Maypops

My grandfather on my mother’s side passed away when I was only five years old, so I did not get to know him, but my grandmother who we called “Mama Downs” had a farm, and that was my favorite place to visit when I was growing up. Granted, her house was nothing to write home about, but she had acres of pasture and woods and animals. There were just so many places to explore. My cousins and I would build forts out of branches and sage grass. We would then gather a generous supply of maypops that we would use as weapons.

Oh, you have never heard of maypops. The maypop is a fast-growing perennial vine with climbing stems. It is a member of the passionflower genus Passiflora and is also called purple passionflower. Below this posting is an image of a maypop and its beautiful purple flower.

When you throw a maypop at someone, and it smacks them on the head, the maypop makes a popping sound. I know that is not why they are named maypops, but it surely sounds good when you are playing war with your playmates.

One day when the cousins and I were exploring, we were in a deep and dark ravine and found the remains of several metal barrels and a lot of other scrap metal. We could not wait to tell Mama Downs about our discovery. She told us those were the remains of Papp’s old still. At that innocent age, we had no idea what she was talking about. Only later as a teenager did I stumble upon those remains once again and realized that was all that was left of my grandfather’s whiskey still.

Papp made corn whiskey, but my mother tells me he never made a dime from his whiskey. He gave it all away-usually in Mason jars. Everyone for miles around knew that John Henry Downs made corn whiskey, but no one ever turned him in to the authorities because at one time or another Papp gave almost everyone in the country some of his recipe.

My mother and her 10 brothers and sisters grew up in a house constructed of rough-cut pine with no running water, no insulation and no heat except a fireplace and a pot-bellied stove. She says they thought they were rich because they were never hungry, and they heard about other people being hungry. They thought they were rich because everybody they ever saw was just like them.

So many of our children and grandchildren are growing up thinking about how they are going to become rich. The pursuit of riches is nothing new under the sun. For time immemorial people have sought riches.

I regularly talk with people who have attained a great deal of wealth. Many of them are not really happy with their wealth. Some of them will say the pursuit of wealth is all that is important to them. Some have as their goal to gain more and more wealth. Some of them would trade places with people of less wealth just to get out from under the burden of having to make decisions about their wealth. Many of them regret that they did not talk to their children and grandchildren more about values than valuables.

I am so happy that many Christians who are people of wealth totally understand how to manage their wealth in a manner that is pleasing to our Lord. They understand the biblical mandate of generosity and legacy that is embedded in these biblical passages:

“Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share. In this way they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life. 1 Timothy 6:17-19

“A good name is to be more desired than great wealth.” Proverbs 22:11

From Philippians 4:19, “And my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”

Standard Shift

All our grandkids’ first driving experience is with our Kubota side-by-side RTV. The handbrake is worn out from grandkids forgetting to release the brake before engaging the accelerator. There is not much else that they can do to this 1700 lb. diesel-powered machine, so it is a good means of letting the grandkids learn to drive. They usually begin at an early age sitting in my lap and holding on to the steering wheel. They progress to actually steering the RTV, and after a few years they begin to sit in the driver’s seat alone while I (or another adult) sit beside them. All of this learning experience takes place on the farm and not on a public road so it is a safe environment.

I think it is sad that kids never learn to drive a straight shift vehicle, so I encourage our grandchildren to learn to drive my standard shift tractor. Granted the tractor is much more forgiving on the friction point of the clutch, but they do learn the basic principles of driving a straight shift.

This past weekend Naomi, 15, and Caleb, 14, had their first tractor driving experience. After you get the tractor in motion there is no changing gears until you stop, so I am hollering at them to stop and then go once again. That gives them more practice with the clutch. I am proud of them wanting to learn to drive the tractor because anyone can drive a vehicle with automatic transmission, but few can drive the standard shift.

Many people today are in automatic drive. They are rushing through life with all of its routines and forgetting some standard things in life: telling your spouse “I love you,” sitting down with your child and actually having a conversation without looking at your phone, dancing with grandchildren, having a sit-down meal with the whole family, spontaneously giving someone something, sitting around the fireplace or firepit with family with no TV or devices, walking in the woods, having an impromptu picnic with someone you love, driving for nearly two hours one way just to watch a grandchild’s soccer game, pausing and enjoying a sunrise or sunset, staring at the clouds and imagining designs that you see in them, playing board games with grandchildren, picking up someone’s check in a restaurant (probably not in the past year!), starting a new hobby, and on and on.

The simplest things in life are the ones that are most often overlooked because we live in automatic drive. Every day we should practice standard drive and see God in his creation, the food we eat, the air we breathe, the friendships we enjoy, and the pleasures of family, work, and hobbies. 

“Instruct those who are rich in this present world not to be conceited or to fix their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly supplies us with all things to enjoy.” I Timothy 6:17 NASB.

Auto drive discourages us from many simple pleasures in life. Take a ride in standard shift and enjoy life more.

Two Pairs of Cowboy Boots

I have only owned two pairs of cowboy boots. Now I have owned dozens of pairs of boots—the working kind. Real cowboys would say to me that their boots are working boots, but I have never wrestled steers or ridden bulls. I do know the difference in bulldogging heels and walking heels. The two pairs of cowboy boots that I have owned have had more of a roper heel which is more like the heel of a normal leather shoe. It is not as tall as the more traditional “bulldogging” or cowboy heel.

Not long after college, I was headed to northern New Mexico to work for the summer, and I traveled the southern route to visit my best friend from college who had joined the army and was stationed in El Paso. I had never visited Mexico, so we enjoyed crossing the border and visiting Juarez. Of course, the times they have changed because I would not visit Juarez during these days.

But in the early 70s, it was a popular tourist destination for US citizens because you could be there in a few minutes from El Paso. One of my objectives was to buy cowboy boots because the quality of the leather and the craftsmanship was good in Mexico, and they were much less expensive. I found the pair that I wanted. When Cheryl first saw them, she said why did you buy orange boots? They weren’t really bright orange, but I admit that they were a subdued shade of orange.

