A HORRIBLE BUT VERY COMMON DISEASE

I organized the neighborhood garage sale last weekend. It was a bit of work, collecting the information for ads for a dozen households and a church, making and distributing maps, having new signs made up, and putting them up around the area. To defray expenses, everyone was supposed to send me $10. I gave them a self-addressed envelope, and most stuck a check in the mail.

But one lady put cash from her sale in the envelope, and planned to drop it off to me “later.” Day after day, she would glance at it on her kitchen counter, but day after day, she was so busy she would forget to bring it with her in her car and complete the errand.

Finally, she emailed me, promising to drop it off that day. By way of apology, she explained that she has “CRS.”

I said I was sorry to hear that. I thought it was like MS or something.

But noooooooo. She explained what it is: “Can’t Remember Squat.” Or words to that effect.

AAAIIIEEE!!! I think I’ve got it, too!

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Prayer request: A very loveable but abused Chesapeake Bay retriever named Angel needs a good home, where she can be the only dog and can give and receive a lot of love. She looks like a chocolate Lab and is said to be house-trained, very good with kids and cats, and very loyal to “her” people. Her former owner drank too much, and reportedly she would growl at him to “protect” the lady of the house. So he kicked her out. What a world, Lord! This story comes through an organization called Helping Hands For Animals. Anyone who is interested in adopting her should please call (402) 426-9330 or email rosehh4a@hotmail.com. Lord God, You have someone out there for whom Angel would make the perfect companion. Holy Matchmaker, do Your blessed thing for this sweet dog. (Psalm 104:24)

LATER, GATOR

Maddy, 5, and I were en route to pick up Sunny Bone-O from the rural kennel in which she’d vacationed during our recent trip. We passed a common sight in springtime Nebraska: an irrigation ditch full to overflowing from recent rains. The water looked cool and inviting on a hot May afternoon.

“Ooh, Maddy,” I murmured. “Would you like to go swimming in there?”

“NOOOOOOO!” she exclaimed, adamantly. “There might be ALLIGATORS!”

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Prayer request: My baby brother Danny will undergo Lasik eye surgery today in Boston. Father God, protect his eyesight so that he can continue to have a vision of Your will for his life. Sharpen his focus after successful surgery so that he will be even more skilled at making his loved ones happy and healthy, and living his life for You. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

SEEING THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

A friend’s son was graduating with his engineering degree. At the ceremony, there were engineers as far as the eye could see, in all facets of that challenging field.

They all looked alike . . . EXCEPT . . .

. . . the mining engineers all wore their lighted mining hardhats instead of mortar boards.

How fitting: a little “miner” humor . . . to celebrate completion of a very difficult major.

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Prayer request: Baby Jackson arrived last week, 6 pounds, 12 ounces, and lots of blonde hair. Mother (and father!) are recovering nicely, though Jackson does have some medical problems. Oh, Lord, what a gift You have given with this precious and amazing life. What joy and peace we have in knowing that You are above all good and giving. We pray fervently for solutions to his medical challenges so that he can join his big sister Maci in all sorts of childhood fun. (Romans 15:13)

Praise reports: We praise You, Father, for a young Christian graduating with high honors, a true light in Your world. The son of Nebraska Right to Life director Julie Schmit-Albin is graduating from Kansas University and has accepted a full ride scholarship to the University of Minnesota for their MD/PhD program under the National Institute of Health's Medical Science Training Program. He wants to be a medical researcher. Bless and keep this great young mind and the heart that seeks to help others. (Psalm 121:5-8)

WE DON'T, EITHER

A big college graduation ceremony is a circus of creativity in the ways graduates find to signal their parents and loved ones where they are sitting.

In the football stadium at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill on Sunday, there was a sea of Carolina blue caps and gowns. There were big green balloons and red heart balloons, striped golf umbrellas opening and closing, posters with big arrows pointing downward, and lots of cell phones buzzing.

But our favorite sign was duct-taped to a mortar board:

“I DON’T WANT TO GROW UP!!!”

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Prayer request: Father, there’s a very nice young man named Matt who is pitching in the state baseball tournament this evening. His dad is a honey, and is trimming our trees today. Lord, if it be Your will, be with Matt and take him out on a . . . limb . . . of excellence today. Let Matt pitch the game of his life, and let that . . . branch . . . of Your family revel in an awesome memory and celebration in this precious graduation time. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

A CROWN OF BLESSING

Pleasant words are as an honeycomb,
sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.
— Proverbs 16:24

We’re going halfway across the country to attend our eldest daughter’s college graduation. We’re bringing loads of Kleenex and film. We will wear bikinis and carry umbrellas for a typical May day in Chapel Hill, N.C.

Like a million other mothers at graduation time, the soundtrack in my heart is the song from that old Kodak ad, “Where Are You Going, My Little One?”

And, like all those other moms, I’m wondering if I did my job OK. Did I pack love into every molecule of our daughter’s being, enough to last her through thick and thin?

Can she function in a kitchen, the executive suite, or both? Can she thread a needle, dance the tango and change a tire?

Does she have her feet solidly on the ground, and yet is still reaching for the stars?

Most of all: did I praise her enough to polish her heart ‘til it glows?

Sometimes, we mothers are more critics than coaches and cheerleaders. And that’s too bad.

All children desperately need words of praise from the important people in their lives. That’s how they get the crown of blessing . . . the knowledge that they are somebody special, one in a billion, irreplaceable, irresistible, unique, awesome, amazing and miraculous.

They get a glimpse of how God sees them. And that’s crucial, for a happy life.

My mother did it for me. She used to call me her “joy child.” Wow! I felt important! My siblings might have been smarter and funnier and better-looking. But I was the one who gave my mother joy.

Ever since, I’ve tried to live up to that billing, and give people joy. I don’t always make it. But I try.

It’s funny how my mom tagged me, so young. Or maybe her words created that desire in me – the spark of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

All I know is, you can provide a turning point for someone else’s whole life with just one comment. And it doesn’t cost a thing. That’s God’s economics: a little goes a long, long way.

The praise can be from strangers, too: when Jordan was two days old, my milk hadn’t come in yet at the hospital. They could give her only sugar water while we waited.

She was frantically hungry and crying nonstop in the nursery, waking the other newborns. The nurses brought her to me every hour, hoping milk production would begin so she’d eat, and quiet down, before they lost their minds or their hearing, not necessarily in that order.

Consequently, I had gotten little sleep for 48 hours. My anxiety was building moment by moment. In the middle of that long, terrible night, one nurse carried Jordan, still screaming, out of my room, crooning melodramatically, “Oh, you poor little thing. You’re so hungry! So hollow!”

I burst into tears. I was a complete failure as a mother. Better put her up for adoption. Maybe she can have a decent life with someone who’s competent.

But an hour later, a different nurse brought her in. There was still no milk, but this nurse was patient and smiling. On the way out, she looked at the baby’s nametag, and exclaimed with a voice full of sincerity and awe:

“Jordan Williams! That sounds like an AUTHOR!”

An author? Gee! What a compliment! The nurse couldn’t have known that I worked as a news reporter, and considered authors a cut above, worthy of high praise and admiration.

It made me feel sooooooo good. I relaxed. I slept. Next morning, Dairy Queen opened for business.

Now fast-forward 21 years. Jordan Williams is graduating Phi Beta Kappa as an English major, and her honors thesis on poet Edmund Spenser was named the No. 1 best undergraduate thesis this year.

That sounds like an AUTHOR, all right!

She lived up to her billing!

But what do you expect? It’s in her blood. She’s a joy child, born and bred.

Happy graduation, Jordan . . . and all you other graduates. You’re great! You’re wonderful! God loves you! Now, get out there and spread some joy!

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Prayer request: Father, we lift up the community of Liberty, Mo., suffering in the wake of a public-school bus accident that killed two men. My good friend reports that the school district is doing a great job with the children, helping them sort through their fears and feelings in this tragedy. We pray for comfort for the victims’ families, and for a spirit of hope to pervade that town. (2 Corinthians 4:8)

SHE'S A STARFISH!

I was putting Maddy to bed after a busy day. She laid back, stretched and sprawled out on her cozy bed, spreading out her limbs as far as they would go.

Then she chortled: “Look! I’m a STARFISH!!!”

A miniature sea monster, a tiny tuna and a little mermaid, too.

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Prayer request: Father, we pray earnestly for an unwed mother, Michaela, to answer softly and wisely in her conversation tonight with the father of her soon-to-be-born little boy. Turn this man’s heart toward her, Lord. Of course we would ask for him to marry her, or at least provide significantly for them financially. But his family has been very discouraging about that. It just makes us sad, Father, to see people stray so far from Your design for life, birth and child-rearing. But it’s never too late. Do a big work in his heart and inspire him to be a Godly man, we pray. (Proverbs 15:1)

JER-BEAR GOES DOMESTIC

Teenage girls have a finely-honed sense of irony. They have nicknamed our daughter’s very gruff, serious, intimidating, tough, but excellent, chemistry teacher, whose first name is Jerry, “Jer-Bear.” Behind his back, of course!

Well, the other day, Jer-Bear was writing on the blackboard when an older student burst into the room.

“May I ask you a question?” he asked the teacher. The teacher nodded and put his chalk down.

The boy then asked brightly: “Are you going to bring your special brownies to the Advanced Placement review session tonight?”

