My land line phone isn't working.  And I spilled water on my cell phone.  Which means that I am effectually out of commission.  It sure is quiet.  However, my friend Carolyn drove out to see why I wasn't answering my phone and if I had dropped off the face of the earth.

I was in Tulsa all day.  Yearly Mammogram--which always gives me a little pause.  Everything was okay.  It has been six years and I am am still cancer free.  Praise God.  I don't think I could survive Chemo again.  Sickest I ever was in my life.  Some of my friends breezed through Chemo.  I wasn't that lucky.  Breast cancer is now an epidemic.  Much more common than the current hysteria over measles.  You would think someone would figure out what is causing it.  One in four women will get it sometime in their lives.

In Matthew 8:16-17, Jesus healed a number of people.  One man, a military centurion, came many many miles to ask that Jesus heal his servant.  He said, "Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed.  I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me.  I say to this man, Go, and he goes.  And to another, Come, and he comes."  The centurion recognized that Jesus was under the authority of God.

Jesus turned and spoke to his followers and disciples and said, "I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel."

Jesus didn't heal everyone.  And there are some people, some religious groups, who say that you are sick because you don't have enough faith.  Rediculous.  God heals whomever he chooses to heal.  He has a master plan.  We just play a small part.  The hard part is sincerely wanting to be part of his plan--no matter what.

I wouldn't be human if I didn't tell you that that is hard sometimes.


 

I remember a story about my dad that I haven't told you.  When WWII was over, he opened an appliance store.  One day when he was delivering a washing machine on the Spavinaw road, this side of the dam,  he saw a man across the way, standing on his front porch who wouldn't stop staring at him.  He unloaded the washer, and was leaving when the man approached him and said, "I know you.  You're one of the Swan boys, from Wilberton.  You're Elmer."  My dad was very surprised.  He didn't recognize the man.  Dad had grown up in Wilberton, but had moved to Pryor many, many years previously.   "Who are you?" he asked.

The man continued.  "You wouldn't remember me.  You were just a little kid at the time.  But I know something about your family.  I know who murdered your dad.  Some people tried to say that your father killed himself, but that isn't true.  I know who killed him."

My father was seven when his dad was murdered.  William Swan was very wealthy, and it was the wild west.   Murder was not uncommon.  But the question was always there.  Who did it?  My father was shocked.  Shaken.  "Who are you?" he asked again.  "What do you know about my dad?"

"If you will come back tomorrow, I'll tell you all about it," the man said.  "I don't want to talk about it right now.  Seeing you has been an upset for me.  It was a long time ago and I'd almost forgotten."

Dad returned to Spavinaw road the next morning, eager to hear the man's story and find out what he knew.  But when he pulled into the man's driveway, the house was standing empty.  Everything was gone.  No car, no furniture, and no man.  My dad asked around but no one knew what happened to him.  The man had vanished.  Was he the murderer?  Or was he afraid that if he told who did it that he would be in danger.  It was a question that haunted dad for the rest of his life.  He always wondered what would have happened if he had insisted that the man talk to him that day.  Or insisted on learning his name.  William was murdered in 1917.  Everyone who would know about it is gone.  It will always be a mystery.  Only God knows.  At some point, the murderer faced God and was judged.  

The news is full of wars and rumors of wars.   The people of the world are trying to kill each other.  But they have been doing that for as long as we have historical knowledge of the human race.  In Matthew 24:6, Jesus is speaking: "...you shall hear of wars and rumors of wars:  don't be troubled: for all theses things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.  For nation shall rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom..."  Why can't people get along with each other??!!      

I have been reading this last couple of weeks (to occupy my mind).  Four John Grishom novels that I had missed somewhere along the way.  And now I am halfway through "How the Irish Saved Civilization" by Thomas Cahill.  I had read this book a few years ago, loved it enough to add it to my permanent collection of books, and am completely fascinated with it all over again.

It takes you through all recorded civilized history, the wars they fought, and the heroes and great minds of each age.  It moves toward the fall of Rome and the burning and destruction of the records of history by the barbarians when they invaded Rome--which begins the dark ages.  Civilized living seems to be lost.  But way off in a forgotten land, far from the events in Rome, the Irish--a wild and woolly people come to the rescue.  Patrick has Christianized Ireland.  And even though they are on the outskirts of civilization--they are hardly civilized themselves--they quietly pull off a literary miracle.  And from an isolated people who for the most part can't read or write.  

It is a fascinating book.  Cahill draws a huge amount of history from the letters of Paul.  It is interesting to remember that Paul was a Roman.  He came from a wealthy family who sent him to study at the feet of Gamaliel--a doctor of the law. The leading scholar of that day.  Acts 5:34,
Acts 22:3.

We have many of the lost records of history because of the Irish.

The inspection on the new house went well.  I guess that means I will sign a contract on March second.  Then I won't be so nuts.  I won't be in limbo any more.  If any of you have any room on your prayer list for very "trivial" things, pray for me that this house will sell soon.

I just found out that one of my extended relatives (Ann Harrison) is reading my blog.  She doesn't like breakfast either and gave me some suggestions.  Nice.  Tomorrow I am going to finish up the jar of Prego.

This new house has a Koi pond.  I will have to get a lawn chair and put it next to the pond so that I can watch the fish.  I hope Squig doesn't think they are dinner.