The haggling over the price of the boots was quite an event. The merchant and I could not agree on a price, so I acted uninterested and picked up a guitar and begun strumming. The merchant asked me if I knew the song “More.” At that time I knew most of Andy Williams’ songs by heart because Cheryl and I had listened to a plethora of his songs while dating. I told him that I knew it, and he asked me to sing it  for him. I told him that I would sing it if he would agree on my offer for the boots. He agreed if I would sing the entire song.

I strummed and began singing, “More than the greatest love the world has known. This is the love I give to you alone. More than the simplest words I try to say. I only live to love you more each day.” I got my boots at my price!

Actually, I did not wear those boots much because they were just not as comfortable as my lace-up Wolverine boots. A few years later when we packed our crates for West Africa, I included my cowboy boots because I thought they would be a novelty in Ivory Coast. I wore them a few times and, yes, they got a lot of attention. When we packed up to move back to the states to go to graduate school, I decided to give them away.

Each house in our neighborhood had a guard to “protect” the house. I am sure there was some kind of conspiracy among the guards because all of them slept most of the night while “guarding” our property. Anyhow, I gave my orange boots to our guard, and from that time he was known as the “Midnight Cowboy” (that was the title of a popular movie during that era, and this is not quite as funny as it was 40 years ago!).

While I was visiting with a Chick-fil-A Operator friend in Texas, we were doing some chores on his ranch, and he looked at me and asked, “Do you have any cowboy boots?” I told him the story about the midnight cowboy, and I also told him that the boots never were that comfortable to me. He told me that I just never had any good boots that were the proper fit, and then he said to me, “Get in the truck because I want to take you somewhere.”

The somewhere was a western boot store about 30 minutes from his ranch. As we walked in, my friend told me to pick out a pair of boots, and he wanted to buy them for me. I was so surprised at this generous offer, but I was stunned at the prices of the boots. These were no Juarez-priced boots! My friend encouraged me to try on several pairs until I knew that I had found the right ones. It happened. When I tried on that last pair it felt right and like it was made for my feet. He was right—when you get the right cowboy boots you don’t have to break them in.

During our lives we received a lot of gifts. Something I love about receiving a gift is the joy that the person giving the gift receives when I accept the gift. When I tried on the right pair of boots and exclaimed how great they felt on my feet, my friend’s face showed the joy that he was experiencing with giving me these boots. Giving generously brings joy.

It is not about money. It is about the ALL. Paul emphasized the ALL in 2 Corinthians 9:8 (NIV): “And God is able to make ALL grace abound to you, so that in ALL things at ALL times having ALL that you need you will abound in every good work.”

Notable Ice Cream

Our leadership team was on a planning retreat in North Carolina. We had been working on Lifeshape’s strategic initiatives and developing the budget to implement those plans. After knocking heads for a couple days we had planned a team building outing—we went shooting.

When we chose the venue for shooting clays, little did we know how long it would take us to get there. On the map it looked like an hour trip. But the venue was not only up in a valley tucked between two mountains, the road was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.

After about three hours walking the courses and shooting, we were exhausted from the walking on the mountainside and from getting wet in the rain, plus we were hungry. After driving for an hour and a half without seeing an eating place, we finally drove up to a Mom-and-Pop café. We noticed that there were no other cars in the parking lot, which is usually a bad sign. When we walked into the door a young lady behind the counter said, “Sorry we are closed.”

That was awful news, but after a few minutes of sharing how hungry we were the cook came out of the kitchen and said that he would feed us. That was music to our ears. I don’t know if it was our hunger or what, but that was some tasty hamburger, fries and onion rings. We finished off this 4,000-calorie meal with shakes and malts. It is not often that I see malts on the menu, so I had to order a malt. It was a chocolate malt to remember—hand-dipped with extra chocolate and extra malt.

Over the years I have had many such memorable experiences that involved ice cream which are too numerous to list, but I would like to share a few.

In the small town in Mississippi where I grew up, we did not have but one soft serve ice cream place called Dairy Freeze, and there was only one soda fountain called Seale-Lily Ice Cream. By the way, for your younger reader that soda fountain is not like the ones in every convenience store today. It was an ice cream place, and a soda was ice cream mixed with carbonated water and a flavor (strawberry was my favorite because Cheryl and I would often share one while we were dating. 😊   

I cannot talk about favorite ice creams without including homemade ice cream in Sanwabo, Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso). It wasn’t that it was the best tasting ever ice cream, it was just the fact that we were able to have ANY ice cream with the extreme conditions. We were in the Sahel, the buffer zone between the savannah and the Sahara Desert. Our only refrigeration was a kerosene-operated refrigerator and freezer. When the fridge was operating properly it took two days just to make a couple trays of ice, so we had to save ice for weeks to have enough to make homemade ice cream. In case you are wondering, yes, we could buy blocks of ice in the capital city—four hours away. With temperatures in our unairconditioned vehicle staying around 100 degrees, it was not practical to transport ice. So, it was rare to have ice cream in Sanwabo, and that made it even more special.

During the mid-1990s we lived in Kandern, Germany. It was a quaint and gorgeous village set in the southern most part of the Black Forest near Basel, Switzerland. Just off the town square was an Italian gelato shop. Everything was made there in the shop, and they had the very best gelato. One of their creations was spaghetti ice. Ice cream was run through a grinder to produce the spaghetti. The kids loved this dish, but I favored the mango and pistachio.

Mango sherbet, gelato or ice cream is my favorite, and I have tried it in many countries through the years. The best? From a tiny ice cream shop in Acree, Brazil, right on the border with Peru.