You could have heard a pin drop. The teacher remained silent.

“Or how about those ‘blondies,’ with the chocolate chips?”

Again, the teacher was silent. The student left, perplexed. So the class was left wondering:

Has Jer-Bear gone soft on us?

Does he run home from school and put on a frilly apron?

Does he wear footie pajamas at night with a Barney motif?

Does he sleep in a racecar bed?

I’m not sure much chemistry was executed after that odd interruption. But at least there was a chemical reaction of humor and mirth among the kids, which is much needed right before final exams.

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Prayer request: We pray for successful surgery in Minneapolis Thursday for a young Nebraska girl named Berea. Father, there’s a darling baby scheduled to be delivered on Thursday, too, two weeks early because of his mother’s preeclampsia condition. We call down a squadron of saints and angels to surround Jaci in the birth of Jackson, and we praise You for her healthy pregnancy and alert medical team. Lord, we praise You for my dear friend Cindy’s energy rebound and relative lack of symptoms as she goes through her third round of chemo. Last, but certainly not least, we lift up a 39-year-old man who is hospitalized with an acute liver problem. His mother and sister are friends of my friends, and they are wonderful Christians who have served You and Your people with grace. While doctors don’t hold out much hope, we point to Your word and the many times where impossible situations are met with miraculous solutions. Our two favorite words in the whole Bible are: “. . . but God. . . .” Lord Jesus, we pray that You will spare this young man and show us Your glory, once again. (1 Peter 1:23)

DIAMONDS, JEWELS AND HOLLYHOCKS

What was the most wonderful Mother’s Day gift, besides, of course, that fabulous new garden bench? The one sitting out near my new shade wonderland? You know, close to The North One-Fortieth? The world’s most schizophrenic garden since I tend it like mad on some days, and ignore it, neglect it and flood it on others?

You may say mothers who received expensive electronics, jewelry, clothing and dinners out were the luckiest. But I beg to differ. I know someone who trumped ‘em all.

Cousin Joy got hollyhocks. They’re pretty hard to beat for sheer sentimental value.

She remembers her mother’s hollyhocks, and taking straight pins to make ladies’ ballroom gowns out of the blooms. Well, last summer, some strange seeds must have blown into her daughter’s garden, and zoom! The plants shot up into what Cousin Joy eventually “diagnosed” as hollyhocks. And boy, were they tall, pink and gorgeous last year; everybody commented on them.

So it was fitting that, this year for Mother’s Day, several pots of them appeared for Joy, shared from her daughter’s happy surprise. She was delighted. Childhood memories: you may not be able to flaunt ‘em, and you can’t hock hollyhocks, but boy, are they priceless.

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Prayer request: Father, there’s a pitcher who is looking for a team to play with this summer, and there’s a team in dire need of a second pitcher. Give our coaches extra persuasive power to bring this excellent girl onto our team and make this a summer to remember, for their good and Your glory, Lord. (James 1:12)

WHAT MOMS ARE WORTH

Yay-uhhhh!

Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!

A study by Salary.com shows that stay-at-home moms would earn an average of $131,471 annually, including overtime, if they received a paycheck.

The annual base pay for a 40-hour stay-at-home mom's workweek would be $43,461. Mothers would earn an additional $88,009 a year for 60 hours of overtime each week.

Manicure, pedicure, massage, limo, diamonds, furs, Godiva chocolates . . . start lining ‘em up.

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Prayer request: We have a lot of loved ones on the road today, in California, Colorado and North Carolina. Keep them alert and safe, Lord, and to their destinations in apple-pie order. (Isaiah 43:2)

HEAVEN-SCENTED DEPARTURE

But I have all, and abound:
I am full, having received . . . the things which were sent from you,
an odour of a sweet smell,
a sacrifice acceptable, well pleasing to God.

— Philippians 4:18


A friend's mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness at age 81.

She came to her daughter’s home to die.

Nobody would have thought a thing of it, if the family had decided to pay professionals to take care of her in a nursing home or hospice center to ease the transition and conserve their time and energy.

But my friend wanted to be her mother's final caregiver, even though she had no nursing experience and had never done anything like this before.

She went to part-time on her job, and transformed her living room into, well, a dying room.

A cheerful one, though. The hospital bed was surrounded by chairs, for lots of expected visitors in the sunny room, just steps from the kitchen.

My friend's whole family helped. But most of the burden still fell to the daughter: making meals, shampooing her mother's hair, lifting her, dispensing her medications, changing the sheets, questioning the medical people, handling the endless paperwork, and on and on.

The dying lady made just one simple request: her favorite flowers were sweet peas. She asked her daughter to plant some outside the window, where she could watch them grow.

My 40-something friend had never done much more than water store-bought flowerpots. She didn't even know what sweet peas are. They're an old-fashioned flower you don't see too often these days.

But, glad to have something tangible she could do to please her mom, she bought the seeds for 79 cents, scratched up a little dirt, and planted them.

Under her mom's coaching, my friend coaxed the seeds to germination and kept the roots cool with a little mulch. She rigged up a string trellis for the vines to climb.

The weeks passed. Together, mother and daughter watched the vines spread out across the trellis. The tendrils were holding on tight . . . just like my friend and her mother.

The illness got worse.

Finally, one summer day, the mother died.

My friend came home from the funeral exhausted. She saw her mother’s empty bed. She grabbed the pillow and sniffed her mother's fading scent. Painful reality slammed into her. The good front she had put up suddenly collapsed. She threw herself on the bed, and burst into horrendous sobs.

"Mom! Mom! You're dead! You're gone! I'll never see you again!" She sobbed some more.

Finally, blinking through tears, she looked outside. Her cried-out eyes focused on the sweet pea plant. The first flower had blossomed!

It was big.

It was white.

It was perfect.

It was beautiful.

She ran out and found that it had a scent that could only be described as . . . heavenly.

She cried some more. This time, they were tears of joy.

Job well done, the flower was saying.

That’s spiritual economics. The sweet peas had cost just pennies but gave her mother great pleasure in the midst of suffering. The daughter had made a relatively small sacrifice of time and effort for her mother in those last days, but the simple little acts of love are the ones that mean everything.

Doing what’s right. Expressing love. Bringing joy.

It’s the fullness of a summer morning, the promise of a bud about to burst wide open, the persistence of a vine climbing eagerly up, higher, toward the light.

Isn't that how the Gardener wants us to be?

Stretching toward the light. Growing. Expanding. All the while holding on tight.

Then, when you’re ready . . . you bloom.

Later, a friend told her that in the language of flowers, the sweet pea means "delicate pleasures and departure."

Departure leads to arrival. The flower signaled that her mother had arrived in a better place, complete and well, and in full bloom.

She knew it was true. She rejoiced. She felt peace.

That's the Gardener's perfect timing.

And you can count on it, Sweet Pea.

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Prayer request: We lift up all mothers today for Your tender blessing and encouragement, Lord. We especially pray for Karen, who is very sad because she lost her own mother just over a year ago and misses her a great deal. We also lift up Bobbie, the mother of my dear old friend, whose husband has Alzheimer’s. May the Holy Spirit’s gentle nurturing, reassurance and inspiration be theirs on this special day, and always. (Proverbs 31:28)

WITH LENIN ON THE $1 BILL, STALIN ON THE $5, TROTSKY ON THE . . .?

I was driving around yesterday afternoon enjoying the warm breezes, a little overtired after a late night. I drowsed through a stoplight, and motored onward in a bit of a trance in the soothing sunlight. All of a sudden, I could swear I saw this sign in front of a bank:

FIRST

COMMUNIST

BANK

Whaaa? I blinked. The middle word melted into “Community.”

Ohhhh. Whew.

Gee. I know that creeping socialism and Big Brother overregulation are concerns, but I didn’t know things had gotten THAT bad.

At least the logo didn’t look like a hammer and sickle.

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Praise reports: I read a column by a Christian writer exhorting you to imagine how it will feel some day in heaven to know that people aren’t there because you didn’t tell them about your Savior. You’re supposed to pray, “Open a door,” to give you a chance to talk about spiritual matters with someone in your circle of influence . . . then “open their heart” so they will be receptive to your message . . . and “open my mouth” so that you won’t chicken out. I bowed my head right here at the keyboard and prayed those things. Then, boom! On errands Friday, I ran into someone I haven’t seen for a year, who is on my “spiritual things-to-do” list. We talked, and we’re going to talk again. It was just so natural; I knew I was in the right place at the right time. Lord Jesus, You are such an amazing paving contractor – paving the way for each of us to make a difference for You wherever we go. It’s great to be out on the roads of life, knowing that You’re always one step ahead, making them ready for our journeys. (Proverbs 22:4)

POISON IVY GETTING YOUR GOAT?

There’s a million ways to make a buck in this world. But here’s a new one: you rent out your GOATS to eat poison ivy off people’s property!

In another one of those “That’s Incredible” quirks about life on Earth, it seems that goats are the only critters who are not bothered when they are around poison ivy. In fact, they consider it a delicacy. So a friend of mine down in North Carolina, where there are lots of tall trees and lots of poison ivy, knows a guy who rents out his goats.

They’ll come on your property and eat you out of house and home – kind of like distant relatives – and do whatever on your grass and generally make you look wacky. But then they leave, and the poison ivy is gone.

