For you see, that through trials, changes, and yes, even the death of my dear, sweet, brother – God remains a constant. He can be trusted. He wants us to draw near to Him! So, while change can bring about trials, it is those trials which can push us to yes, dig deep, do some soul searching. Through that process I have begun to sense a hunger to draw nearer to God! So, now on those rare occasions when I get to sit in my favorite spot on my back porch and spend special time with the Lord reading scripture or just meditating on Him while enjoying the outdoors His works are so evident and in that very moment I wonder why I need to be reminded that God wants that fellowship with me. Maybe I just need more time on my back porch!

For His Glory!

Pam Dratnol