So where do I eat ice cream now? Chick-fil-A has a good milk shake (I am still a company guy). I like peach best.  Steak and Shake has a good chocolate shake. Jack’s has hand-dipped milk shakes that are tasty. Freddy’s custard is a new favorite, but they don’t make good shakes and don’t have malts. I also like other premium custards at Culver’s or Braum’s. With a name like Shake Shack you would think it would be the best. It was ok, but not notable especially at that price!

I have tried all the fast-food shakes. The only other one notable is Burger King with the distinction of being the worst shake that I have purchased.

Presently, my favorite ice cream is Sam’s Club premium vanilla. It is creamy as custard and as smooth as butter. Plus it tastes as good as any other premium ice cream that I have tried and costs less too.

My all -time favorite ice cream treat is still a chocolate malt. They are increasing hard to find as millennials (who are the largest population segment) never developed a taste for malted milk. I give most of my chocolate malt business to Cookout. I love the gritty powdered malted that they use.

The best chocolate malted milk? I make it and load it with Nestle/Carnation powdered malted milk. Come to see me and I will make a believer out of you!

Cold Cash

Hoarding has become the norm for the past year during this COVID-19 season.

Eleven months ago I was living in Atlanta during the weekdays while finishing up the last week of my proton therapy treatments. At that time we had just started hearing about this new virus called COVID-19. There was all this talk about how to avoid it by “social distancing”. I remember how happy I was that in one week I would be finished with my treatments and could stay at home for a while. Little did I know how long I would be at home!!

We don’t have a Costco in our town, but we keep a card so when we are in Atlanta we can buy some supplies. Well, Cheryl had asked me to pick up a couple things at Costco. When I arrived at the Costco parking lot, I thought that they must have been having a giant sale or something because the parking lot was full of vehicles and people pushing buggies piled high with merchandise.

As I walked towards the door, I noticed that almost every buggy had some of the same things in them—toilet paper, paper towels, bottled water and cleaning supplies.  I went in Costco and could not believe the length of the checkout lines.  It was madness. Hoarding had begun.

I could probably be considered a hoarder for a lot of reasons, but I developed those traits long before the coronavirus. For example, I don’t like to throw away any building materials. I built a barn big enough to store lumber inside the barn. Among my lumber collection are some pieces of 100-year-old barn wood left over from using it on the walls of our home during the construction in 2007-08. There is also wood from many other construction projects over the years. I don’t like to go to town to buy a couple boards when I have a small project to do. Actually, the barn is full of other “jewels”.  Our granddaughter, Darby, is wired for organizing things. She has helped me organize my junk in the barn in the past, and recently she was in the barn but did not have time do her magic, so I am sure that my mess drove her crazy. Sorry, Darby!

COVID-19 season has not made my mother a hoarder. She grew up very poor without running water in their rundown house which was heated only by a fireplace and a pot-bellied stove. She says that she and her ten brothers and sisters were never hungry because they worked hard on the farm all summer growing food and canning and drying food for the winter. All my life my mother has hoarded food. Even today and living alone, she has two full-sized refrigerators and three (yes, THREE) full-sized freezers of food.

She may have hoarded food, but she did not keep other things around. I had one of the best baseball card collections you could dream of. I am talking about Whitey Ford, Micky Mantle, Bobby Richardson, Roberto Clemente, Willie Mays, Ernie Banks, Stan the Man, and my favorite Yogi Berra (I was a catcher). I had hundreds of cards. I had so many that I would give some to my friends, and we would clip a card on to the fender bracket of our bicycles with a wooden clothespin so it would make a sound with the spokes that we thought imitated a motorcycle. Once the card became worn, I would give them another one. I had plenty.

Well, those cards disappeared while I was away in college. My mother said to me, “Why would anybody want to keep old stinking baseball cards?” I wish that she had been a hoarder of things other than food.

For many years she did like to keep something else. Growing up we kidded her about a metal Folger’s can (the type that you used a metal “key” to roll around the top to remove it) she kept in one of her freezers. She had punched a slot in the top so she could drop coins in it. She paid no attention to our teasing about her money can. She would tell us that no burglar would ever think to look in her freezer for her “cold cash.”

Today that coffee can has a place of honor on our kitchen countertop so all our kids and grandkids will be reminded of the importance of saving money for emergencies and special needs.

Old Friends

I was folding some laundry and while folding a towel I remembered something from a few years ago. As I get older there are more different and even random things that remind me of something that happened in the past.

A few years ago Cheryl announced to me that she had purchased new bath towels and that she was throwing away the towels that we were presently using. I was not happy. There was one particular old towel that was my favorite. I would use a different towel only while my “best” was being washed and dried.

Granted the old towel did look a bit scraggly and tattered, but that towel and I were best friends. Losing it was not easy for me. The day came when a new towel appeared on my rack, and my old friend was gone. Now I did not experience separation anxiety, and I did not cry. I did fuss at Cheryl again. But my favorite towel was gone.

It was, indeed, like losing an old friend. Now for you old friends out there, I am not comparing you to an old towel. I am saying that I have lots of old friends and all of them are not of the human species. I recently said goodbye to a cow that was an old friend. Her name was Sablaga which in the More’ language means black. She was born on our farm 12 years ago and had delivered 10 calves during her time at Ton Tenga. She was old for a producing cow, and she was having trouble walking. When I sold her she had her number 10 calf by her side, and it was a healthy little steer calf, so she still knew how to take care of her offspring.

We have a Great Pyrenees dog that lives in the pasture with our animals, and I love her, and she does a great job of protecting all our animals, but she has not yet attained the honor of being one of my farm old friends. We also have a yard dog named Meg, and she is only good at wagging her tail at anyone who comes on the farm.

Boss is another old friend. He was passed on to us 12 years ago from our son-in-law because he was not a good house dog. Boss has served well as a yard dog at the house. He hates deer, and we have a plethora of them that like to approach the house where they feast on our two apple trees, daylilies, blackberry bushes, hostas, and other delicacies.