We call a less-than-Pinehurst-quality golf course near us the “goat ranch.” Come to think of it, I’ve never seen any poison ivy on it. Hmm. Maybe they’ve got goats. Maybe THAT’S what happened to all my lost balls.

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Praise reports: Thank You, Jesus, for the great outcome on a medical test about a heart condition for a prayer partner with a very great heart, Chris . . . and for the good victory for State Sen. Mike Foley along with pro-life lobbyist Gregg Schlepperbach and Julie Schmit-Albin of Nebraska Right to Life, for obtaining a half-million dollars in federal funding for emergency pregnancy services in Nebraska, emulating a program described on www.realalternatives.org (Mark 9:23)

Prayer request: We lift our hearts in prayer for Kay, a woman in the prime of life who is battling a rare form of malignant melanoma . . . we also pray for solace and strength in what may be the last days of Sarah O’Mara, immediate past president of the Nebraska Right to Life board, who has breast cancer and is hospitalized in Kearney. Father, they have been faithful; reveal to them and their loved ones Your covenant of love. (Deuteronomy 7:12)

MAKING WAVES WITH A YOUNGER SISTER

He’s now in his 50s and she’s about 10 years younger. Their dad was a teacher and their mom stayed at home. So they didn’t live lavishly. But they had a great childhood, and still have a great relationship as siblings – the big brother and the baby sister.

Except for one thing: the brother’s suppressed desire.

Recently, his sister teased him about something from their past, and the big brother with the gray hair whirled around and retorted:

“Oh, yeah? Well, if it hadn’t been for YOU, we could have had a BOAT!”

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Prayer request: On this 54th Annual National Day of Prayer, we lift up our nation, its leaders and its people to Your Throne, Father, for correction, guidance and encouragement. We pray that our leaders will look to You first for direction, and that all of us will be filled with Your love and grace. Special thanks, Lord, for my good friend Marilyn, my spiritual mentor, the one who was there for me when I was being born again, who chaired this morning’s huge citywide prayer breakfast. What a wonderful and powerful warrior You have raised up in her. And may her son David finish school strong and move on with confidence, making a mark for You. (Hebrews 4:16)

FOR A CONCERT AT (PAD)LOCK LOMOND?

They must be studying music from other countries in preschool. We were riding along in the car with the radio on when Maddy informed me that the music we were listening to was made by “pipe cleaners.”

Hunhhh? I got an image of colorful pipe cleaners waving to and fro to the beat, or being used as a very kid-friendly violin bow. But somehow, I knew that was . . . twisted.

Then it hit me: BAGPIPES!

But I didn’t correct her. Great Scott, why spoil her fun? I decided to take . . . the high road.

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Prayer request: Today marks the one-year anniversary of the horribly tragic traffic accident just a few blocks from our home that took the lives of two popular and Godly teenagers coming home from a Christian youth group meeting. We are grateful for the strength and grace of the teenage driver, Cori, who did run a stop sign to cause the crash, but miraculously survived it. Although she has had some serious, private struggles, she has set a wonderful example for other students, all of whom are bound to make mistakes in their lives and will need to know how to deal with them, with humility and with full trust in You. Lord, we praise You for the love and kindness of Cori’s classmates, who elected her Prom Princess a few weeks ago – a richly deserved award and one that points Cori more toward the light and less toward the dark forces which would seek to use her anguish to pull her down. We pray for her dear parents and brothers, who have suffered with her every step of the way. We stand in the gap against those same attacking dark forces on behalf of Nick and Kayla’s families and friends -- particularly their mothers. Many times, it must have seemed to them that the earth gave way and the mountains fell into the sea. They need You so much, Lord. Oh, Savior and Master, come to them afresh and anew, and show them that their children are safe and alive eternally in Your arms. We trust that someday, we’ll all understand why this happened, and it will be well with our souls. (Psalm 46:1,2)

GRABBED IN BED

I’m not the only one who did too “mulch” of a good thing and got a sore bod over the weekend. Some friends bought and unloaded 80 bags of mulch, and spread most of it around their yard, working hard all day. They tottered, stiff as Frankensteins, and fell into bed.

At 7 a.m., the Mrs. hobbled over to the alarm clock, eyes still tightly shut, and smacked the snooze alarm, hoping to finish her interesting dream. She hobbled back over to the bed, which has a brand-new mattress about five inches taller than their old bed. She’s only 5’1”, so it was a stretch anyway. But sore and sleepy, it was a dangerous precipice.

She lifted her knee onto the mattress for some leverage to pull herself in . . . but she merely hovered on the edge, not in, not out, but in the twilight zone of balance for who knows how long . . .

. . . when suddenly, out of the Mr.'s total deep sleep, with his eyes still closed and his breathing deep and rhythmic, his big hand reached out, grabbed her jammy top, and yanked her onto the mattress with a mighty tug. Then he continued his deep sleep.

Thanks! She needed that! But no, she didn’t finish her dream. She got the giggles: she’s heard of sleep-walking, and sleep-talking, but never, before this, “sleep-tugging.”

Her aching muscles were still a . . . sore subject . . . but at least she could face the day with a smile.

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Prayer request: Wisdom for the voters of Lincoln today, Lord, that they would choose people who live by Your rules. We also ask for miraculous healing for a dear mother and grandmother, Jo Blume, age 58, who went to the doctor because she was dizzy, and found out she has several tumors pressing against her skull. In addition, there are three women, all under 45, who have recently been diagnosed with breast cancer and are embarking on chemo and radiation: Katie, Julie and Diane. We pray for mercy, compassion and comfort for them, Father. (Exodus 33:19)

ALOHA . . . OY!

In a fit of energy and frugality, I had a mountain of mulch dumped on our driveway last week. I ordered 25 cubic yards of primeau shredded hardwood to be lovingly spread on our garden areas to make them the best-dressed in town.

I forgot the one thing about mulch: it doesn’t just JUMP to where you want it to go. You have to PUT it there! Ohhh, my achin’ back.

Job One was to weed under our beautiful but sprawling Japanese snow crab tree, and then pile the mulch on thick underneath. The tree is in full blossom right now. You know how low to the ground crab trees are: I had to hunch over and crawl under there with bucket after bucket of mulch, kind of like Snow White’s dwarves lugging sacks of coal up out of the mine. Yeah, Grumpy: that was me.

Every time I’d back out for another load, I’d get little sprigs of white blossoms tangled up in my hair.

Since it was in the 40s and I had on my oldest gardening duds, with dirt smudges on my cheeks and my nails worn down to the nubbin, I looked like the Hawaiian hula dancer from hell.

I don’t think Hawaii’s tourist bureau is going to call me to pose for brochure photos any time soon. But that’s OK: I fully expect “Mulch Magazine” to call any minute – and make me their centerfold.

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Prayer request: Our daughter Eden has wrenched her back and is in quite a lot of pain today. Heal her quickly and help her focus on her studies and not miss a beat in softball, Lord. She loves You and claims You as her Protector. Let her know that You are the God who will . . . watch her back. (Psalm 91:14)

DRY-CLEAN ONLY

But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light,
we have fellowship one with another,
and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.
-- 1 John 1:7

She’s a lovely, talented girl, and she’s dating the son of a friend of mine, away at college. Like everybody else in the world, she has a past.

Oh, she was active in Christian groups in high school. But then she did some “stuff” she shouldn’t have. Eventually, she repented. Since then, her faith has been growing by leaps and bounds.

Well, her roommate this year is an agnostic. She has been trying to witness to her, but has been rebuffed many times. The roommate would say that the idea of a personal relationship with God was “irrational.” She declined to read the Bible and pray.

The roommate had lots of quotes taped to her dorm walls, though. None were from the Bible, but it led my young friend to believe she really was a seeker. So she asked her to come to church with her.

To her surprise, the roommate agreed. It turns out this really cute BOY was there every week, and that was the real reason. But oh, well. Whatever works.

Then the roommate agreed to go to a women’s retreat, another surprise. That night, they stayed up really late, talking about all kinds of things, including faith. The young Christian continually prayed for words of wisdom to help the roommate with her doubts.

Next morning, she left a Bible verse on her pillow, Jeremiah 29:13: "And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.”

That week in youth group, the discussion was about baptism. She remembered how, when she was in fifth grade and was baptized, her sponsor gushed, “Don’t you just feel wonderful? All clean and new?” but she hadn’t felt that way at all. She had been too busy deciding whether to plug her nose, and anticipating getting to take communion.

Now that she had sinned big and repented, and matured in her faith, it had crossed her mind that maybe she should get re-baptized – and this time, mean it.

She left the baptism discussion early to go to her boyfriend’s Ultimate Frisbee game – but like a Frisbee, her head was spinning. The rest of the week, she felt stressed out and down about her finances, her schoolwork, and her tendency to excessively diet and exercise, something she knew was bad for her, but she kept doing it, anyway.

That Sunday morning, her devotional was on Romans 7 and how we keep doing what we know we shouldn’t, even though Christ has defeated sin for us. You know, the age-old problem: “the flesh is willing but the spirit is weak.”

At church, her minister suddenly announced something new and unusual: they were going to offer people a chance to be baptized, right then and there. In the Bible, baptism was always spontaneous, never scheduled. So they thought they should follow suit.

Then what did the minister read? That same passage from Romans 7.

