We start a new series on Sunday.  Moses.  This should be interesting.  Anyone who has seen the movie "The Ten Commandments" (with Charlton Heston) has an image of Moses that is very inaccurate.  I think Moses was a man searching for who he was.  Born a Jewish slave.  Hidden in the bullrushes by his mother when Pharaoh ordered the male Jewish babies killed.  Then rescued and raised as an Egyptian prince.  Educated, privileged, protected.  An outside insider.

He had no idea what his identity should be.  Was he a Jew?  Was he an Egyptian?  Was he a slave?  Was he a prince?  On the day that he killed the Egyptian who was assaulting a Jew, he was taking sides with his Jewish heritage.  But he was not ready to give up being an Egyptian Prince.  He hid the body--he wasn't ready to leave the palace as a murderer.  He was torn between two identities.

But the Jewish people began to spread the story of how someone had come to the rescue of one of their own.  The Egyptians found out, and Moses was forced to flee the wrath of Pharaoh.  You just didn't kill an Egyptian because he mistreated a Jewish slave.  Moses was forty years old, and had lost both of his identities.  He could no longer be an Egyptian prince.  He could no longer join the people who had given him birth.  He was now a nobody.  An outside outsider.

So Moses fled to the desert where he married.  Had sons.  Became a sheepherder.  And forty years later, eighty years old, he finally meets God.  He hadn't been raised as a Jew, so his knowledge of God was scanty.  It wasn't personal.  The Egyptians had many Gods.  And when God appeared to Moses in the Burning Bush, one of the questions Moses asked was, "Who shall I say you are?"  Which God--that was the thing he was asking.  Moses did not have a concept of "one" God at that point.

He was an old man, alone with a bunch of sheep--the lowest form of work in that day.  He had lost his position in Egypt.  He had lost his position as a Jew.  He didn't see that he had a future.  But God had a plan.  God always has a plan.  Sometimes, in our lives we lose sight of that because we are living in an emotional desert.   Scott called this morning and said, "I'm guilty.  You listed the people who keep in touch with you in your blog and I wasn't in it.  I'm sorry.  I'll do better."  That's as good as a cup of water in the desert.

My days are pretty empty lately.  The church has canceled the Wednesday Bible class for the summer, as well as the Senior Adult choir.  I didn't realize how much I looked forward to going to both of those things until they weren't available anymore.  Now, I have teacher's meeting on Weds. night and church and Bible class on Sunday morning.  That's it.

But come September, it will all get into gear again.  When you are retired, all the things that you used to want to do, you now have the time to do.  But there aren't enough of those events to fill every day.  I always thought of myself as a loner, but since moving here, I've realized how much I like to be around people.  (In small doses.)

I like to be by myself as well because I love to read.  But a little of "Being By Myself" goes a long way.  Problem is, it's really hard to make friends that you can call and say, "Let's go do lunch."  It takes awhile to develop those kinds of friends.

I've been trying.  I'm really working at it.  In Pryor, it was easy.  I knew everyone.  They knew me.  Here, I'm still learning everyone's name.  Hundreds of names.  And my memory isn't what it used to be.  I learn a name, don't see that person for a couple of weeks and by then, I've forgotten it.  Oh well, I'm in a better place than when I first moved here--because I have met a lot of people.  But I'm still looking for that "One" who will be my Edmond BFF.

Becky Bacon stayed with me three days last week.  That was heaven.  Old friends are the best friends.  Sally called--she's in Hattisburg, Miss. now.  I talk to Carolyn every day.  Pat took me to dinner last night.  Becky (daughter) called to see if I wanted to go to Tulsa with her Friday.  My next door neighbor brought me dinner last night.  What in the world am I whining about??!!

Forgive me.

" IN, IN IN everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you."  I've got to keep reminding myself of that.

Scott called this morning to remind me that Paul was not the only "PhD" writer in the New Testament.  "You forgot about Luke," he said.  And he is right.  Luke was a physician.  I guess I was thinking about literary scholars?

One of the reasons that I really like to read what Paul wrote is because he was a non-believer of the utmost extreme.  Like Thomas--who said to the other disciples, "I don't believe that Jesus is risen from the dead.  And I won't believe unless I personally put my finger in the holes in his hands and thrust my hand into the wound in His side."  (My paraphrase.)

When you have people like Thomas and Paul, who were honest enough to publicly doubt the authenticity of the resurrection, who stood up to those claiming that Jesus had risen from the dead, you have people who are not susceptible to public opinion.  They don't believe it.  And publicly say so.  And act on their belief that He did not rise from the dead.  They are dead set in their rejection.  Until something happens that makes them realize that they have made a critical mistake.