As for a deterrent to anyone with criminal intent, Boss would not get a good grade. Of course, now he is old, so why should he get out of his bed (heated in the wintertime!) to greet the UPS delivery truck. Interestingly, he does get up to greet the less frequent visits of the FedEx truck because that driver always gives him a treat.

Every afternoon I get the Kubota side-by-side out of the garage and drive down to the barn to feed all the animals, get the eggs, and get the mail (our mailbox is 0.4 mile down our drive). Every afternoon Boss gets out of his bed no matter what the temperature is or what kind of precipitation is coming down, and he climbs up in the Kubota with me. However, since he is getting so old in dog years, he is not as perky as he used to be.

Boss’ place is in the floor on the passenger side, but some days Boss will just sit there staring at me as I sit in the driver’s seat. He cannot get his body to jump up in the Kubota. He will raise a paw on the floorboard’s edge and rock his body, but he just is not able to make that 18-inch jump. I have tried to help him, but he whines because it hurts his achy joints. On those days I have to leave him behind.

My old friend, Boss, and I have a lot in common. We have reached that point in life when we can’t do everything that we formerly did. I totally understand Boss’ stage of life. I am there! On some days I don’t feel like getting outside and doing my chores, but that is my therapy, and I know it is good for me. Plus, once I get going, I love being with the animals and doing my chores.

The adage “Old friends are the best friends” is so true. They are not the ones who only like you for what they can get out of you. They are the ones who love you through the hard times, who support you when you are hurting, who love being with you no matter what life stage you are in, and who are always there for you.

Here’s to old friends—the human ones and the other kind, too!

Things

I sold my 1966 Chevrolet pickup for $2500 to buy a Toshiba laptop with the side-mounted mouse—latest technology in 1994.  We were returning to the mission field, and I needed a new computer for our work. Looking back, I wish that I could have kept that pickup. It was special and I wanted to keep it, but we were moving back overseas, and keeping it was just not possible. I had bought it a few years before and then invested funds in some body work and a new paint job. It was a straight eight with lots of power. I repainted it the same shade of light blue as the original paint. It was a keeper, but I could hardly pack it away in our luggage!

For the last several days I have been updating the inventory of our home and our farm. The inventory is a dynamic document that needs to be updated from time-to-time, so in some spare time I have been comparing the old document to the things that we presently have. We don’t buy new furniture very often, but the electronic stuff seems to turn over frequently.

And that was the case with my Toshiba laptop. After three years, the technology was outdated, the operating system was slow compared to the newest models, so I had to replace it.

About that time, I was back in Mississippi and actually saw my ’66 pickup going down the road. It looked great. I had spent my money on a laptop that was practically worthless, and there goes my pickup humming down the road just like it had done three years before when I sold it. You can guess some of the thoughts that ran through my mind as I thought about spending the $2500 from the sale of the pickup on a computer that was now worth nothing.

Isn’t it interesting how we want to keep “things?” I am guilty! In our attic and in the storage areas on the lower level of our home are boxes filled with some of those things. My barn is full of things that I am saving for future projects. Granted, I have saved a lot of trips to the hardware or lumber store by looking in my reserves for material for a project. Just this week I have been repairing a hay feeder that I made a few years ago. I learned that it is not wise to plant those 3 ½” by 3 ½” landscape timbers from Home Depot in the ground. They rot in about 3-4 years where a good treated post will last 20-25 years in the ground. I smile when I realized that among my “junk” (as some of my kids and grandkids refer to the goodies stored in my barn) were all the materials necessary to repair the hay feeder. Did not have to go buy anything!

So, I am patting myself on the back while getting off subject. Cheryl would say that I am chasing a rabbit. I have never chased a rabbit, but I have had beagles that were great as chasing rabbits. Uh, there I go again…

About those things that we accumulate. I had not thought much about all the things that we own until I started updating the inventory. I recall the villagers with whom we worked in West Africa. The only clothes they owned were the ones they were presently wearing. They slept on an elephant grass mat. They ate out of a common gourd dish. A prized possession for them was a kerosene lantern, a transistor radio or, if they had lots of money, a bicycle imported from China.

Granted, during those days, our lives were much simpler, and we had a fraction of the things that we have accumulated here in the USA. The purpose of this epistle is not to make you feel guilty about all your things because I already do. But the purpose is to remind us how much God takes care of all our needs and most of our wants.

I have learned over the years not to confuse the words “need” and “want.” At this ripe stage of wisdom-acquiring in my life, I know better than to say something like I need a new tractor. The fact is that there is nothing wrong with my tractor, but I want a newer model, but I do not need one (Cheryl is actually going to smile when she reads this!).

The Bible talks a lot about God supplying our needs, but not our wants. Philippians 4:19 (ESV) says, “And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”

All this said---I still wish I had not sold that ’66 pickup!

Fun Gift

I am the type that does not want to toss old food from the refrigerator. Why throw out molded cheese when you think about how cheese is made?  Just cut the mold away and enjoy. Some of the most expensive cheeses are aged up to two years, and bacteria is injected into some of these cheeses to give them that distinctive flavor. Why should I throw out a chunk of cheddar cheese just because it has a little mold on it?

The same goes for yoghurt. It is made from fermented milk, so how can it go bad? Now, I am not in accord with keeping everything in the refrigerator that is old. Our house helper in Burkina Faso was named Etienne (Stephen in English) who lived in a mud hut very close to our house. Etienne believed that any food kept in a refrigerator would never go bad.

Our refrigerator was a kerosene-operated type. Most nights when we went to bed it was still 100 degrees in the house, so you can imagine how hard that little kerosene refrigerator had to work to keep a decent inside temperature in the high 60s. That’s right! Naturally, food would not keep very long in our fridge. We had to be careful in taking spoiled food out of the fridge because Etienne would take it home for his family.

OK, so I am not as bad as Etienne about eating old refrigerator food. I was brought up not to waste food, but I think my kids and grandkids just think I don’t want to throw away food because I want to save money. Actually, I am challenged about trying to finish leftover food instead of tossing it.

