Calendar

My mom is keeping record of the number of months Dad has been gone on her calendar.

It’s been 10.  Ten months without seeing Dad.

It’s hard for me to want to recall that every month.

I’ve never gone this long without seeing my dad.  I can’t recall the longest I ever went without seeing him.  He tried to break this dependence early on when I was going off to college.  He told me to stay until Thanksgiving.  That’s only three months and I couldn’t do it.

Only 90 miles away and he’d send sweet Ziggy cards to ease his daughter’s pain.

It was an experience for my greater good.  That’s what discipline is, right?  The training effect of experience in an unfavorable circumstance.

Jesus says, “I’m the One who corrects and disciplines everyone I love.”  That’s what fathers do.

There seems no fun in the midst of all that, but there’s more delight in warmth after being cold. There’s more satisfaction in fullness after the pangs of emptiness.  It’s this joy that comes in the morning after the sufferable mourning.  But, there’s joy in the morning!  That’s all I need to know.

I don’t know how many more months Mom will mark her calendar.   There is no permanent calendar on this side of heaven.  We know there was an appointment on God’s calendar, though.  We’re all immortal until the day, month, and year that He records.

“This world is not our permanent home; we are looking forward to a home yet to come.”

We can be dependent on that.

Revelation 3:19

Hebrews 13:14

Psalm 30:5

Harvest

By an early November date, we have had our first frost in Kentucky.

It’s when our garden approaches its seasonal deep sleep.

For the first time ever, my husband and I had a flourishing and thriving garden.  And now it’s tired.  I know we are.

God wasn’t kidding when He said, “By the sweat of your brow will you have food to eat.”

What an illustration a garden is of this decree.

Cultivating a garden is plain hard work.  We have tried to just lay seeds, but it’s much more than that.  We learned protective measures had to be constructed and anchored down and all around.  It was important that the soil was tended to and amended. We determined a blood meal had to be added. And, don’t we know there’s power in the blood.  It’s all a mysterious process, but we trust, we wait and we have faith. 

We had to be careful, though.  There are a lot of artificial fixes that claim to be beneficial but they only prove to work for the short term and not over time.

Our garden’s real lifeline is a protective layering of mulch.  God’s natural resources basically uses what dies and decays and adds life to the seeds we plant. Signs of life emerge and the seed grows in the soil and the soil grows in the seed.    

What a dependent relationship!

Even after all that, sturdy structures secure the plants as they grow.  And as roots grow deeper and the plants grow bigger, the stronger our supports become.  A toppled plant is an unfortunate casualty without these systems.

Planting companions are a necessity and together the harvest is plentiful.

Of course, routine maintenance of weeds is always in order.  These troublemakers take advantage of unintentional neglect.  They grow with a fury to shade and choke out all potential for a promising bountiful harvest.  My poor watermelons.

I honestly, don’t know how we as humans have fruit and vegetables to put on the table. But I can tell you with time, prayer and a great deal of care, what is so diligently cultivated can actually yield a harvest.

With one feather-weight seed we gained a plant that returned more seeds than I could count. What a visible demonstration how God accomplishes infinitely more than we might ask or think.

“People have seen all that God made.  They can clearly see His invisible qualities. His eternal power and divine nature.  So they have no excuse whatsoever for not knowing God. Yes, they knew God but they wouldn’t worship Him as God or even give Him thanks.”

Cultivating a garden grants a whole new meaning to experiencing gratitude for the harvest of the season.

The harvest is plentiful. The workers are few.

Genesis 3:19

Romans 1:20-21

Ephesians 3:20

Luke 8:11

Luke 10:2

Restoration

We all know what comes of caterpillars.

There’s a wondrous transformational process that births a beautiful butterfly that flits and flies and feeds on fluids to fertilize.

In the background we have our own metamorphosis.

We jokingly call it my husband’s masterpiece.

On this day last year something old was made new.

Restoration of it was a difficult process.  This project began with a foundation that was weak and cracked from years of neglect.  Not intentional neglect.  But, unfortunate circumstances kept away necessary attention. 

Time can take its toll as time can do and restoration needs to occur to make old things new.

We brought in all that we thought essential to rectify our problem, but instead the foundation proved to be too weak to carry the weight of it all.  In the process, it actually collapsed and a rescue operation ensued.  The problem area was excavated with stronger resources and a solid foundation had to be laid before anything else could be done. The surrounding area still needed work, too. 

Uncontrollable elements might make us wonder if restoration might ever occur.

Truth is, this surface was never perfectly created for the game that we often tried to play with its flawed dimensions.  We never could play as it was intended without changing the rules of that game.

But, you know what?

Restoration can establish a more perfect play.

Jesus does some teaching about building on a solid foundation.  He says, “Anyone who listens to my teaching and follows it is wise like a person who builds a house on solid rock. If not, it will fall with a mighty crash.”

What a metamorphosis that occurs with God!

It’s no joke.

We are His masterpiece.

“He has created us anew in Christ Jesus so that we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.”

What a wondrous transformation restoration can be.

Ephesians 2:10

Matthew 7:24

Mrs. Chas E. Cowman

Streams in the Desert.

I bought this book that Cowman Publications published years ago.  Years!  They’ve long been acquired by HarperCollins.

This is my new daily devotional.

It opens with a personal word from the author, “Mrs. Charles E. Cowman”.  How sweet.  I hadn’t seen a signature like that since my mom signed the back of my report cards in elementary school, Mrs. Thomas A McConnell.  It brought to mind a nostalgic time.  A tiny detail of my history.  Maybe of yours.

I look on the front cover which has printed instead L.B. Cowman as the author.  Curious, I go to the publisher’s page and find a disclaimer that this was written about a 100 years ago in a culturally different time.  In this edition, most of the language remains true to the original text.  However…(ahh…here it comes…) “some of the original terms and content have been edited out of respect for all people and cultures.”

Is “the author’s name” the content being edited out of respect?

I sought out to find an original edition from 1925 with its cover and its contents not edited out of respect for all people and cultures. Sure enough the earlier edition identifies its author Mrs. Chas. E. Cowman on the front cover, as does the publisher’s page, as does her introduction.  There’s no L.B.

It begs to question the respect due Mrs. Charles E. Cowman who had a ministry that was “unhindered by national, political, or geographic boundaries “ and represented a “cross section of the world”.  Her ministry was worldwide.  “From huts in remote corners of the world to elegantly furnished houses, “ it was stated.

So, what liberties does one take to remove original terms and content of 1925 and with it the respect for the original person, the authentic writing, and natural work?

By what and whose definition of respect edits out terms and content original to a culture?  It’s a rhetorical question.  But, if an author identifies herself as Mrs. Charles E. Cowman in the days of 1925, can we not accept that fact, even in respect of it, in our present day?

Upon marriage, I’m sure these childhood sweethearts were even pronounced as “Mr. and Mrs. Charles E. Cowman”.  Even the most recent weddings I’ve attended made such declarations.  So, what if this was her identity?  This whole book is in fact thoughts, quotations, spiritual inspiration which helped to sustain Mrs. Charles E. Cowman, particularly the years she nursed her husband, Charles E. Cowman, while he was dying.

What if the only honorable way she chose to author a book was to identify herself in a way that represented, “one with him.”

That’s what a marriage is.  Two become one.  That’s not a cultural statement.  It’s a biblical one.  It’s a beautiful one.

I mean. Good grief, Scotch Tape was invented in 1925.  That stuck!

Signed,

Mrs. Timothy W. Forrest

Mark 10:6-9