She sat there, stunned, with her boyfriend on one side and her roommate on the other. Her heart raced and she got tingles. This was a “prompting.” She should go forward, up to the front of the church, and be baptized. Just do it.

Oh, but she didn’t want to.

She was nervous!

What would people think?

What would she say for her testimony?

Worst of all, she was wearing a brand-new skirt that day. It had not been cheap. But it would get ruined: it was DRY-CLEAN ONLY!!!

Wait a minute!

Stop it!

That’s a dumb reason!

She scolded herself. There’s the flesh, winning out over the spirit again.

But she sat there, agonizing, not wanting to be the first to stand up.

And then guess who did?

Her roommate – the agnostic!

The FORMER agnostic . . . thanks to her.

With smiles and tears, they got baptized together – fully immersed – skirt and all.

How much better than dry-cleaning, though . . . to be bathed, refreshed and made new in the Water of Life.

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Prayer request: We lift up to you all the students who are facing their final exams this week, Father. Reward those who have been working hard throughout the semester. Grant them strength and stamina for these last days of effort. Let them know how much You like to see Your children doing their best. (Hebrews 10:23)

A LOGICAL REASON FOR NOT DIETING

I read about a mother of a 2-year-old who diligently dieted until she had dropped a pants size. You’ll see why I chose that word in a moment:

She was proud that she could wear her yoga pants lower on her hips to show off her more svelte physique. She hauled her little child with her on errands, including a stop at the post office with an armload of packages to mail. She instructed her little one to stay close to her, and the little one complied by velcro’ing herself to Mom’s pant legs. . . .

You guessed it! The newly loose sweatpants plunged down around Mom’s ankles, right there in the crowded P.O. You could say she was more embarrassed than P.O.’ed.

But that’s why I don’t diet. It’s easy enough already for me to look silly in public. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Pass the M&M’s.

--------------------------------

Praise report: Father, in the three houses we’ve lived in since we were married, there has always been a “signature” tree. First it was the enormous silver maple that shaded our back yard and three others. Next it was the magnificent Chinese elm that survived the wave of elm disease and gave so much character and life to our driveway and front yard. Now it is the incredibly beautiful Japanese snow crab right outside our kitchen window. It buds red, turns pink, and blossoms white, like a huge popcorn ball right now. Lord, Your amazing creativity shows up so much in the wonderful trees that share our lives. We look up at them . . . and see You. (Genesis 2:9)

SUSAN'S FINALLY GOTTEN AROUND TO HER DUSTING

(photo of an enormous beige cloud descending on a desert settlement)

This picture shows:

An eruption of dust kicked up by Susan’s sudden decision to clean the window blinds throughout her house after procrastinating for several years.

Rare color photo taken in the 1930s Dust Bowl of Thayer County, Nebraska, near Carleton, or so an old friend who used to live there surmised, even though they didn’t have color photography then, which just must explain why it is so doggone rare.

Sandstorm traveling 60 mph into an air base at Al Asad, Iraq, on Tuesday, and circulated on the Internet with the amusing caption, “Run, Forest!”

-------------------------------------

Praise report: We thank You, Father, for good news on the health front: our beloved friend Cindy has a normal white-blood count after two rounds of chemotherapy for chronic leukemia – moving from a level of 400,000 to 7,000 in less than two months, which is amazing, miraculous and wonderful, though she still has two more rounds of chemo and a bone marrow transplant ahead of her. We thank You, too, for the excellent healing of a broken arm and an eye problem, both sustained by our dear relative Robbie in Durham, N.C., who is still willing to host our daughter’s graduation party in a few weeks despite those health challenges. Bless and keep these two marvelous and righteous women, Lord, and draw them to Your heart. (Psalm 146:8)

STILL NOT TO THE FIN-ISH LINE

A neighbor’s fish named “Fish” is over 12 years old, and is still going strong, despite a few pesky disabilities. Talk about the bass “running” . . . well, this little fish is “limping,” but he’s still in the race.

He has hemorrhages, which show up as Halloween eyes – blood red. He has strokes, after which he swims sideways like a drunken sailor for a while.

The big, fancy-tailed goldfish is mostly blind, so they purposely overfeed him in hopes that he can at least stumble onto some of the food before it falls to the gravel bottom of his aquarium.

No wonder he’s lived to be such a geezer. He was a tough fishie from the start. He was purchased in a school of a dozen “feeder” fish. They are usually little ones who are kind of sick and on their last “fins,” sold as “scrap” by the pet stores. He was supposed to be dinner for the resident piranha, now long gone, ominously named “Guido.”

Apparently, our hero was able to duck and bob and weave, and avoid getting eaten, for so many days that my neighbor took a shine to him. She fished him out, and put him in his own aquarium, where he has long since outlived Guido, and had the place of honor to the left of the kitchen sink ever since.

Now, that’s a fish story they can tell at the next AARG meeting – American Association of Retired Goldfish.

------------------------

Prayer request: Today is the birthday of someone I love very much, my cousin Mollie. May she be showered with Your blessings today, Lord, and reminded many times of how many people love her and wish her a happy, happy day. Give her the gift of increased faith, Lord Jesus, and strength to bear her burdens humbly and well. (Hebrews 11:1)

BUT WHERE ARE THE BASS GOING?!?

This is the time of year when the fishermen flaunt their wisdom upon the rest of us unwashed masses. Spring fishing. Ah, yes. You know, they’ll stroke their unshaven chins under their ancient felt hats, give one of those “I remember how it was in 1957” faraway looks, and intone with reverence:

“Walp . . . the lilacs are in bloom, so the bass are running.”

Fish out of water, and in a hurry? What for? It reminds me of all those bulls that run through those narrow streets in Spain, and makes about as much sense. Fish . . . running? What, with Nike swooshes on their fins?

I guess these fishermen like their little superstitions and traditions. All I know is, I’d rather smell an arm full of lilacs than an armful of fish, any old day.

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Prayer request: A young woman named Chris has found a lump in her skin that she fears may be cancer. She has had to have precancerous lesions removed from her skin in the recent past. Oh, Lord, she is so young! We pray in Jesus’ Name that this lump be something easy to fix and nothing to worry about. (Psalm 103:13)

SHE GUMPED ME

Maddy is only 5 but she can already count to 10 in four languages: English, Spanish, French . . . and Gump.

She has discovered that noise you can make with your mouth closed when you push a bubble of air upward with your tongue. It makes a guttural noise – kind of a “gump.”

Well, last night at bedtime, she was making me guess what she was saying in Gump syllables. “I love my tiger” wasn’t hard because she was holding her stuffed animal and giving me lots of eyebrow clues. “I love you!” was really easy.

But then she stumped me: “Gump gump gump gump gump gump!”

Hunh? What sweet sentiment was she trying to impart?

“Gump gump gump gump gump GUMP!!!”

Whaaa? “I love Daddy upSTAIRS”? “I hope you have sweet DREAMS”?

She collapsed in hilarity. Noooooo:

“I am picking my NOSE!!!”

In bridge, you get trumped. In motherhood, you get . . . Gumped.

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Prayer request: A young man who was suffering and in jeopardy because of an untreated mental illness has returned home to Omaha from the Pacific Northwest, accompanied by his brother, and is speaking positively about resuming his medication. We praise You and thank You, Father, for hearing our prayers for David, and sending mature Christians into his path to help steer him toward the help he needs. Bring him all the way home now, Father – into new Christian birth, and a full and wonderful relationship with You, setting a marvelous example for his family and friends to follow. (Romans 5:3,4)

A HUSBAND'S OTHER DREAM

The other day, we heard about a talkative appendectomy patient who was finally stifled by an anesthesiologist’s swift and firm application of a gas mask. We agreed that a technological breakthrough that would instantly quiet a talkative wife was a husband’s dream.

Well, mine came home over the weekend with another one: he is going all out training our hunting dog, and now he has gotten her a SHOCK COLLAR.

I can see it now. He’ll put a few diamonds on one as a disguise, give it to me, and:

“Leftovers for dinner AGAIN?” ZZZZZAP!

“You spent HOW much at the garden store?” ZZZZZAP!

“You FORGOT to get the oil changed . . . since 2001?” ZZZZZAP!!!!!

Don’t feel sorry for me. I can’t wait to put one of my own . . . on the remote.

Ancient golf reruns, huh? ZZZZZAP!

Cheesy war movies? ZZZZZAP!

Talking heads on Fox, when a great movie with Mel or Kevin is on the other channel? ZZZZZAP!!!!!

This could get addictive: dueling electrodes. The real shock will be what we could spend on batteries.

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Prayer request: I have a couple of important meetings this week that could help me make a longtime dream come true. Father, I ask in Jesus’ Name that the counsel I receive be wise and insightful. May Your creativity and practicality guide their words and help me see how to get where I want to go. (Isaiah 30:21)

BABY BIRDIES

Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings,
and not one of them is forgotten before God?
But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.
-- Luke 12:6,7

Long ago, a little boy we know encountered a dead baby bird on the driveway after a big thunderstorm. His family can still quote him exactly:

“The rain hitted him on the head.

“The thun-dare scaaaaaaaaa-wed him.

“The lightning struckeded him, and deaded him.”

He said it solemnly. He said it sincerely. And no one will ever let him live it down.

But hey: I have yet to meet a kid who doesn’t love baby birdies.