I admit that I may be tight about some purchases, and I don’t buy hottest brands in clothing. I laugh at some of my grandkids because they shop for the right branded clothes and accessories. I am well past that, but, by and large, I believe that you get what you pay for.

One thing I don’t do is cut corners on gifts for Cheryl. For years I have given Cheryl a purse for our anniversary (just celebrated our 52nd!). I only buy name brands. I do not like shopping for clothes for her, but I really enjoy shopping for purses. Fortunately, she likes what I buy—or at least she says she likes them and she uses them. This year was hard because I have never bought her a purse that I did not pick out in person. I had to order one online. I wasn’t able to touch it and feel the material that it is made from,  nor was I able to see how many pockets it had and how deep they were. Frankly, it was a gamble, but guess what? She loved it.

Maybe Cheryl is bored with getting a new purse every year. She knows what to expect. But, I never know what to expect from my bride. For our anniversary she bought me a cell phone sanitizer. But she also gave me a really awesome gift—three soft dart pistols and a package of 100 extra soft-tipped darts! That’s a woman who knows how to give unusual fun gifts. I can’t wait to have some dart fights with grandkids. We get our second COVID-19 vaccinations next week, so we are looking forward to reintroducing ourselves to our grandchildren soon.

By the way, this is the same wife who gave me a hang-gliding experience for my 60th birthday.

Isn’t it great that the Lord gave us the ability to have fun? Go ahead! Have some fun and honor the Lord in all you do.

Built on Clay

One of the greatest and most complex structures of its day was completed in 1350. It stands 179 feet tall, but it leans 17 feet out of its perpendicular. That is enough of a description for you to guess that I am talking about the Tower of Pisa.

The construction of the tower began in 1173, and it took nearly 200 years to complete. The foundation of the tower is only 3 meters deep, and it was built on a type of clay that was not strong enough to support the tower. The tower began to lean when the third floor was completed in 1178, so construction was halted for 100 years because the government decided to focus on its war with Genoa, and they hoped that the soil would settle during that time. Over the ensuing years more efforts were made to correct the leaning which only led to the tower leaning even more.

Today it is one of the top tourist attractions in Italy, and I am one of those millions who have flocked to visit the site. Take my word for it—if you have seen a picture of the tower, don’t waste your time going there. It looks like a giant wedding cake that tilted when one of the wedding reception guests bumped the folding table. The pictures are better than seeing it in person. That is true for many of the landmarks in the world i.e. Stonehenge in England.

Over the years it has been interesting to observe the competition for constructing the tallest building in the USA or Dubai or Hong Kong or any other country. It brings prestige to that city and to the company that owns the building to have the tallest tower.

Our lives are like the towers that are being built today. Our human nature informs us that we want our personal tower to get taller and taller as bricks are added to the construction. But that desire to get taller and taller does not consider the foundation of our tower. No matter how many bricks are added, the question that must be addressed is what kind of foundation is our tower built on? If the foundation of our life is built on the rock of Jesus Christ, then we have a firm foundation that will last.

Jesus told us to be wise by building our lives on the rock so that we would have a good foundation for the storms of life. That rock is the truth of God’s Word. All of Heaven and earth will pass away, but His Word will remain. Be wise and build your life on what will last.

“Therefore, everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.” Matthew 7:24-27 NIV

 P.S. Travel tip: Don’t visit Pisa, but don’t miss the Isle of Capri. That was one of our girls’ favorite places to visit in Italy.

Doing What Is Right

We are visiting my mother in Mississippi to celebrate her 91st birthday this weekend. She has survived a bout of COVID, four falls, and several visits to the emergency room over the past four weeks. This morning she said without prompting: “I feel good this morning.” She is one tough lady!

When I am “home,” as my mother says when I visit her, Cheryl and I want to help my mother as much as she will allow us to do so. She can’t walk without a cane or a walker but believe it or not she still runs the small sweeper over the floors. She holds on to her cane with one hand and has the sweeper in the other. She wants to do everything for us: Can I fix you a cup of coffee or tea? Let me hang your jacket in the closet. I will cook lunch today. She has been serving people all her life, and she just can’t accept help from others.

There is just Cheryl and me visiting my mom, so it is just the three of us living in the house. My mother is obsessed with cleanliness. If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then my mother is as close to God as one can get. It is actually sad that mom is legally blind and cannot see small things like crumbs on the floor that the sweeper will not pick up. She would be upset if she knew these particles were lying on her kitchen floor.

But there are still a lot of things she can still do and one of them is walk around with a can of Lysol in her hand. My brother and sister-in-law live next to my mother, and my mother keeps them hopping from store to store to keep her supplied with Lysol spray. My brother and I have both ordered some “Lysol-like” sprays, but they sit unused on a shelf in the closet. Mom will not use anything but Lysol. Interestingly enough, she was a huge user of Lysol before we ever heard the word COVID. For years we have purchased Lysol in bulk quantities for my mother.

A few minutes ago my mother came into the “porch” room (former porch and now a sun room) and warned me that she was about to spray the room. I quickly went to the kitchen table to continue my work while she sprayed the chairs, the floor and more. I asked her why it was necessary to spray since there was just the three of us in the house. I already knew her response: “Because I do this every day!”

I resolved myself to the fact that she believes that this is the right thing to do in spraying the house with Lysol. She has her routines that we do not understand, but they are the right things to do for her.

Wouldn’t the world be a better place if everyone did the right thing. We are better at talking about the right things than we are at doing them. Yes, we would have a happier place for mankind to thrive if everyone was focused on doing what is right for all instead of doing what is right for personal gain.

Teddy Roosevelt said it well: “Knowing what is right doesn’t mean much unless you do what’s right.”