But when their their minds were changed by meeting the risen Christ personally, their testimony became electrically charged.  They knew.  They knew they were wrong.  And they want everyone to know what they know.  He is alive.  They have seen Him.  Touched Him.  Spoken to Him.  And their words are awe inspiring.  You can't read the words of Paul without being inspired by his testimony.

The entire Christian experience is based on the Resurrection of Jesus.  Without it, He was just another great prophet.  A good man.  True, his miracles bear testimony to his ability to call on the power of God.  And there are dozens of other reasons to believe that he was God.  But the Resurrection is the key issue for our faith.  The linchpin.  He conquered death.

And He stands ready to give us eternal life if we believe.  If we trust Him.  If we give Him our lives.  What a deal.  And it's free.  Eternity with God in a place of peace and beauty.

I want  to have some of that.

I am reading "The Case For Christ" by Lee Strobel.  I had read it before, but wanted to read it again.  This time I am underlining points that I feel are most relevant for review--should I want to use it in class.  One of the reasons I like to own a book is so that I can mark it.

I have marked my Bible up so much that the edges of many of the pages are frayed.  I like to do that because when I go back, I can review by reading only the underlined passages.  Especially in some of the books of the Bible that don't hold my attention very well.

Some of the Bible books (mostly minor prophets) have nothing that I particularly care about reading again.  I usually write the word "Done" at the beginning of a book that I don't care about going back to.  And when I actually do go back over them, I only read what I have underlined.  Every once and again, I'll read the entire book again.  But not very often.

Yes.  I know.  All of the Bible is God's word.  But let's face it, some parts are more important to our lives than others.  Certainly the New Testament is more critical to a new Christian than the Old.  I am not advocating throwing parts of it away, just saying that when I read, I tend to read the heavily marked up parts.  And those parts almost always have to do with instruction and guidance.  That's what I need the most.  I want to read things that I can apply to my life.

Paul is my favorite writer.  He was the only "PhD" in the group who wrote the New Testament.  He was a highly educated man who studied at the feet of Gamaliel--a Jewish leader recognized as one of the most scholarly teachers of that time.  Paul knew his Jewish history and prophecy.

Paul set as his goal to wipe out Christianity and kill all Christians.  Only when Jesus appeared to him personally on the road to Damascus was Paul converted.  He repented, but Peter and James didn't trust him. Who would.  I would have avoided him like the plague.  However, his writings show his heart.  And show his ability to connect the Old Testament with the New better than any other writer.

Paul did a 180 degree turn.  He became one of the followers of Jesus--a man who had previously been killing those believers.  Christ can change lives.  Paul is a consummate example.

We went to the Chihuly exhibit in Okla. City today.  It brought back memories of the different times that I was in Venice and didn't go see the glass blowing studios in Murano.  I wish I had taken advantage of the opportunity while I was there.  And I was in Venice more than one time.  But there is so much to do, and limited time in which to do it.  I did dance in a snow storm on St. Mark's square one time when we were there.  (By myself, with bunches of Italians dancing by themselves.  Fun.)

My daughter Becky always crammed so much into the weeks we were there that I can't remember the half of it.  We usually stayed in Florence and took the train to Venice one day and Rome the next.  But I remember the glass.  I love beautiful, useless, blown glass.

Chihuly's blown art designs in glass are all "Light and Color."  And are in museums all over the world.  His mother-in-law lives in Oklahoma City so he has donated an entire collection and exhibit to the Museum here.  I was hoping my friend Becky Bacon would love the exhibit.  She did.  She thought it was as beautiful as I did.  The City is lucky to have such a permanent gift.

We went to the National Memorial at the Murrah Building.  I had never been.  It is very impressive.  The chairs are placed on the lawn at approximately the spot where a person died.  It tears your heart to see the tiny chairs for the children.  Each chair has a name on it.  But the thing I didn't expect was the huge rectangular reflecting pool.  It can't be over an inch deep flowing over its four edges.  Moving constantly.  Like a mirror of the chairs.

Memorials.  They remind us.  And people are currently wanting to tear them down.  I wonder where it will end.  I think we should remember everything.  Seeing reminds us.

They have torn down the "Ten Commandments" on the state capitol lawn.  I guess rules of behavior offend some people.  I hope they don't start tearing down crosses on churches.  I can't help but wonder if "seeing" them will offend someone and violate their civil rights.

My sweet friend Becky Bacon is here for three days.  What a treat.  She is my friend who when she is coming I don't have to pick anything up--even if I'm in the middle of a project and my house is a disaster.  Pick stuff up so that it looks like I can keep house--she doesn't give a flip.  She is an RN.