I’m right there with them. Recently, a bird got caught inside our porch. She kept throwing herself at the windows, repeatedly stunning herself when what seemed to be air, wasn’t.

I went out there with a broom, nudged her onto it, and gave her a quick ride to the nearest door. She zoomed to the nearest tree branch, and gave me a loud, long pep talk.

“Figures you’d use your broom,” my husband remarked. (He thinks I’m a lot nicer to timid woodland creatures than to him.)

The point is, I was desperate to help her. Everyone I know has a similar story. Why should we care so much about birds? Most of the ones around our homes, you can’t eat. Their songs aren’t that melodious, their feathers aren’t that colorful, and they don’t make good pets.

You know: robins and sparrows, starlings and chickadees. We live around a lot of little gray and brown birdies that don’t seem to be anything special.

Kind of like us humans. You can’t eat us, we don’t sing that well, our plumage is drab sweatshirts and jeans, and we don’t make very good pets, either.

But birds can fly. How we love to watch them fly! They can defy gravity! They can transcend things that tie other creatures down!

And if THEY can do it. . . .

On the wings of birds fly our own unspoken wishes, that from time to time we might fly . . . that there might be things about us that are worthwhile and marvelous and unexpected, too. Things to make others love us, and take care of us . . . including that Big Bird in the sky, the One Who made us all in the first place.

As usual, the heart of a child sees this most clearly.

It happened last week, between rainstorms: Maddy, 5, was on an evening jaunt with her dad on the ATV, down to our neighborhood pond to check on the visiting geese and the box turtle.

I was fixing dinner when suddenly, there was a noise outside like a speeding tank. The door slammed open. Furious little footsteps pounded down the hall.

“MOM!!! There’s a baby birdie! Down at the pond! He’s tangled in fishing line! He can’t fly and he’s getting tired! He’s going to die if we don’t cut him loose! I need the scissors!”

Her eyebrows formed a perfect “V” of loving concern.

Her hair had been whipped into a wet mop in the rain and the wind.

My heart nearly burst at the sight of her, in her ladybug raincoat and stomp-the-puddles boots, cautiously carrying the sharp end of those scissors in her fist while hurrying back to the waiting ATV.

They rushed back to the young robin and cut the line. He immediately vaulted to the nearest high branch, and gave them a loud, long pep talk.

When they came home, they were drenched, but beaming.

They were heroes.

They’d noticed, and they’d cared.

They’d saved a life.

By their efforts, they’d shared in the ecstatic moment of release, that joyous flight.

They felt a little bit like God feels. He does that kind of thing every second of every day, for all of His chicks, fancy and fine-feathered, or meek and plain.

It’s an old song, but it has wings:

I sing because I’m happy /
I sing because I’m free /
His eye is on the sparrow /
And I know He watches me.

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Praise report: This may be one that men post on refrigerators and bulletin boards with glee, Lord, but that’s OK. A few weeks ago, a reader of my daily email asked for prayer for her marriage, which was mired in middle-age “stuff” and looked to be ending in an ice age. Prayer warriors went to battle for her, and recommended that she turn up the thermostat, bigtime, in the romance department. That’s right, s-e-x. It’s so foreign to us women to be forward, Father, and yet You made men to need us, and vice versa. Well, glory be, the strategy worked to melt the ice and jump-start the relationship anew. She writes, “We started marriage counseling on our 16th wedding anniversary -- a new beginning. Hard work ahead, but both 100% committed that it is worth the effort. We are also going to a Christian marriage renewal weekend at the end of the month so it will be great to have a few days away together to just focus on our marriage and each other.” We praise You and thank You, Lord, for the wife’s faithfulness and the husband’s loving and delighted response, and for all those who prayed and now share in this victory. May this precious couple live happily ever after, by Your grace. (1 Corinthians 7:3)

A HUSBAND'S DREAM

A very fun and bubbly friend was telling us about her emergency appendectomy in Des Moines. She was there alone with her daughter for a soccer tournament. It was quite an ordeal, but her hilarious facial expressions, gestures and storytelling skills made listening to her long, long account a very enjoyable experience.

Finally, she got to the surgery itself, which was in the middle of the night. She said she was telling a really, really funny story while they had her all ready to go on the table. The anesthesiologist waited patiently as she continued to tell this really, really funny story.

Finally, he said briskly, “That is a really, really funny story, but now it’s time for you to stop telling it,” and he snapped that gas mask on her talkative face and shut her up, faster than you could say “Jiminy Christmas.”

We all laughed when someone exclaimed, “It’s a husband’s dream!”

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Prayer request: Someone who is very sweet and reserved has become increasingly dismayed over the unhealthy choices that are being made by someone she cares about. She is mustering the courage to speak out about it and risk their longtime friendship. We pray for wisdom, patience and a winning mix of empathy and reality for her in the delivery of that perhaps unwelcome message. We are sure it bears Your truth and expresses Your will. In Jesus’ Name, we ask that You bless that conversation, Father, and turn that life around fully toward You. (James 5:7,8)

LIFE'S A BEACH, AND SO'S THE LIVING ROOM

I was reading an interview with Steve Brown, the dean of radio in Omaha, and he told about his friendship with the Beach Boys dating from the early days of his career in southern California.

After they got pretty famous and had leased the home of Edgar Rice Burroughs – the “Tarzan” guy – Brown was invited over for a visit.

Beach Boy Mike Love met Brown at the door and “shhh’ed” him, but not before he had spotted the formal living room. All of the furniture was gone and the carpet was covered with six inches of sand. The only other thing in the room was a little pup tent over in the corner.

Inside, sleeping, was brilliant songwriter Brian Wilson. It seems he had had five dump trucks worth of beach sand brought there so that he could “get the beach feeling back.”

Gee. I’m weird and quirky, and I have a lot of dirt in my house. Wonder why I’m not a famous millionaire by now?

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Prayer request: Lord, we pray for a hedge of protection around the entire Omaha-Council Bluffs metropolitan area, especially for the pharmacies. Why? There is a report that a major arrest has been made in drug trafficking – which is of course good news – but that may portend a rash of robberies and potential violence in area pharmacies as the drug trade adjusts to the loss of a major source of supply. Don’t let it happen, Lord. We pray against addiction in all forms, and for peace of mind and Your blessing on pharmacists, now and always. (Psalm 37:28)

BUTTERFLIES DON'T JUST WAVE, THEY DANCE

Footnote to yesterday’s story about a waving butterfly: in this beautiful message from a teacher of first-grade girls in a Catholic school, we learn more about the butterfly as a Christian symbol . . . and source of delight:

“Today we released our batch of Painted Lady butterflies into the school courtyard. We nursed them through the larva and pupa stages and this week actually saw them come out of the chrysalis in our butterfly pavilion. What a grand learning experience for first graders!

“But as you know, there is always an inside, sometimes deeper story when little girls are involved. Yesterday after lunch the girls were at their highest level of excitement with the announcement that we had a Pope, and while we were writing in our journals and watching the news coverage to learn the name of the new Pope, our fifth and final butterfly was born (with all those Vatican bells for background music).

“Well, they could hardly contain themselves. Meanwhile, the night before, something happened, and in the morning, we found two of the butterflies flat on the bottom of the pavilion, supposedly dead. I thought, ‘That's OK, we'll talk about life AND death.’ But soon after the Pope was announced, one of the ‘deceased’ butterflies somehow started to maneuver his wings and began to fly!

“The girls insisted it was a MIRACLE from the new Pope and named it Lazarus! (I know, you are really shaking your head by now.) Anyway, when I shared this story with my cousin from Denver last night, she responded that she's surprised they didn't name the newest butterfly . . . yes, you guessed it . . . Benedict!

“Today it was in the 80's so we trekked outside, unzipped the pavilion and let them soar . . . except the one that died. I gently laid it on the ground by some bushes and before long the girls formed a little procession and told me they were having a funeral, and so sweetly laid layers of dandelions, hyacinths and forsythia blossoms in a mound atop.

“And then they danced around as the healthy butterflies danced above them.”

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Praise report: We are blessed by Your choice of Pope Benedict, Father, and we pray down all wisdom, courage, strength, truth and health upon him. Through his leadership and example, may many apparently-dead souls spring back to life, and soar. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

HE WAVED AT ME

A butterfly got in to our screened-in porch, where we eat dinner during the spring and summer. We were all gazing up at him. He was alternately trying to escape through the skylight and resting on the woodwork. We were wondering what kind he was.

I think he was a Red Admiral, but it’s been a while since I’ve boned up on butterflies. I need to do so, with a young daughter coming up through the ranks ready to pack in the information in every department.

Maddy then reminded me of the amusing and amazing egocentricity of the 5-year-old mind as the butterfly opened and closed its wings:

“He waved at me!”

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Prayer request: Hearts are heavy at the death Tuesday of a beautiful wife and mother named Anne. She had been stricken while teaching at a local university three weeks ago, and apparently never recovered consciousness. As her grown children gather and friends surround this family, we pray that the unbreakable strand of faith in You will wrap everyone together, with the hope that they’ll all see her again one day in heaven. (Proverbs 14:32)

BUTTED BY BAMBI?

I love this neighborhood. The other day, someone’s gelding got loose and galloped through our yard, leaving hoofprints six inches deep in the rain-soaked lawn. I helped corral him with a bucket of sweet grain, and don’t mind the gashes in our grass because it was such a fun few moments chasing him down.

