Is it possible to write that one true sentence that doesn’t offend someone? It would seem not. We have all had that foot-in-mouth experience when we innocently say something … maybe not even an original thought, but something we’ve heard or read … only to find we have stepped on a toe, albeit unintentionally.

And what about when it’s our turn to be offended? We too can work ourselves into a rant over the smallest slight or thoughtless slip of the tongue.

We really shouldn’t do this. Many years ago, a wise man wrote, “When a fool is annoyed, he quickly lets it be known. Smart people will ignore an insult.”

Does that offend you? Don’t get mad at me! King Solomon said this in the Book of Proverbs (12:16). He wrote lots of other things we would do well to heed. “A friend loves at all times.” “A cheerful heart is good medicine.”

Oh, yes, he also said, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart. Never rely on what you think you know. Remember the Lord in everything you do and he will show you the right way.” *

Sounds like a Plan.

 

*Good News Bible, Proverbs 3:5-6

Today was our pastor’s last Sunday at Beebe First United Methodist Church. Next week we will have a different spiritual leader and our “old” preacher will have a “new” church home.  That’s the Methodist way.

You can tell how long I’ve been a member, since I often refer to us as “Methodists” when we’ve been United Methodists since 1968. But I digress.

It’s called the itinerancy, continued from the earliest years in the United States when most denominations used Circuit Riders to bring the Gospel to their scattered flocks. In the United Methodist Church today, each summer elders are assigned (or re-assigned) to a church or charge. Every pastor has a church (sometimes more than one) and every church has a pastor (sometimes more than one). No Methodist preacher has to go out looking for a job.

This is a good deal for the minister and the congregation. The Bishop and his cabinet make the assignments. The pastor goes where he’s sent. There are sacrifices, after all, when one answers the call to full-time Christian service.

Brother Russell has served in Beebe six years. This is a long tenure, the average stay being three or four years. Both his children graduated from BHS. Couples he married brought their babies to be baptized. His first confirmation class of Beebe youth will enter college in the fall.

During the children’s story today, our pastor stopped, took a deep breath and paused. We have learned to recognized this as emotion, God touching his heart with the poignancy of the moment. As he continued, from the choir, I could see the child sitting next to him move her hand across his back as far as she could reach.

Softly she rubbed the palm of her hand across his shoulder blade to the middle of his back and to his shoulder again. I could imagine she had learned this comforting movement from a parent who had soothed her in that manner. It was such a compassionate act of love. I was touched.

She’ll always remember Brother Russell, even after she falls in love with Brother Matt.

Our children see their pastor as more than just the one who preaches and baptizes and serves communion. For them, he’s even more than just the good sport willing to wear a crazy costume for VBS. They see him, also, as vulnerable as the rest of us, as one whose heart also hurts when it’s time to say good-bye.

The comfort that one little girl could offer her pastor in this bittersweet moment is all the proof we need — if we should need it all — that no one is too young or too old to be a part of God’s Kingdom.

This is not just the Methodist way. It’s God’s way.

I had my wellness check-up this week.

It was 9:10 when I appeared at the clinic, fasting, for my semi-annual cholesterol check. That was the earliest appointment available, and it was much later in the day than I normally go without eating. In my purse I had stashed a breakfast bar, planning to relieve my hunger as soon as the lab had drawn blood.

After a short wait, the nurse (younger than my youngest grandchild) beckoned me and asked if I had ever had a Medicare Wellness Check-up. I said I didn’t think so. She said, brightly, “Good! We can do this now.” I mentioned that I was supposed to visit the lab, and she said yes, right after the check-up.

I settled in the chair and she asked if I knew what day of the week it was. I blinked. Are all the questions going to be this hard? 

At my job I work with several calendars. Currently, I have been helping put together a summer catalog of professional development opportunities … dealing with dates in June, July, and August. With some follow up dates during the 2016-17 school year. Also, I’ve been proof-reading a report that deals with activities in FY 2015-16. On my best days, I might have to ponder to decide what day it is.

Fortunately, I came up with the right answer and we proceeded. The rest of the exam went along well. I can see it is a good tool, designed to target seniors who might be depressed, suffering from serious memory problems, or needing help with day to day living.

The nurse asked if I exercise, if I wear a seat belt, if I have fallen in the past year. (I admitted to tripping over the dog.) She watched me walk across the room. I drew a picture of a clock and picked the triangle out of the array of shapes.

I said yes to a pneumonia shot and bone density test and no thanks to the shingles vaccine and colonoscopy. After she weighed me and checked my vitals, she closed her laptop and said, “Okay. The doctor will see you shortly.”

What? I’m still fasting over here! I said, “I thought I was going to the LAB!“

“Yes,” she said, “right after you see the doctor. He’ll be here soon.”

I looked at my watch. 10:30! It had been more than 12 hours since food entered my mouth. I wondered if I had lost any weight from the long enforced starvation. I felt I could commiserate with Ghandi. I looked at my watch again. 10:32. She said the doctor would be in soon.

And he was. We chatted a few minutes about how well I am and how his allergies are giving him fits. I finally visited the lab.