And is married to Joe--the pilot who was an Indian-Indian.  Go back and read my story about him.  He is so funny.  So we tell Joe stories when she comes.  Having been raised in the Maharaja's regime in India, everything was done for him and, unless he is in the air, he is helpless.  Completely.

Well, Becky needed one back up light on her car put in before she drove to see me--asked Joe to do it--and of course, being Joe, he called a friend at the Ford agency.  $40.00 to install a light bulb.  "I should have done it myself," Becky said.  Five or six "Joe" stories later, we were laughing so hard we hurt.

God sent Becky to take care of Joe.  But as I wrote a few months ago, once he steps into an airplane, he is the greatest pilot in the world.  Ken said so--that seals it.  Joe is over seventy now and every day he teaches students how to fly.  Day and night.  "Gets him out of the house doing something he is an expert at--it sure ain't installing lightbulbs or anything else useful," Becky lovingly remarks.

Becky has one grandchild, and will not have any more, so she has poured herself into Joshua--who is brilliant.  She went to see him recently.  Joshua had a test on the ten commandments that day and didn't do so well, so Becky said, "Give me five minutes and you will never forget them again."  Later,  Joshua's father came home and Becky said, "Tell your dad the ten commandments."  Joshua did, and repeated the same thing when his mother came home."

Then Joshua said to Becky, "What's the big deal grandmother, the test is over!!"  Which Becky laughed and told him, "Oh, no Joshua.  The test is just beginning."

Can't help but wonder how many times I have thought, "Well, that's over and done with," only to realize later that God was teaching me something that I would need to know for the rest of my life.

I am amazed at how many different philosophies there are concerning Jesus' message of salvation.  You can pretty much decide what you want to believe, and choose a church accordingly.  The sad thing is that most people who are church members have never read the Bible, and don't have a clue what it really says.

As a result, people choose what church to attend--if they go at all--based on the people they are friends with.  And end up never really knowing what the Bible has to say, except for what they hear from the pulpit.  They go about their lives, trusting in what they hear on Sunday morning instead of reading the history for themselves.  That's scary.  Islam is based on that principle.

My brother Bill, who spent his life in China as a medical missionary doctor, would go into Afghanistan, as well as Viet Nam, Laos--and other middle eastern countries, doing surgery, looking for opportunities to share the gospel.  (He would  sometimes take an ophthalmologist  with him.  Removing cataracts would instantaneously get people's attention.  People had never seen such a thing.  One minute a person was blind; the next minute they could see.)

These countries were so far removed from the Muslim mosques that even though they identified themselves as Muslim, they had no idea what that meant.  They only knew what someone had told them, and since it was extremely rare to find someone who could read, they were held to their religion through fear.   When they heard about a God who loved them, and watched those doctors perform surgery without being paid, they listened.  They had never seen such a thing as that.

Reading is the door to knowledge.  But leaving Bibles with people who couldn't read was pointless.  They only knew what they saw, or what was told to them.

And here we are in a free country, with free education to teach us how to read, with Bibles available to anyone who wants one, and we don't read them.

I don't get it.  

I've spent the entire day getting my piano moved.  Which involved moving 8 other pieces of furniture.   But it is done.  And it fits in the space I wanted it to go--which is a miracle.  

But of course, it involved removing dozens of pictures which I now have to figure out where they need to be hung.

Resulting:  I have nothing inspiring to say today.  I am brain dead. I'll try to do better tomorrow when I get my brain back.

Garage sale-ing sometimes gives a person an unusual opportunity to interact with someone that you would never speak to otherwise.  I don't know why that is, unless it's because you are seemingly anonymous, and that allows you to talk to people you don't know.

I have something that I sometimes say when I go to pay for something.  I say, "Are you a Christian kind of person?"  (If you say, "Are you a Christian" it sounds like you are going to preach to them--so I add "kind of person.") I figure--what the heck--I don't have anything to lose.   They are taking my money.  Usually they say yes and I give them my card and say, "I'm a writer.  I write stories with Christian emphasis.  You might enjoy it.  If not, feel free to throw the card in the trash." Non confrontational.  With a smile.

More often than not, it opens the door for further conversation such as them asking, "How did you get started doing that?" etc.  I share the story of how I began, gather up my sack of stuff to leave--and unless they further question me, I'm usually done.

Well Friday, a man standing nearby heard what I said about writing, asked for my card and said, "Did you say you write about Christianity?"  I told him yes and he said, "I am a Muslim because that is what my parents were.  I don't practice it, but I cannot change my religion or I will dishonor them.  But I want to learn more about Christianity."