"In my Father's house are many mansions.  If it were not so I would have told you.  I go to prepare a place for you...that where I am there you may be also."  John 14:2-3b

I have the feeling that Christ is also preparing a place for me in Edmond.  Everything seems to fall in place when I let him do the doing.  I am such a control freak.  That is the one area of my Christian life that always gives me trouble.  I want to plan everything.  I want to know what is going to happen next.  Like I said yesterday, I like to move in a one, two, three direction.  And God doesn't always clue me in on His plans.

His plans are better than mine anyway.

The reason I ate all the Cheetos was because a local discount store had them ten for a dollar.  I figured that if they didn't cost anything then they couldn't be all that bad.  It was totally out of character for me.  The problem is that I bought forty bags.  It is just one more notch in my downward dietary demise.

Breakfast lately has been spaghetti and Prego.  Which is probably an improvement.  For breakfast, I have eaten a can of black eyed peas seasoned with bacon drippings, a can of hominy, an enchilada, gumbo and rice, and a leftover something I couldn't really identify--I think it was fried okra.  Occasionally I break down from embarrassment and fix some oatmeal.  I have never been able to face an egg in the morning (or any other time) so breakfast is a challenge.  My solution for years has been to skip it.  But my doctor is not happy with that, so I am experimenting with morning food.  So far, so good--except for the Cheetos.

I have quit cooking almost altogether.  Becky loads me up with home cooked individual meals (frozen) every time I go to Edmond.  Gumbo, meatballs, ham and red-eye gravy (yum), eggplant parmesan--so I have plenty in the freezer to thaw.  And I usually cook every other Sunday or so
for Scott and Stacy and my brother Bill and Janet.  This Sunday I am cooking stew and cornbread.  So I do occasionally break down and start something from scratch.  I have cooked at least two meals a day for the last fifty seven years.  Ken always had hot food.  I find it interesting that I have so little interest in it now.

It is a good thing I don't care for sweets.  But I don't like them.  Sugar is not my thing.  Bread, well that is another story.  I have a sweet friend (Kathy) who bakes me bread--hot rolls--from time to time.  I usually eat them all in a day.  I never met a carbohydrate that I didn't love.

Romans 14:17  "For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink (and Cheetos); but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit."

I am a very orderly person.  I always start at the beginning of a task--never in the middle--and proceed from there:  One, two, three....but this last couple of weeks I have been in limbo.  I called my daughter Pat and told her that I had gone through fifteen bags of Cheetos in the last fifteen days, and she started laughing at me.  "You never do things like that," she said.  "You never let us eat junk food.   You never even bought junk food.  You always eat healthy!"

"I know, I know," I told her.  "But I am in limbo over this move and Cheetos seemed like a good distraction.  I understand now why people who are stressed find comfort in food.  However, it is not comforting.  I want to pack some things, but it is too early to start doing that.  I want to hire painters and carpenters and carpet men, but I still don't have a final contract.  I have to wait.  And wait.   I lie awake at night trying to decide what step one, two and three are going to be.  What do I pack first?  Who do I hire to do the first repairs on the house?  How am I going to get all of this done by myself?"

We are supposed to take our burdens to the Lord in prayer.  And I do.  I just pick them back up when I am through praying.  God must get totally disgusted with me.  I am trying to stop thinking about it all, since it doesn't do any good and just makes me mentally tired.  But it surely is difficult.  Ken always had such a calming effect on me.  He never worried about anything.  He brought peace to my Type A personality.  I wish he was here.  He would say, "Everything will turn out okay.  Stop worrying about it."

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not unto your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge him and he shall direct your paths." Proverbs 3:6

I'm trying.  I'm really trying.  I certainly do need some  mind clearing direction.

546.  That's how many times I have written to you.  I have no idea what I have told you and what I haven't.  I am sure that I am going to start repeating myself sooner or later.  I have been going back and rereading things that I have written to remind myself what I have said.

Last week was traumatic.  Squig and I are still trying to figure out how to live by ourselves without Bo around.  It is much quieter.  Bo liked to talk.  He would sit by my chair, open his mouth really wide and make all sorts of sounds.  I never did figure out what he was saying, but I would go through the list of things that it might be, and eventually hit on something that satisfied him.  Squig, on the other hand, only makes noise when he knows I am leaving the house.  The minute I reach for my coat and gloves, he begins to whimper.  I'm a soft touch, so usually he goes with me.

But on Sunday, he never asks to go.  He just watches me get ready for church, crawls up into my bed, and goes to sleep.  I almost believe that he knows that seven days have gone by and that he will have to wait on me to get home.  You would think that he would want to go to Sunday School!!

Every other month, I play the piano.  Once every eight weeks, I play the marimba.  I am in charge of setting up all the special music, so everyone is on an eight week rotation.  But if new talent shows up in the congregation, I will have to reorganize.  Someone asked me this morning what would happen when I moved.  I told them that I would come back and play the marimba every eight weeks.  

I am going to have to find a church in Edmond, but until then, this is my church home.  My church family.  "How will you know which church to go to?" someone asked me.  Well, I have a plan.  I am going to go by different churches during the week, talk to the pastors, and find out which ones need a Bible teacher.  I am not going to quit teaching.  I can quit the marimba and the piano, but not the sharing of God's word.  God has given me so very much.  I must give something back.

"For unto whom much is given...much is required." Luke 12: 48b