I pulled out of the parking lot and drove 1/2 mile to Hardee’s where I ordered one of everything.  Maybe not the best food, even for one who is extremely healthy, but by then, I was one hungry senior citizen.

Special greetings to all those who are being honored on Mother’s Day for the first time this year.

In the past I have written tributes to my mother, and I have told of my own parenting experiences. But this year I want to recognize some Moms on their first Mother’s Day.

My granddaughter, Amy, is one of those lucky women. There are others in our extended family as two of my siblings became great grands this year. So Happy Mother’s Day to Beth and Sarah.

I now have three great grandchildren. But my ‘big’ sister has fourteen! She always was an over-achiever.

My grandsons are Noah, Caleb, and Quade. All good Biblical names. (Okay, he’s Quade Benjamin.) All my grandchildren have names from the Bible, too: Aaron, Andrew, Matthew, Elizabeth, Stephen, Amy Susanna, and Jonathan.  And what seems to be a tradition in our family is that your first name is yours and your second name is to honor a friend or family member.

But I digress! And who wouldn’t when talking about their beautiful progeny?

Young Moms: This is your day! We pray the first of many. Your gifts over the next years will range from macaroni art to a new refrigerator. When that household appliance shows up, just hold this thought: It isn’t about the gift. It’s about the love and appreciation and honor behind it.

The best gift a mom receives is when “Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also and praises her.”  Proverbs 31:28

When I think about it, I’m a bit concerned that I don’t get enough exercise. I sit at my job several hours a day, if I don’t remind myself to walk the hall from time to time.

Then, after work, I often find myself sitting … while reading, writing, watching TV and/or knitting. I have no regular exercise routine other than vacuuming occasionally and getting dressed every morning.

What I’m noticing is that just as I reach this age when I need to keep moving, more and more things are becoming automatic.

Even a shopping trip provides very little exertion. I seldom have to push open a door. If I choose to, I can ride around in a motorized shopping cart. It’s no longer necessary for me to walk through the parking lot looking for my car. All I have to do is push the panic button on my key ring.

By the way, I will never have to stop driving, now that there is a car that can make good decisions for me while I’m thinking about whether I should turn or stop.  Now that’s a good thing.

If guilt had cardio-vascular benefits I would buy one of those wrist thingies to remind me that I have been completely motionless for the past hour.

Possibly one of the strangest “we’ll do it for you” items on the market today is a brand of antiperspirant that activates only when you activate. It lies dormant until you begin to move and then adjusts to how strenuous your activity is. (I’m not making this up.)

Actually, this is great. I might try this. No need to waste deodorant while I’m just sitting there. I can just sit there and stink.

But I have security in knowing that if I do decide to move around, my new roll-on has my back — and arm pits.

One day a couple of months ago I came home to see a spray-painted line across my yard. This is never a good sign. It usually means that a utility company is going to dig holes, bring in large equipment, and generally make a mess — all for the greater good.

Sure enough, in early December it happened. The natural gas lines were being changed to a newer, better system. The workmen were polite, explaining what they planned to do, begging my pardon, and promising to be as quick as possible.

Rain slowed their work that week, and on the final day it was necessary for them to turn off the gas for the big switch-over. How could they know I was in the middle of cooking for a Christmas pot-luck? Nor was it their fault that I was not at home, having gone to the party, when they came around to turn the gas back on. They promptly came out the next morning.

When I related this tale of woe to a co-worker, she said, “Did you complain?”

“Oh, I’ve been complaining a lot,” I answered. Of course she meant had I talked to someone in charge. Which, of course, I had not.

So I tell this story to say this: I need to say what I have to say to the person I need to say it to.

Maybe that should be a New Year’s Resolution.  If I have a complaint, call Customer Service. If my food order is wrong, tell the server.

Just yesterday I complained on Facebook about a political ad that appeared 10 times during a 2 hour program — the same ad — 10 times. To be fair, what he said was not offensive, but he said it so often!

I know that homemade commercials are shown on the local programs with great frequency, but a national candidate on a national network?

So I complained to my friends on Facebook. Many people agreed and ‘liked’ my post. But really, they can’t do anything about it.

I should complain to someone who can fix the problem of redundant political ads. And I will. Just as soon as I figure out who that is.

December 26. It’s over. You made it. Now we can go back to business as usual.

I’m talking to those of you who dreaded to see the Christmas season come and are now glad to see it go. If you put up a tree, it’s already down and all the decorations are packed away for another year.

I’m sorry. I know there are many for whom this holiday is more painful than celebratory. I’m glad I saw more acknowledgement of that this year than I have seen before. Hopefully there was also more understanding for those who grieve or are lonely or simply discontent in some way or for some reason. Deep down there may be a certain joy that Christ came into the world as a baby to save us and give us eternal life. But on the surface it’s very difficult to “feel the Christmas spirit.”

Our pastor began the Christmas Eve message with “Christmas is just different this year.” And of course it is. With the anxiety we all share about the world situation, it’s hard to decide which is our reality: the concern in our hearts or the festivities going on around us.

The reality I cling to is this: The world has had some rocky years in the past. We are not the first generation to fear the future and probably not the last. God loves this world. He loves us. And that’s a reason to “celebrate.”

God Bless you on this Second Day of Christmas.