So, I asked him if he wanted to read what I wrote and he most definitely did.  I gave him my card which has the web address as well as all my personal information.  My phone number as well.  I heard Ann tell him that the Bible was the source of knowledge about Christ, and that it says that Jesus is the way, the only way, to God.

When Ann and I got back in the car, she said, "I don't think I'm going to be the person--that Christ told us about--who reaps the harvest.  I think I'm the one who sows the seed."

I couldn't agree more.  I don't really care who reaps the harvest.  I'm just scattering seed everywhere I go hoping that some of it takes root.

Sixty-one years ago today--which was also a Friday--I was frantically trying to put the finishing touches on a "Squaw Dress."  I remember--because I was getting married that evening to the love of my life.  And due to nerves, I had decided that I needed something to keep me occupied.  So the previous Monday I had decided to make this dress out of pale beige crinkle cloth, with silver and white trim.  Yards and yards of trim.  Shiny silver in four or five different patterns.  It was beautiful.

I sold the dress recently in the antique shop where Becky keeps a booth for vintage clothing.  One more memory that I let go from my past.  A woman came in and had to have it.  I hope she has enjoyed it.  I did.

I have another dress hanging in my closet that is equally unusable, but this one I can't part with yet.  I designed if from a piece of black silk that had been air-painted with pale pink flowers and green leaves on one side of the bolt--it was an asymmetrical fabric.  The dress I made was for the Marine Corps Ball in 1964 when I was 26 years old.  It was skin tight to the knees--where it flared out into a gathered flounce that reached to the floor with a bow in the back where the flounce began.  

I look at it every now and then to remember.  Two things.  The first is how much Ken and I loved each other.  And the second--how in the world did I ever fit into that slinky dress.  We took a picture of that night.  We're smiling.  Happy.  Ken in his dress uniform--so handsome.  Me in my black silk.

No way I could get into that dress again, and even if I could, where would I wear it!!  When you are young you can wear all sorts of things that you wouldn't dare put on after you turn thirty.  I love that dress.  It is one of the most creative designs I ever attempted.  I'm not a seamstress anymore, but back then, well, I told you a couple of weeks ago that the only thing I can claim to be an expert at is sewing.  That dress is a masterpiece.  I just can't give it up yet.  Even though it is useless to me.

I have been moving furniture all day.  And have driven myself crazy.  I have too many pieces to go in my living room and you can't put twenty pounds of potatoes in a ten pound sack.  Something has to give.  I took one chest I didn't need to the garage.  It's going out.  Gone.

It all started when I decided: that if I was going to play my piano, I had to get it back in here where I walk by it every day.  Right now it is in one of the bedrooms and that isn't working for me.  I attend to the things that  I trip over.  If it is in front of me, I will sit down and play.

Lisa always helps me do this kind of stuff, but she lives in Tulsa and works all week.  And now, she and Becky do estate sales on the weekend.

Rearranging a room is akin to rearranging your life.  We get into such a rut.  And then it becomes comfortable, and changing something upsets your day.  Or your week.

When I was working, with four kids and a husband to feed and keep in clean clothes, every minute of every day was programmed.  I had no free time.  That is just one of the facts of life you live with when you have a big family.  But as they grew up, and left home, there was less to do.

But now, with no kids and no husband, there isn't enough to do to fill up my days, so I protect the things that I am doing with a sense of rigidity--as if I can't do something different.  Probably because if I change something it might leave another block of time that I can't fill.

The mantra of my days now is, "Is there something I can do to help you."  If I can't fill my day up, maybe I can help fill yours?  Maybe that is why God invented grandmothers.  They are available.  They have time.  I have two grandchildren that call me almost every morning.  My job is to listen.  And to be thankful that they love me and want to share their lives with me.

At this stage of life, I have time to help, and time to listen.  That's a good thing.  Maybe I just need to cool it.  Smell the roses.  Type A people don't do that very well.

Friendship is the most wonderful gift.  And true friendship is a rare gift--you love your friend, and they love you back as well.  It takes a long time to establish that kind of relationship.

Today I was talking with one of my long-ago friends, Suzanne who lives in West Texas.  We were supposed to meet up at the high-school reunion last month.  But after driving 9 hours to get there, she fell and broke her hip the night before our party--and ended up spending the next two weeks in a Tulsa hospital.  I called her today to see how she was doing, and she told me a story that I had never heard--about when she and I were in the third grade.  That would have been in 1946.  And describes the inter-tangle  of friendships.  Convoluted.