The Bible says it better: “So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.”  James 4:17

N'Kiema Cogitations

The title of both this blog and the heading of this blogsite is “N’Kiema Cogitations” so I thought I would explain that. “N’Kiema” is a More’ word from the Mossi people group in Burkina Faso. It means “old man.” It is used to address wise old men as a respectful term. Jeremy still often calls me N’Kiema.

As for the word “cogitation,” that will take more explanation.

Dr. John G. McCall was one of my long-time mentors—for 44years! He passed away at the age of 95 years young. He had several careers. During World War II he served as an Army chaplain. He retired as  pastor of First Baptist Church in Vicksburg, Mississippi, after serving for 35 years. During “retirement” he was a professor at Boyce College in Louisville, Kentucky, and afterwards he served as professor and head of the Department of Religion at Mississippi College. Finally, he served as the “interim pastor” of a church in Edwards, Mississippi, for 9 years!  Few others in our times can match that longevity for the Kingdom!

Dr. McCall was a man of small stature, but he had a healthy set of lungs to belt out a strong voice. He was a meek man, but he was a zealous preacher. He was such a gentleman. Many often said that he was the perfect example of a southern gentleman. I never once saw him miss an opportunity to hold the door for anyone near him. When a line formed to eat at church, in a restaurant or even in someone else’s home, Dr. McCall was always, by choice, at the end of that line.

I did not live close to him during his last months on earth, but frequently I telephoned him for a visit. Often when he answered the phone I would ask him what he was doing. He would give a one-word response: “Cogitating.” OK, so who has used that word in the last six months?

I recalled hearing the word used, and I knew that it meant to ponder something, but I looked it up, and in addition to ponder, it means to think deeply about something, to muse, to ruminate, to mull over and to contemplate.

I have been reflecting on when I have recently cogitated. I spend too little time just meditating and listening to the Lord.  I am so task oriented that I usually don’t think about something for a long time. I am also an activator according to Gallup’s StrengthsFinder profile. That means that I don’t like to sit in meetings and talk for a long time about doing something. I like to talk for a short period about what needs to be accomplished and then make assignments to get it done. I think we spend too much time sitting around talking about how to solve issues when we should be out there fixing them.

 I get so focused on results sometimes that I don’t spend enough time thinking deeply or meditating on what the Lord is trying to say to me. I get too busy with all the important work that needs to get done, and I do not think about the most important thing—my relationship with my heavenly Father. The Psalms have a plethora of reminders about how important it is to cogitate. Here’s one from the first chapter: “Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night.”

Just reading back over this, I am feeling bad about my Bible reading habits. It seems that I read the Bible like it is more important to get through a certain number of verses or finish a chapter or a book of the Bible, so I can move on to the next challenge. I read too quickly over the verses, and I miss what God is trying to say to me. I have not learned the art of cogitation, but I am working on refining my cogitating skills.

“This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success.” Joshua 1:8

Miss Alma

All my life I have loved playing in the dirt. I get that yearning honestly because all my family for generations before me farmed for a living. Today I love our small farm because it gives me opportunities each day to watch fruit trees, vines and bushes, vegetables, trees, flowers, and shrubs grow.

I even have a graduate degree in agriculture with an emphasis in horticulture. I don’t usually tell people about the degree because they automatically have questions about house plants. I studied vegetables and, consequently, I know little about house plants. However, this bit of advice on houseplants usually satisfies the inquisitive: more house plants die from over watering then from lack of water.

One of my favorite plants is the daylily. It is a very hardy plant and will thrive in some of the most difficult soil environments. Unfortunately, day lilies are like candy to deer, so I am unable to plant them all over our farm. We do have quite a collection around our home where the yard dogs keep the deer at bay. Over time different varieties of daylilies planted too close together will cross pollinate and after several years they will produce only the orangish flowers that you see growing wild in some places. We have some very unusual varieties that I have collected over the years.

Through the years when we were back in the states, I would find some daylilies that I liked and would take them to my mother’s where we would plant them in her yard. When we returned to live in the states 20 years ago, I started transplanting some of the daylilies to my yard, so I have been able to dig some of them up and move them to our present home.

Some of my favorite varieties in our yard came from Miss Alma’s daylily garden. We first met Miss Alma Pittman while speaking at First Baptist Church, Winona, Mississippi years ago. She was a small frail-looking lady all stooped over. Cheryl and I visited only once in her home. She was the proverbial hoarder. We walked around tall piles of magazines and odds and ends in her living room. We did not sit down because most seats were covered with “stuff.”

Miss Alma had invited us to her home to get some of her daylilies. Beside her modest little house, she had a half-acre plot of daylilies. They were her pride and joy, and in her town she was known as the “daylily woman.” She sold daylilies and gave 100% of the money from those sales to her church for the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering for international missions.

God created the daylily bloom for a purpose: to give joy for one day. After blooming for one day, the flower shrivels up, wilts, dries up and falls off the plant. God had a different purpose for us as He created us to relate to Him and our fellow earth travelers to radiate the joy of the Lord to each other. Each day the Lord refreshes His joy in us so that we can bloom for others to see Jesus in us.

Please consider giving to support international missions through the Lottie Moon Christmas Offering through your local church or here: https://www.imb.org/give-now/?projectid=f9lmco

The Kitchen

My mother is a good cook. Just yesterday I was talking with my best friend from college, and he was reminiscing about putting his feet under my mother’s table with a spread of vegetables and cornbread set before him. My mother will be 91 in a couple of weeks, and she is legally blind from macular degeneration. However, that does not stop her from cooking. Granted she is not on the high point of her cooking career, but she still has the touch. While I was staying with her a few weeks ago, she cooked a three-layer chocolate cake for me. It was not perfectly iced, but it still tasted good. She can’t read, but she bends over the stove with her lighted magnifying glass and figures out how to set the oven temperature.

When Cheryl and I were first married, I was actually concerned because Cheryl had declared that she could not cook—but she was eager to learn. That meant that I was going to be the guinea pig!