Periodically, we have to deal with a flock of very tall, very bossy wild turkeys who stroll across the roads out here and refuse to move faster than their customary 1 mph. Again, we don’t mind sharing the road with them. I marvel at how much they all look like E.T.

But this latest one takes the cake: my neighbor thought she saw a deer out her main-floor window the other morning at 7. She grabbed a camera, and sure enough, in her front yard, there was a yearling. He still had white spots on his flank, but he was pretty big.

She crouched down low, hands on knees, to get at eye level with him, and said soothingly, “Hi, Baby!” But he wasn’t soothed.

He lowered his head and ran at her – butting her with his head – knocking her to the ground!

She scrambled up and got inside, grateful that he hadn’t grown any antlers yet.

She is the first person I’ve ever met to have been butted by a Bambi. Let’s just be glad it wasn’t a baby buffalo!

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Praise report: Two little girls who had to undergo surgeries for bone spurs in the Twin Cities have returned after highly-successful procedures for both. Thank You, Jesus, for the good medical team surrounding Chasse and Hazelle. May they run and play painlessly, and joyously, this summer. (Psalm 89:15,16)

WHAT A WAY TO GO

A friend’s aunt passed away recently while singing “Cabaret” at a karaoke bar. She was in her 70s, which paints a rather unusual picture. The words to that song make it a pretty apt swan song:

What good is sitting
Alone in your room,
Come hear the music play!
Life is a cabaret, old chum,
Come to the cabaret.

Put down the knitting,
The book and the broom,
It's time for a holiday.
Life is a cabaret, old chum,
Come to the cabaret.

Come taste the wine,
Come hear the band.
Come blow your horn,
Start celebrating!
Right this way,
Your table's waiting!

No use permitting
Some prophet of doom
To wipe every smile away.
Life is a cabaret, old chum,
Come to the cabaret.

I used to have
This girlfriend known as "Elsie"
With whom I shared
Four sordid rooms In Chelsea
She wasn't what you'd call
A blushing flower
As a matter of fact
She rented by the hour.

The day she died
The neighbors came to snicker;
Well, that's what comes
From too much pills and liquor.
But when I saw her
Laid out like a queen,
She was the happiest corpse
I'd ever seen.

I think of Elsie to this very day.
I remember how she'd turn
To me and say:

What good is sitting
Alone in your room?
Come hear the music play!
Life is a cabaret, old chum,
Come to the cabaret.

And as for me,
And as for me,
I made my mind up
Back in Chelsea
When I go,I'm going like Elsie!

Start by admitting
From cradle to tomb
There isn't that long a stay.
Life is a cabaret, old chum.
Only a cabaret, old chum,
And I love a cabaret!

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Prayer request: The same friend whose aunt died with her singing boots on has since lost the stepfather of her ex-husband – two family deaths within a couple of weeks. She’s not sure either person was a believer. Lord, we pray that they were, and we pray that this loss will inspire others within that family to come to saving faith – the REAL Cabaret! (Deuteronomy 4:29)

FOR THE LOVE OF FREMONT

We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak,
and not to please ourselves.
-- Romans 15:1

When we got our puppy Sunny Bone-O, a friend of mine was extra happy for us. He had a very special canine companion for 16 years. He swears he’ll never have another one.

Fremont was a German Shepherd mix with stand-up, show-dog ears. He weighed over 100 pounds. My friend lived then in Fremont, Neb., so he gave him that name temporarily. It stuck.

They were inseparable. Fremont had the wisest eyes, and never messed up a thing. He seemed to know what you were thinking. Maybe he did.

The years passed. The hips began to go. Fremont downshifted to an occasional lope, then slow padding. Finally, he moved very little at all.

My friend gave Fremont the best of veterinary care. He nearly drove him to a vet school in another state for a series of operations. But there was no guarantee. So they didn’t go.

Time passed. People said he really ought to put that old dog to sleep and put him out of his misery.

My friend would stiffen. Misery? What misery? There was no evidence Fremont was in pain. He never whined or made a mess. He was just old.

Finally, they went to the dreaded vet appointment. The doctor said now was the time. It had to be done.

My friend’s eyes filled with tears. He picked up his dog in his arms, loaded him in his car, and went back home.

The vet, who got a little choked up himself, waited ‘til the end of the day, and then he called.

“Well,” my friend said, “if you come over right now, and do it right here, where he can be at home with me right by his side, I guess I’ll let you do it.”

And that’s how it went down: a gentle needle stick, and a beloved dog’s eyes closed for the last time, his head cradled in the lap of his master, who sobbed his heart out, right there on the front porch.

Even though it was more than a year ago, when he told me about it, there was such love and pain in his eyes, reminding me so much of the dogs I have loved and lost, that I got a little choked up myself.

Throughout the recent Terri Schiavo ordeal, my mind kept replaying that scene, evidence of a loyal, faithful, covenant relationship.

You know, so much of what goes on with pets mirrors what goes on with people. Companion animals are family, after all. They’re the “farm team” for human relations.

We all have stories about times when our beloved pets have died. It’s important for kids to see our tears and experience the wrenching loss and loneliness. They’ll see what love is, and how the more civilized you are, the better you treat the ones who are weak and sick.

So here’s what keeps going through my mind: would anybody I know purposely starve and dehydrate a pet to death?

No matter how old and frail and “useless” they had become, would anybody do that?

Furthermore, mercy killing may be humane stewardship of an animal, but what about doing anything that you know will kill an innocent human being made in the image of God? And your action would prevent God from working a miracle if He so chooses?

Much less outright killing them by denying them food and water?

And yet here was Terri Schiavo, a disabled woman, younger than I am, on no special life support other than food and water – no ventilator, no “heroic measures.” She was not in a “persistent vegetative state,” according to solid medical opinion. There was hope she might revive.

And yet she was deprived of food and water until she died.

You know the old saying: “That shouldn’t happen to a dog.”

No kidding.

And if she had had the love in her life that Fremont did, and legal backing for her absolute right to life, it wouldn’t have.

All we can do is live and learn . . . and promise each other, “Never again.”
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Praise report: Father, we are so thankful that our beloved friend Cindy’s leukemia is so responsive to chemotherapy. Her white count dropped from 400,000 to 60,000 after the first course recently. The doctor said it was the most “brilliant” response he’d ever seen. Help keep her spirits up and keep her body fighting so successfully. We praise You and thank You for sending so many prayer warriors streaming in to the river of her life, and we ask that they keep it up. (John 7:38)

POMP, CIRCUMSTANCE AND FRITO PIE

I’ve just heard about the most creative food that will be served at an upcoming high-school graduation party.

The son was a baseball jock all through school, and the daughter has played softball since she was itty bitty. So the parents have basically spent the last 15 years at ballfields, and enjoyed many a traditional concession stand meal.

So it makes me smile to learn that, at her graduation party, Kristy is going to serve “Frito Pies.”

These are the immensely high-calorie, sodium-drenched, but delicious, treats where you tug open an individual-size sack of Fritos corn chips, mush the chips to the sides a little bit, blob in a big dollop of chili, and top with shredded cheddar cheese. Close it and shake it. Then eat this pie right out of the sack, with a plastic spoon. Ah! Now, THAT’S good.

What a way to mark the end of an era: with ballfield gourmet.

--------------------------------

Prayer request: We pray for two young people, Dan and Caroline, to be guided by the Holy Spirit in conversations they are having this weekend about their future. O Lord of all relationships, keep them tender-hearted toward one another, gentle in patience, excellent in trust, heeding Your counsel, and working together to compromise and be of one accord, for their good and Your glory. (Hebrews 10:23)

A WEED BY ANY OTHER NAME

Back and biceps are barking this morning after several hours of yardwork yesterday. What a glorious spring day for it. But I’m dog-tired, my muscles are howling, and working that hard at my age can be . . . rough, rough.

Maddy, 5, cheered me up. She dashed around, barefoot, long braid flying, green shorts outfit making her look like a tulip about to pop. She brought me countless dandelions, which she calls “flowers,” and helped me spot the rest.

She made me smile, too. “Mom! Why are you digging up the Lucky Charms?” she demanded.

Naw, these are only THREE-leaf clovers. Not the same at all.

Ohhhhh. That’s OK, then. She zoomed off.

I felt lucky and charmed, with a more cheerful attitude about weeding . . . though I’m still a crab about crabgrass.

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Prayer request: We lift up for Your tender guidance this morning, Lord, a man named Patrick, who is going to see an old friend in the hospital, at her request, to explain the Gospel to her. Margie has cancer and is hemorrhaging in the brain. Oh, Jesus, prepare her heart and propel his words for direct hits, so that she will believe and be able to spend eternity with loved ones, most of all You. (John 3:3-7)

THE THINGS THEY SHOW IN SHOW 'N' TELL

Some people remember their times tables. Some remember their science experiment that went awry, or their big report on Nicaragua.

But what my friend Dan remembers about school is the time his kindergarten classmate Tommy pulled a KNIFE on the teacher. For money? Power? More graham crackers with his milk? Noooooo.

He wanted her to let the class finish Show ‘n’ Tell.

Now, there’s an intense individual. Wonder what he’s like all grown up? Gulp.