Judy Cameron was  Carolyn's BFF when they were growing up.  They were both a year behind Suzanne and me in school.  I didn't know really know either of them at that time.  (Carolyn is now my dearest friend.)

Well, Carolyn has stayed in touch with Judy--who now has rheumatoid arthritis and can barely move. She recently was recently horribly burned--she couldn't move to get away from a space heater.  She has had numerous skin grafts and has been in the hospital for months and months.

I mentioned that to Suzanne while we were talking on the phone and Sue said, "I didn't really know Judy very well.  But my mother adored her.  When Judy was in the second grade, the teacher quit and they called my mom to take over.  And all of my life, my mom talked about Judy Cameron--how sweet she was.  Years later, when my mom was really old, one of her fondest memories was of teaching that second grade class.  And what a wonderful child Judy had been."

Sue told me.  I told Carolyn.  And Carolyn told Judy.  Frindships.  Convoluted.  Maybe it will cheer Judy up that someone from seventy years ago, Suzanne's mother, never forgot her.

Friends give our lives meaning.

Yesterday, I wrote about being separated from God.  There are two ways for that to occur.
The first is when you are not His child in the first place.  I am always amazed at people who think that they can pray to God--when they have never given their life to Him.  God hears his children.  Those who have accepted his Son as a sacrifice for sin and put their trust in Him.  Surrendered their lives.

After that transformation has occurred, God puts his Holy Spirit into the mind, body and soul of that person--to lead him in the paths of righteousness.  The church is full of people who have walked the aisle and said, "I believe in Jesus," and have never given Him their life.  They are not righteous.  They do not abandon their life style of disobedience to God.  They are not Christians.  And they are a hindrance to the body of true believers.  We often hear people say, "Look at old so-and-so.  He's a member of your church, and I'm a lot better person than he is."  Which is true.  Being a member of a church doesn't make you a follower of Christ.  Without God's Spirit, baptism just gets you wet.

The devil himself believes in Jesus.  Believing something is true is not the same as acting upon that truth.  I can believe that an airplane can overcome gravity.  I trust in that truth when I get on an airplane and fly somewhere.  I "believe" in a lot of things that I wouldn't trust with my life.

The second way you can be separated from God is when as a Christian, you commit sin, and don't acknowledge, confess, and repent from it.  I wrote about that yesterday.  Think about it like this:  As a mother, I had a "relationship" with my children that could never, ever, be broken.  I will always be their mother.  But when they were growing up, the "fellowship" between us was broken on a regular basis when they disobeyed me.  Things weren't right between us.

When they did something wrong, they lost my ear to hear their requests.  I was upset with them.  And it is the same with God.  As His child, one who has His Spirit within, when you disobey God, the fellowship is broken.  He isn't going to communicate with you until you fix the problem with repentance.  Your relationship is the same--you are His child.  Your fellowship isn't.

In Psalm 32:1 the Psalmist says, "Blessed is he whose transgression if forgiven, whose sin is covered."  A Blessing comes when fellowship is restored.

God is not an insurance policy to use when you get into trouble.  It doesn't work that way.

After David the king repented from his sins, he made an interesting comment in Psalm 32:  "...every one that is godly (hopefully all us who profess Christ) pray unto Him in a time when He may be found..."  The time to pray is when God is listening.  When is that?

David was commenting on the condition that he found himself in--when he had committed the sins of adultery and murder.  He thought he had gotten away with it.  But God quit listening to him.  God "couldn't be found" by David--because of sin.  He was separated from God.

Isaiah  59:1 says:  "Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear.  But your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you, so that He will not hear."

In other words, God has an arm  long enough to reach you--but He won't.  However, there's nothing wrong with his arm.  And God's hearing is perfect--but he won't listen to you.  There's nothing wrong with His hearing.  The Psalm says "...pray while He may be found..."  Reaching God's ear requires a repentant heart.  That does not mean "I'm sorry."  It means, "I'm sorry and I won't do that again.  Ever."  Repentance.  Then, and only then, can He be found.  God's not your personal flunky.

So you can't wait until you need Him to call on Him.  You need to be on a first name basis all the time.  Confessing known sin immediately, repenting, and asking Him to reveal that unknown sin you might be harboring.  In other words, we need to grow up in the Lord.   1 Corinthians. 3:2 says: "Brothers, I could not address you as spiritual, but as worldly--as infants in Christ.  I gave you milk, not meat, for you were not yet ready for meat...for you are worldly."  God expects us to mature.

In Hebrews 5:12-13 he says: "...you are dull of hearing...by this time you ought to be teachers, but you need someone to re-teach you the basic principles of God's word.  You need milk, not solid food.  Everyone who lives on milk is still an infant, inexperienced in the message of righteousness."