There were some challenges in the early years, but today Cheryl literally has a world-wide reputation as an outstanding cook. Through the years as family and friends have bragged on Cheryl’s cooking, I have made this statement: “I taught Cheryl everything she knows about cooking.” As a follow up to that declaration, I am quick to add that through the years she would often ask me, “Would you get a clean spoon and taste this?” or “What does this soup need” or “Do you think I need to add more lemon juice in the guacamole?”

She loves to be in the kitchen. When we designed our home, I made more decisions in planning the layout, but when it came to the kitchen, that was Cheryl’s domain.

Over the past eleven days, I have been in charge of the kitchen. Cheryl has been recovering from the coronavirus, and I have been the chief cook and dish washer. And, boy, am I ready to relinquish this duty to the master cook of the house.

I have tried to keep the meals as simple as possible. Granted I have picked up more than a couple of meals from restaurants, but I have prepared chicken salad, taco soup and of course bacon and eggs and other simpler meals. I had a hankering for some potato soup, but a look in the pantry revealed two small potatoes—not enough for the potato and onion soup that I wanted to make. I had already talked up the potato soup with Cheryl, so I had to come up with another kind of soup.

A glance in the fridge solved my dilemma. The recent grocery store pickup included a container of fresh mushrooms. I looked on the web for a recipe for mushroom and onion soup. After settling on one and making some adjustments for missing ingredients or deciding to substitute this for that, I served the soup to my two COVID patients. They liked it. I was happy.

Christmas is a special holiday, and it is ALWAYS highlighted with good food. I had to do something special. After some deliberation over Cheryl’s famous recipe file box (that has its own frequent flier account), I decided on comfort food. We had chicken and dumplings, candied sweet potatoes and green beans. I was in the kitchen for hours. I am so slow, and I was nervous about making the dumplings. How much do I roll out the dumplings? Would I get the temperature of the broth just right before dropping the dumplings in the pot? Don’t let the dumplings scorch while simmering. Keep the sweet potatoes simmering while getting the green beans going and watching the temperature of the broth. Oh, when will Cheryl get back in her kitchen?!?

I love the kitchen, but I love it when the chief cook is on duty. During visits from our family and friends, we often gather around the large kitchen island instead of the more spacious family room. Kitchens bring families together. Sadly, except for me, our kitchen has been empty during this holiday season.

I don’t know exactly what the “new normal” will look like, but I surely hope it includes more fun time around the kitchen island watching Nana cook.

“She looks well to the ways of her household
    and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children rise up and call her blessed;
    her husband also, and he praises her.”  Proverbs 31:27-28

I'll Be Home for Christmas

“I’ll Be Home for Christmas” is one of the most famous Christmas songs. Written in 1943, it was recorded that same year by Bing Crosby and was in the top ten records of that year. The song was written from the perspective of a World War II soldier who longed to be home for Christmas “If only in my dreams.”

With the coronavirus raging once again, this year many of us can truly say that we will be home for Christmas. Plans for celebrating Christmas with our families have either been canceled or altered by the threat of spreading the virus. 

Our kids and grandkids have not been together at Christmas time since 2014, and this was supposed to be our year to be together. Those plans were scratched long ago along with our plans for a week-long family vacation at Grey Wolf Lodge. 

Our plans have become even simpler as Cheryl tested positive for COVID-19 this week. We have racked our minds trying to figure out how she contracted the virus. We have been so careful, yet, boom! She has a few less severe symptoms that we are watching, and she has been in regular communication with our family physician. 

My brother and his wife both have the virus. They live in Mississippi next door to my 91 year old mother. Our daughter, Amanda, left her husband and five children to go care for my mother for a week. I am so proud of Jeff, her husband, for volunteering to take off work and take care of the kids while Amanda was in Mississippi. 

Amanda was with my mother when she tested positive for the virus, and a couple days later she became seriously ill. Amanda took her to the ER, and the caregivers administered an infusion of antibodies, and miraculously they sent her home. 

Amanda contracted the virus and now she is isolating on the lower level of our home, and unfortunately she will be away from her family til the end of the year. I am proud of her for the act of love that she demonstrated by taking care of her grandmother and exposing herself to the virus. 

Cheryl is isolating in our bedroom on the main level. Amanda is on the lower level. I am headquartered in a bedroom on the loft level, and trying to take care of my two COVID patients. I will be home for Christmas with two of my sweethearts—responsibly distancing—and dreaming about the greater family Christmas that will have to wait for another year. 

Stockings and Mangers

It’s Christmas time! This year has been a challenge for many people as it has for our family. We are still sheltering in our home, so ALL our shopping has been done on the web. We use aps for pickup orders for food, animal feed and general things for the home and farm (Home Depot, Tractor Supply, etc.).

Cheryl made stockings for each of our four children when they were born, and each year while our children were growing up, they usually were more excited about their stockings than other gifts. Of course, each item in their stocking was bought especially for them.

This tradition has passed to our 16 grandchildren as Cheryl made a stocking for each of them, and just like their parents, getting their stocking is a Christmas highlight. If the grandkids are not in our home for Christmas, then we make every effort to get the stockings to them for Christmas time. With kids living overseas, it has been challenging over the years to send the packed stockings with someone who was traveling to their area. It may take a few months to get the stockings back to our home, but we have always received them back in time for next Christmas! Some stockings have accumulated a lot of frequent flier miles! This weekend we are celebrating Christmas with Jason and family, so it is stocking time again!

Jason and his family have been in our home for the past two weeks. They spent the first week isolating in the lower level of our home. Then, after a negative COVID test last Saturday, they have been up and about the other two floors, and we have had a great time with them. It is so good to hear grandkids singing Christmas carols all over our home.

My favorite Christmas carol is “Away in a Manger.” I love to hear our grandchildren sing this carol. It is such a simple song with a profound message. It is simple to learn and relatively easy to sing. When the grandkids harmonize while singing this carol, it is just beautiful.