It seems the class had been rowdy, and their teacher stopped Show ‘n’ Tell in midstream as a punishment. Tommy snapped, because he had something COOL to show, and now here she was, canceling his turn in the spotlight.

So he pulled out the cool thing that he wanted to show and tell about – his brother’s KNIFE – and brandished it with his demands.

My friend says the teacher’s eyes got like saucers. She gingerly inched toward Tommy with her hand outstretched, murmuring something like, “That’s nice, Tommy, everyone has seen it; now put it in my hand, and go see the principal.”

I’m sure the principal did a little show ‘n’ tell of his own, with Tommy’s parents. With the reports coming out about weapons in schools today, maybe they should rename it “show ‘n’ tell ‘n’ frisk.”

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Praise report: Thank You, Jesus, for the happy, healthy birth of a friend’s new granddaughter, Elizabeth, to be called Lizzie. May these days of joy and great change in that family be savored and shared, for Your glory. May Lizzie’s parents lead her to come to love You, and may Lizzie be close to her grandmother all her life and gain from that very special relationship. (Psalm 91:14)

WHEN THINGS GET SMOKIN' IN ALGEBRA CLASS

A few of us were talking about our fondest school memories. Mine was the day three things happened in rapid succession in algebra class. It was like a movie. This shows you why, although I never liked algebra, I always liked algebra class:

1) A girl was so intimidated by our teacher that she wet her pants at her desk rather than ask for permission to go to the restroom, and . . .

2) A rather chubby girl at the next desk was so shocked by this that, when she leaned over to helpfully put a piece of paper on the puddle to try to blot it up, she came crashing down onto the floor. She landed on her side, her girth wedged tight in between the desktop and attached chair, and . . .

(I distinctly remember her little legs churning helplessly fore and aft, trying to right herself. I don’t remember laughing; I just remember my disbelieving eyes being riveted on the scene, until, last, but not least:)

3) The teacher got so stressed out over all of this, he lit a CIGARETTE and smoked it right there in the classroom. He kind of hunkered down low to his desk, pretending to be absorbed in his teacher’s manual, although of course we could all see the cigarette smoke curling up from behind the big book.

I think this was in the days before early retirement. Maybe he’s the one who INVENTED it!

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Prayer request: A very sweet and loving Christian drove a friend of hers from church to another town several hours away Tuesday so that she could see her ailing sister. This woman is depressed and doesn’t feel up to driving. She brought up suicide and showed other signs of unhealthy thinking patterns. We pray, Lord Jesus, for Your intervention in her life. Protect her and guide her to the help she needs and the changes she should make, to feel happy and whole. And we pray Your blessings on the kind soul who reached out to her. (Lamentations 3:25)

FIRST AMENDMENT FUN

You know how sometimes, you can totally agree with something that someone is saying, but hate the way they say it? That’s how I feel about a guy who has been standing outside different area high schools in recent days holding up a sign with an anti-homosexuality message.

He was certainly within his First Amendment free speech rights to do so. Although he was on school property, he was outside the buildings, so he wasn’t disrupting class. Apparently, at least one administrator asked him to leave, and he refused. But again, he was within his rights.

I agree that homosexuality hurts people and should be treated, at minimum, and overcome, like alcoholism and other complex behavioral syndromes. But I don’t think in-your-face tactics work, and I don’t think they’re very nice.

That’s why I’m still laughing over what a student did, at our local high school. He made a sign that read, “My Life Partner,” and drew a big arrow. Then he went out and stood next to the anti-gay protestor as school was letting out.

Hey! He was just exercising HIS free speech rights. I’d say pretty darn well, too.

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Prayer request: A neighbor, Cindy, hears the news about a biopsy today. She is a sweet, solid believer with a very worried husband, three young children, and a family history for breast cancer. But it could very well be something benign and easy to treat. Father God, we lift Cindy and her family up to You for extra-special attention and comfort today as this news is shared. We pray for mercy and for good news. May it make her rejoice, and be something mild and very treatable, we ask in Jesus’ Name. (Matthew 21:22)

BOOLA BOOLA GETS A MAKEOVER

I’m so old, my kids think I rode a dinosaur to school. They think I wore a Pilgrim’s outfit to the Prom, which they take to have been a combination square dance and barn-raisin’. Or maybe I wore a raccoon coat, strummed a ukulele and climbed flagpoles to swallow goldfish. My youth, you see, was before they had microscopes and discovered salmonella.

Actually, it’s true: I am so old and out of it, I never know what the cool teenage jargon is any more. But daughter Eden took pity on me. She supplied a new term, which I believe you say when you have accomplished something exemplary, which, believe me, is NOT how the kids talk today:

“Boo ya!”

At first, I thought it was a throwback to the ‘20s song, “Boola Boola.” Nope.

So now I’m swaggering around saying “Boo ya!” – and trying to remember what context is correct for it, and when, in the alternative, one should exclaim “Hoo Hah” or “Woo Hoo.”

It’s confusing. It’s far less stressful to be old and out of it.

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Prayer request: A friend of a friend is struggling today to make sense of something that happened over the weekend. A long-ago love has resurfaced in David’s life, but the circumstances are fishy. He thinks she’s trying to manipulate him, bigtime. Oh, Lord, expose and reveal any motives and activities that are not pure, holy and pleasing to You. Protect David’s heart and lead him to the truth. (Isaiah 2:3)

See today's Radiant Beam, "Is the Pope Catholic?" on www.DailySusan.com

It will be filed under "Hot Topics" in the Radiant Beams archives.

A GRANDSON'S NEWS

My mom has 12 grandchildren, ages 29 to 5. She loves to hear from each and every one of them, from North Carolina to Oregon. She had a lot of granddaughters in a row, so she has been receiving a lot of emails lately with pictures of girls modeling prom dresses and formals, and just doing lots of girly girl things.

Then she got an email from her youngest grandson back East. He just got back from a camping trip.

He bragged to Grandma that he won “a farting contest.”

Hey! She was proud. She believes in individuality and excellence, in whatever form or fashion they come. In fact, when she hears fun things from any of her grandchildren, she thinks it’s a . . . gas.

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Praise report: What a wonderful witness for life and love my brother Don gave my sister-in-law Janet last night, with a big surprise party and dinner-dance for her birthday. All their beloved friends were there from far and wide, and they led off the dancing to “Pretty Woman” by a live band. They’ve banked 30 years of marriage but they still act like newlyweds, and it’s very sweet. Father, we praise You for this model of successful marriage, well-rooted and grounded in You, and for the joy that they have given to each other, and to so many people. (Ephesians 3:17)

TRAVELER'S AID

Here’s a day-brightener that might make your personal circumstances look a little better:

After church services this past Sunday, a friend named Jim was called aside to give some benevolence money to a stranger who had come in. Turns out she had stopped because she saw the steeple, she was totally out of money, and she was desperate.

She was driving from Pennsylvania to Denver with her three kids, and everything they owned was in that U-Haul. You could tell it was a time of enormous life change. Each child clutched a bag full of leftover doughnuts from the fellowship time against their chests. It was obvious it was their only food.

Jim asked her to follow him to a nearby gas station and put 30 gallons into the car. He also gave her enough cash to get to Denver and feed the kids a couple of times along the way.

She insisted on taking pictures, and vowed: "I will pay you back some day."

Jim said, "No, YOU have blessed US, and some day, God will bless you by having you help someone else the same way." She smiled, loaded up the kids, and said, "I WILL send you a picture!"

She already sent one to us: here is the church, here is the steeple, open the doors . . . and you really will find God’s people.

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Prayer request: May that traveler, Colleen, and her kids find safe harbor and a fresh start in Denver. May they quickly find a truth-preaching church and wonderful friends. And may Jim feel the extra-special warmth of Your approval, Father, for doing what You’ve asked us to do: love one another. (John 15:12)

REMEDIAL STIR-FRY

The other day at the grocery store, I grabbed a “Complete Skillet Meal” to make Chicken Teriyaki. It was a nice, big sack. I figured it contained lots of healthy stir-fry vegetables, ready to go.

I was in a rush, and knew I had some chicken in the freezer, so a “skillet meal” sounded perfect. However, I was planning to use my wok. That’s because I like to torture my family with wok jokes: “Take a wok on the wild side,” “I’m gonna wok around the clock tonight. . . .”

I defrosted the chicken, cut some up, and started the rice. Then I opened the stir-fry package. What was this? Inside was a packet of pre-cooked chicken, and a packet of rice. I had just doubled up on two of the main ingredients! How “convenient” was that?

“I didn’t know they were in there!” I protested to my hooting, skeptical family.

My daughter grabbed the sack, and pointed with gusto to the not one, not two, but FOUR prominent places, plus the color picture, that made it clear that the chicken was included, and so was the rice. And that was just the FRONT of the sack.

Hey! When your schedule is so hectic your brains are stir-fried, it’s not always conVENient to read the packaging instructions. At least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it – non-stick wok and all.

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Prayer request: Eden has the ACT college admissions test this Saturday. But she has been battling a post-Prom sore throat and flu symptoms from getting overtired last weekend. Oh, Lord, send rest and healing her way so that she can be in tip-top shape for this important exam. (Matthew 7:7)

GO, BAYLOR! WAY TO WIN THE NCAA WOMEN'S BASKETBALL CHAMPIONSHIPS TUESDAY NIGHT!