The last of the comparisons of  Ecclesiastes.  "A time of war and a time of peace."

I've forgotten what peace in the world looks like.  I can't remember but one time in my life when some nation wasn't at war with another nation.  I was born in 1938, Germany invaded Poland in 1939, and it wasn't until May of 1945 that Germany surrendered, and finally Japan gave up in September of 1945.  WW2 was finally over.

We had five years of relative peace between 1945, and 1950 when Korea exploded--from 1950 to 1953.  (Ken flew in that war.)  It was finally ended when America brokered a semi-peace with Russia, by dividing Korea into North and South along the 38th parallel.  An impossible situation that has haunted us for sixty years and is currently about to blow up again.

Then Vietnam for twenty years.  From 1955 to 1975.  (Twenty years after Korea, Ken went back to war in Vietnam.)  It just goes on and on and on.  And laced in the middle of Vietnam, we had the cold war with Russia--everyone in America was really frightened and many built A-bomb shelters in their back yards.  That was the most frightening time that I remember--because Russia was allied with Cuba and helping them build missile sites aimed at America.  Ken was flying the Cuban defense--practicing delivery of A-bombs.  We had three kids by then.  It was really scary and close to home.

And for most of you younger people, there is the continual, never ending war in the Middle East.

Peace--where is it?  We Christians know that true peace will only come through a relationship with God through Christ.  He said, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world gives, give I unto you.  Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."  John 14:27

The world has never known peace--on the outside.  The only true peace is within us--on the inside.  We know that God has a plan.  We may never know peace in our world, but we trust in Him in the middle of conflict.  He is our peace.  "Thy kingdom come..."

Sad day.  The final goodbye to Mary Lou's beautiful life.  Scott drove me to western Oklahoma for the service.  It was nice to spend time with him.  We recalled a million stories.  He is my Bible scholar--and is always coming up with interesting new things I never thought about.  His Bible exploration came late, but as a result is fresh.  Seen with un-indoctrinated eyes.

Ecclesiastes 3:8 "A time to love, and a time to hate."   There is an old saying, "Love the person; hate the deed."

To be honest, I don't have the capacity to love all persons.  I think only God can do that.  I just love some of the people I know.  And some of the ones I love, I don't really like.  Real love must be accompanied by caring behaviors--giving a person your time, your ear, your prayers.  You can't stretch yourself around very many people if you do all that.

When it says, "A time to love..." perhaps God is recognizing that we can love people during the "time" that we are in contact with them.  There have been people in my life that I truly cared about that I am no longer in contact with.  I treasure their memory, but you move on when you move on.  Perhaps what God is saying is that time is fleeting and there is "a time" in which you are able to give love to someone.  That "the time to love" is a fleeting thing.  You love when you have opportunity.

A friend that I knew long ago wrote me to say that she wished we could have our Bible Study with each other again.  "That time is gone...I don't live there anymore," is what I wrote her.  "We had that time together.  Take what you learned and pass it on to someone else."  Love is meant to be shared.

But "hate" is selective.  When I think of the word "hate," I always associate it with actions, not people.  With things people do.  And things that groups of people believe in and act upon.  There is so much evil in this world.  I hate it.  It makes me sick when I read in the newspaper about what some person has done to another person.  They are sin-sick.  The only real cure is giving your life to Jesus--for Him to change you from the inside out.  The world wants to rehabilitate you from the outside in.  Which doesn't work in the long run.  It just covers up the problem.

I will write tomorrow.

I'm almost through with the quotes from Ecclesiastes.  Three more.  "A time to keep silence, and a time to speak."  This is a hard one for me.  Because...

I have a very hard time keeping silent.  When I know something, and someone else doesn't, I figure that they would like to know what I know.  Wrong.  Not true.  Sometimes you just need to keep your mouth shut.  Sometimes if you wait a minute or two--another person will say what you wanted to say.  And if it is not well received, you don't have to take the flack.  You don't need flack anyway.

And many times, the very thing that is not well received is the truth.  People don't want you to tell them the truth.  They would much rather live with their own delusions.  And just because something is true doesn't mean that you are the one who is supposed to deliver the message anyway.

However:  There is a time to speak up.  If it can be done in casual conversation, great.  If it can't, and it absolutely has to be said, practice in front of a mirror.  Better still, write down exactly what you want to say and memorize it.  Be sure you don't deliver words for spite, or to prove how smart you are.  Be sure that the time to speak is now rather than later.  Be sure it needs to be said.

Sometimes a thing should be said in a public arena.  Sometimes, privately.  Most of the time nothing should be said at all--this is a tricky one.  You don't want to be pompous, but some issues do need to be aired.  Hopefully discussed.  I've carried a picket sign before--for a moral reason--when discussion failed. (Porn, pages open and displayed in a shop right next to the Junior High.)  It wasn't easy.  But by the end of the morning a huge, huge crowd of people had picked up a picket sign and joined me, people who had been fearful of taking the first step--they just needed someone to lead them who was willing to take the flack.  I don't mind taking flack.  (Threatened with a boycott, the store quit displaying and selling it.)  It was such an unusual thing for a woman to do that it made the national news from East to West coast.  Larry Flynt (Hustler) wrote me a horrible letter.  Flack.

However, when it comes to the facts concerning the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, "now" is always the perfect time to speak.  Don't wait.  Sure, you may be rejected, but you also may save someone's life.  People won't know the truth unless someone tells them.  Share the truth.

Ken's sister Mary Lou, who was ninety-two, left us Saturday to be with the Lord and join all of the members of her family.  They are all gone now.  But it is such a blessing to know that they were all Christians.  I know where they are.  We will celebrate her life on Wednesday.

I remember the day Ken took me to meet her.  I was eighteen years old.  Ken had been trying to convince me to marry him, and I think he hoped Mary Lou would tip the scales in his favor.  She was certainly a wonderful person.  When I walked into her house, she smiled at me with a big welcome that said, "We hope you say yes."

Ken adored her.  So did we all.  I will miss the reminiscing with her about the things that only we knew.  Things of long ago.

Ken and Mary Lou's mother and father were such a big part of my growing up.  Their mother, Mary Jane, was my Sunday School teacher.  Their father, "Preacher," was the pastor of my church and baptized me when I accepted Christ.

Although I didn't know Mary Lou when I was growing up, our parents were good friends.  I was in the second grade when Preacher accepted the pastorate at our church.  Mary Lou had already left for college.  But years later, from the day I met her, I loved her.  And she loved me.

Life is so short.  And losing the people you love is hard.  But even harder is losing the people who love you.  There aren't that many of them.

"A time to rend, and a time to sew."  I have not been an expert at very many things in my life.  I have been better than average in a few, and totally incompetent in others.  But one thing I have been an expert at is sewing.  A few weeks ago, Becky did an estate sale for a seamstress who had died.  She told the workers, "We'll put mom in charge of the sewing room."  Which they did.  I know fabric.

When I was about 9 or 10 years old, my mom was in the middle of making me a velvet dress. She and her two sisters were always making me and my cousins dresses out of feed sacks, or out of old dresses they had torn apart--rended--to repurpose.  So getting something made of new cloth, and velvet at that, was special.  But when she tried it on me to adjust the fitting, I told her the dress was ugly because it was brown.  She didn't scold me.  She just folded the dress up, laid the pattern on top of it--along with the thread she had been using and said, "When you are old enough to know what you like and don't like, you are old enough to sew for yourself."  And that was the last thing she ever made for me.

There wasn't money for store bought dresses, so I had to live with the result of the rude insult I had made of my mother's work.  And it didn't take long for me to realize that I had made a big mistake.  My mouth had gotten me into a world of hurt.  From then on, if I wanted clothes, I had to make them for myself.  Out of whatever I could find to make them out of.  I learned what it meant to "rend" old garments and figure out how to redo the fabric.  And ultimately, I learned to sew.  And being the perfectionist that I am, I became an expert at it.

I can run my fingers down a stack of cloth, or a rack of dresses, and identify the content of the fabric by the way it feels to the touch.  I can fit a garment to your body so that it looks like you paid a zillion dollars for it.  I am an expert seamstress because my mom didn't overreact to my rudeness.  She just quit sewing for me.  I don't blame her--why sew for a kid who doesn't appreciate it.  Some of the best lessons we learn in life, are that our actions have unintended results.  There are consequences.

I taught math for 20 years on a college campus.  I sing, I play piano and marimba.  I write. I garden.  All of which I would say I might be a little better than average at doing--but not expert by a long shot.  But I am an expert seamstress.  I learned the hard way.  I don't recommend it.

The next Ecclesiastes "saying" is, "A time to keep, and a time to cast away."  When I was younger, I kept almost everything that came my way.  Plastic bags, bread twist ties, empty glass jars, cardboard shoe boxes, paper towel and toilet paper tubes.  I had four children, and school projects were always in need of that kind of stuff.  But there came a day when I gladly threw it all away.  The same for extra linens, kitchen gadgets that I never used, cosmetics that were tried once and stuffed in a drawer.