That makes our family 2-for-2, with one college daughter at Carolina (men's NCAA) and the other having just transferred from Baylor, which she loved, to be closer to home.

This puts immense pressure on our THIRD daughter for what school SHE will attend in another year, and bring the family blessing of a national title. :>)

THE WELL-BEHAVED WATER BALLOON

Our young daughter drew a smiling face on a purple water balloon, and has been carrying it around like a precious baby in a tea towel.

“It’s such a GOOD water balloon,” Maddy, 5, informed me proudly. “It doesn’t throw tantrums and it does everything I say.”

My face must have revealed my thoughts, for she quickly added, “That’s because it’s SIX.”

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Prayer request: A friend named Jane is hurrying to Chicago to be near when her first grandchild is born, any minute now. Lord, be in the hands and minds of the childbirth team so that the precious new baby can be delivered skillfully and peacefully. Help Jane soak up the memories of this big life event as she transitions into becoming a grandmother. And may the little one have her gorgeous eyes! (Proverbs 23:18)

ADDAMS FAMILY DÉCOR

Footnote to the Fear Factor event I chaired over the weekend for our daughter’s high school Post-Prom event:

A friend lent me her enormous, 30-gallon aquarium as a prop onstage. We filled it with water and got some special de-chlorinator juice. Then we put 750 Minnesota leeches in there, to swim around and pump up the fear and dread in the audience.

Now, I’ve always wanted to be first in the world at something. I think I’m finally there. I may be the first in world history to have uttered the following statement. Someone asked me if the leeches were for a Fear Factor event, and I replied:

“No. The leeches are for decoration.”

Oh! Yeah! Decoration! What’s next? Lampshade fringe made out of worms? Spider webs for curtains? Pig’s feet for the chair legs?

Oh, well. One woman’s decoration is another’s . . . fear factor.

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Praise report: Father, we know basketball is only a game, but we praise You and thank You for the display of skill and will in the exciting NCAA finals last night. We thank You that our daughter Jordan, a senior at the University of North Carolina, got to experience the fun of celebrating a national championship at her alma mater, where she has been so happy. Lord, we know basketball isn’t that big of a deal in Your scheme of things . . . but You scored a three-pointer of blessing with this family. (Psalm 89:15,16)

FINAL TWO, TIMES TWO

Boy, what are the odds? Our eldest daughter Jordan is a student at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Their men’s basketball team is playing in the NCAA finals tonight. She says the campus went wild when the team won the semifinal game, and everyone massed on Franklin Street, the big campus hangout, for a bonfire and pep rally that was pretty crazy.

On top of that, our next daughter Neely attended Baylor University in Waco, Texas, until this semester, when she transferred to her home state university, but has kept in close contact with her Baylor buds. Their women’s basketball team also has attained the NCAA finals. Students at Baylor are also going crazy with pride and excitement.

Our family is two for two in two Final Two’s! Guess you could say we’re . . . hooping it up.

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Prayer request: Comfort and sustain all Catholics and all believers in the death of the much-beloved Pope John Paul II. We suspect his crown in heaven is laden with extra jewels, indeed. Father, we plead for wisdom and discernment for those who will select the next Pope. May the choice be Your choice, and may that important world leader be the best-ever representative of the Body of Christ, the Rock of Ages. (Matthew 16:18)

FEAR FACTOR

And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul:
but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.
-- Matthew 10:28

You could tell something was up by my daily planner:

1. Bake cookies
2. Call Pat
3. Defrost tongue

A cow tongue, to be exact. It has been in our freezer for weeks. We’ve also had a cooler with 750 Minnesota leeches in the garage, and three plastic tubs of waxworms in the refrigerator.

The tubs look like sour cream containers. I’ve been worried that somebody was going to load up a dollop on their baked potato, and then notice the fat, wriggling bodies, and scream, “Oh, my God, the sour cream’s ALIVE!!!” One can only hope they notice it BEFORE they take a bite.

The leeches, on the other hand, have been docile in the ice-cold water in that Styrofoam cooler. They’re the ideal pet: no barking, no whining, no chewing slippers. I’ve fantasized about having friends over and asking them to plunge their hand into that cooler to grab something cold and refreshing.

Then again, I don’t have any friends left – not after word got around about what’s in my fridge and freezer. But that’s life with a Post-Prom Mom . . .

. . . who’s spent the last few months planning a one-hour Fear Factor show with several other diabolical parents. It came off like clockwork this morning at O-dark-thirty: six events involving 76 kids with a chance at $800 in cash prizes. The point was to keep the kids in a supervised setting, having wholesome fun instead of out doing all those other post-Prom things that parents really fear.


So we had them hold leeches and suck waxworms up a straw.

They drank a nightmare shake of a Burger King meal prepared in a blender.

Two teams did a relay race, passing such objects as the cow tongue, a catfish and an octopus.

They ate baby food, and one boy gagged.

Pairs were handcuffed and had to grope through a black goo of leeches, nightcrawlers and dirt in an aquarium to find the key.

They came onstage for a Wet T-Shirt Contest, amid hoots and hollers from the boys, and frowns of concern from the adults in attendance. Surprise! The T-shirts were wet, all right – frozen solid. They had to be wrestled apart and put on first to win.

Even though it was all in fun, I learned a lot about fear through these games. I saw how people face it, and get through it. I saw kids kind of gulp and size things up, then steel themselves and do what they had to do.

I saw the big, strapping football players trembling when they held the leeches, but they did it. I saw the girls flutter their hands, shriek and jump around, but then they buckled down and tried each task.

Now, fear is healthy. It’s a sign of intelligence. Something would be wrong if kids DIDN’T think it was scary to put on a shower cap and goggles and plunge their faces into a vat of baked beans, stewed tomatoes, sardines and who knows what else to retrieve five barbecued chicken wings with their teeth.

You know, we’ve had a lot of fearful things happen recently: Terri Schiavo, the Pope, the tsunami, the terrorism . . . plus all the sad and scary things of everyday life, from chemo to unemployment to death of a loved one.

To deal with fear, we just need perspective. Like those kids, we need to face our fears, size them up, shudder a little, but then respond with effort and action. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if you can focus on the big picture.

No matter how things turn out, if you tried, then you beat fear. And that feels good.

Not as good as it felt to say sayonara to that octopus and cow tongue this morning. But pretty good. And that’s good enough . . . for the long run.

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Prayer Request: There’s a lonely young teenager at a middle school who, for whatever the reason, is currently an outcast among his peers. Nobody will even sit with him at lunch. His parents are afraid that getting school staff members involved will just make things worse. We turn to You, Father God, to give him solace and a touch of Your presence every day. We pray that You’ll send friends and encouraging adults into his daily path. Show the other kids how wrong it is to shun someone, how much You want them to reach out to others and be friendly, and how much worth there is to this young man. Help him, Lord, to take his place among his peers and represent You to them. (Romans 12:13)

IT BEHOOVES ‘EM

Maddy, 5, has a bit of an overactive imagination. She received a set of 12 little horses for her birthday and has named them after different kinds of weather:

Thunder

Lightning

Sunshine

Snowy

Stormy

You get the picture. Well, now she informs us that every time one of these horses stomps its “hoove,” that form of weather erupts.

No, she doesn’t have one named “Tsunami.” But we here in the heartland are keeping a wary eye on that “Tornado.” Let’s hope he’s not too much of a buckin’ bronco this spring.

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Praise report: We thank You, Father, for the faithfulness of all those who prayed for our young law-school friend Jaimee, who had an important job interview. She is elated to report that the law firm she had hoped and prayed might extend a job offer to her did so! Thank You for this bright, dedicated and pure-hearted individual. Give favor to that firm and continue to guide Jaimee in Your ways. (Proverbs 23:18)

FEAR FACTOR FOOLS

I had fun the last two days torturing high-school kids over the lunch hour. We brought new meaning to the old term “Cafeteria Surprise.”

That’s because for the all-night Post-Prom party this coming weekend, we parents are putting on a Fear Factor event. It’s like the gross-a-thon TV show, only better. The whole idea is to keep the kids in one supervised place, having wholesome fun, instead of out doing that other stuff that causes parents the REAL fear.

On Wednesday, we made them plunge their hands into an icy-cold cooler filled with 750 leeches. They had to fish one out and hold it in the palm of their hands for three seconds to “earn” $1,000 in funny-money for the Post-Prom games.

On Thursday, they had to suck a waxworm partly up a straw and deposit it into another container, though of course, three or four of them overachieved and got the waxworm all the way into their mouths. Ewwww!

Yes, it was funny. No, nobody barfed or fainted. Yes, a lot of them trembled while they were doing these stunts, or shrieked. But no, the girls weren’t the ones who were the biggest sissies. It was the great, big football guys who were the most fearful.

Either that, or they were pulling an early April Fool’s joke on us moms. Which reminds me – enjoy this day of fun, and if anyone puts a leech or a waxworm down your back, don’t look at me!

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Prayer request: Nebraska State Sen. Dwite Pedersen of Elkhorn is asking for prayer on behalf of his wife Priscilla. She has cancer in both lungs and has been in the hospital for chemotherapy treatment. Senator Pedersen said, “I believe the only answer for her is the Lord in prayer.” Father, we give thanks for this longtime public servant and we pray for his wife’s healing. (Psalm 102:2)