When money is short, you have that feeling that there might come a day when you will need those things and won't be able to dig up the cash to repurchase--if you throw it out.  So you keep it.

My folks were "Depression survivors."  They came through the 20's when no one had anything.  My generation, and those that came after me, has no concept of the degree of poverty they endured.  When my mom died, and I was cleaning out the house, there were canned goods stashed under the beds and in the closets.  The freezer was crammed.  She had a real fear of not having enough to eat someday.  Women from that period didn't know if they would have enough food to be able to put a meal together for their families.  Men were desperate for jobs.  What we call a "depression" today is a small hiccup in the stock market.  In the twenties, people didn't know where their next meal was coming from--or if they would have one.

But there is a time to "cast away."  Sometimes, Ann and I go to garage sales--and I am amazed at some people's garages.  You can't get in them for the stacks of stuff.  So crammed that they couldn't find what they were looking for even if they needed it.

We need "give away" hearts.  If we don't need it, the best thing to do is to find someone who has a real need.  God provided for us.  Maybe we can provide for someone else.

Matthew, who was a tax collector, learned that lesson from Jesus.  He wrote Jesus' words to remind us:  "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt and where thieves break through and steal.  But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt and where thieves do not break through nor steal."  Matthew 6:19-20

"A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing..."  I'm a hugger.  I'm usually the one who reaches out with my arms open and draws you into a hug whether you want one or not.  I have no idea why that is.  But I do know that there are times when it is inappropriate.  Knowing when, and when not, is the secret.

Some young people today don't have a clue when they have crossed over the line of PDA.  (Public Displays of Affection.) They probably don't even know there is a line--in today's world.  But there is, and observing it shows that you have good manners.  So much for the subject of embracing and not embracing.  Use discretion.

The next phrase the "Preacher" in Ecclesiastes says is: "A time to get, and a time to lose..."  Some people live their entire lives getting.  More, more, more.   Yes, getting is important when it comes to the basics of life.  Food, shelter, transportation, medical help, etc... but sometimes some of our most important life lessons are learned by losing.

When I was fourteen, I wanted to try out for twirler in the band.  I lost.  However, I met the band director at those tryouts, and he told me that I should be playing an instrument in the band for the coming year.  So I joined the band and learned to play percussion instruments:  Timpani (kettle) drums, bell lyre, and marimba.  Which I never would have done had I won at twirling tryouts.   As a result of losing, I won.  And for the last 65 years have played marimba for civic events, churches, orchestras and just this week for a service at a local retirement community.  Marimba has lasted.  Twirling wouldn't have.

I am dubious of the "self esteem" movement that gives every child a prize in sports, etc.  I think there is something to be learned by losing.  For one, when you win, it makes your success much sweeter.  And sometimes it is a reality check to tell you that you need to change your focus to something different--something at which you can be successful.  Losing can be a superb "re-director."  If you are led to falsely believe that you have won something that you have actually lost, you will face the real world unprepared.  Losing is a part of life.  Sometimes you will learn something new through your loss--like playing the marimba.

"A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together..."

If you ever lived on a lot or acreage that was stony ground, and you wanted to plant a garden, there were a lot of rocks that had to be removed before a garden could happen.  And you had to dig deep.  Those stones had to go--to give the roots of the plants a place to flourish and grow.

You don't buy stony ground if you plan to be a farmer.  The soil is your livelihood and must be free from rocks, or you will destroy your plow before you can even think about planting crops.  Even the best land occasionally has stones.  They have to be cast out.

However, stones are the building blocks of civilization.  You don't have to drive very far in Oklahoma to find a house built from red rock.  In Oklahoma, larger buildings in most small towns dot the landscape--constructed with red rock.  And in towns across America, court houses, jails, fire stations and banks are still standing that were built in the 20's and 30's by using rock--local rocks that change colors as you move West--depending on what kind of stones are in the ground in that area.   We have a cemetery in Edmond that is surrounded by a fence of random red rocks that people gathered up for that purpose.  "There was a time to gather stones together."

The man who does my yard work has brought me a load of large stones every week this year.  He has surrounded my Koi pond with them.  And lined some of the flower beds as well.  The farmer who lives across from my daughter Pat--out in the country--is clearing his fields of these huge boulders and piling them up at the fence.  Free for the taking.  So, my gardner has gathered them up in his pickup every week to bring to me.

Now, when it rains, my Koi pond doesn't fill up with dirt washed down from the house behind me.  The stones stop the run off.  No more muddy water.  My fish are happy.  I am happy.

The farmer cast the stones away, and my gardner gathered them up.  Biblical!