None of the mangers we see during Christmas time are good depictions of the “manger” where Jesus was born. I have visited Bethlehem and seen the supposed site of Jesus’ birth. All I recall is a church built over a dark spot that is supposed to be exactly where Jesus was born. To me it doesn’t matter if we don’t know the exact location. What matters to me is that he was born in a setting where animals lived. Animals ate there, they slept there, and they laid their wastes there.

Our mangers today do not depict the smells of stable droppings and the unsanitary environment of a barn where animals live. Just think, Mary and Joseph laid the baby Jesus in a feeding trough where animals eat and drool.

God chose to have His son born in a stable. The Jews were looking for a Messiah to come who would save the world, but not one whose first bed was a feeding trough. The Jews were looking for a king dressed in royal clothes and surrounded by his court, but they were not expecting a baby born of a virgin whose father was a carpenter. But God chose the perfect place for the perfect Savior of the world—a stable.

As we celebrate let us remember how Jesus came humbly into this world when God could have chosen for Him to come in the most magnificent manner in the universe. From humble beginnings, Jesus lived and died humbly.

Makes me wonder about my life. How humbly is my life lived? Am I completely humble in all my actions?

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2

Best Day Ever

Jeremy, Jason and I installed a 40’ rope swing on an oak tree on the farm last Saturday. Jason and family are here isolating in our lower level, so our interaction has been outside only for this past week. 

Earlier this week, Anabelle and I were at the rope swing. As she was swinging on the rope, it began to snow—just a few flakes—and she was squealing. All of a sudden, she cried out, “This is the best day ever!” Of course, that made her papa feel real proud.

That was not the first time I had heard her say that phrase. The other time she said that in front of me was a couple years ago. I took her and Naomi to the dollar store, and I told them that they could buy any five items in the store that they wanted. They were excited that they could pick out their own purchases. The fact that every item in the store only cost $1.00 did not seem to matter to them.

Thirty minutes later after they had picked out their items, we started to check out and I asked the girls if they would like a soft drink. Of course! I also picked up three ice cream sandwiches before checking out. 

After getting settled in the car, and as we were eating our ice cream treats, Anabelle exclaimed, “This is the best day ever!”

How many days in your life have been the best days ever? I think that most of us have experienced many times a “best day ever.”

One of mine was a date that Cheryl and I had at the reservoir in Jackson, Mississippi. We were on a double date with my best friend and his date, and I brought along my battery-powered record player for background music as we had an evening picnic. That night I realized that I had fallen in love with Cheryl. 

Other “best days ever” were the days that each of our children were born. Three were born in different states in the USA, and one was born in West Africa. 

Another one was sitting in a marriage enrichment meeting in Amman, Jordan, when Cheryl wrote me a love note. It was so beautifully written, and it made me cry. I still have that note in one of my Bibles. 

I have many, but just one more: my 60th birthday celebration. My birthday and Christmas had already passed, and Cheryl and I had two couples as house guests in our home—Al and KK Gilbert and Denny and Sherry Smith. I thought it was interesting that each of these couples did not know the other until they both arrived at our home. I wondered how that happened, but Cheryl had arranged everything, and I loved both of these couples so I was happy to have them visiting with us. One evening Cheryl and the other two wives were out shopping, and I received a call from Amanda asking me to pick up Collin from a birthday party at the skating rink. Al, Denny and I stopped at the skating rink for the pickup, and Collin came out and  said, “Papa, you need to come inside.” 

As I walked into the building I was totally blown away. Cheryl had rented the entire skating rink and gathered many friends to celebrate my birthday. It was a great time. Did I skate at 60 years of age? Of course! I even did the skating races. It was a grand time with family and friends. Interestingly, the owner of the rink was very nervous when the rink was rented for a 60-year birthday party. Previously, the oldest person to celebrate a birthday there was a 40-year old! 

Indeed, all of us who have a personal relationship with Jesus would list that day when we became a child of God as the “best day ever.” But, we also know that the best days will be in the hereafter as we bow at the feet of the Risen Savior. 

Questions

I have always been curious. By my upbringing and my nature I am a farmer, and farmers are always curious. They ask the “why” and “how” questions. When I was born my parents lived on a farm. I grew up with farmers as most of my extended family during my childhood were farmers. So, I get my curiosity honestly from the culture in which I was raised.  

I remember my elementary school teachers telling me that I asked a lot of questions. My ninth grade English teacher said that I only asked questions to get attention—maybe I did!?

When Cheryl and I were in language school in Tours, France, one of our professors said to me, “Monsieur Cox, alors, vous etes Chinois!” He accused me of being Chinese because I asked a lot of questions. I thought some of my questions were very reasonable. For example, when someone knocks on the door of your home and asks if you are at home, you reply I am there. How can I be “there” when I am “here?”

One of my mentors was Avery Willis. From the first time I met Avery, we had a mutual affection for one another. After we had been friends for several years, he told me that he first became interested in me because I asked hard questions that made him think deeply.

God has a sense of humor because at one time or another each of our 16 grandchildren have asked me a zillion questions like “why are trees green?” or “why is the sky up there” or “how do those poles holding those lines beside the road stay straight?” or “why do ducks say ‘quack’ and chickens do not?”

I always had a response for each of those silly questions from my grandkids even if I did not know the answer. When Caleb was four years old he was going someplace with me and all the way there he asked me question after question about the most random things. I responded to every one of them and made up an answer if I did not know it. After a while Caleb asked me, “Papa, do you know everything?”

Last year on my birthday I received a gift that had this imprinted on it: “Papa knows everything and if he doesn’t know he makes stuff up really fast.”

Asking a lot of questions is not bad. After all, questions and parables were two of Jesus’ favorite ways to communicate. Both methods have in common that they are not direct answers. They are asking the listener to participate in this process of understanding. 

Jesus also answered questions. I understand that during Christ’s time on planet earth, the gospels record 113 questions that Jesus answered—52 of which were his own questions, so that means that he answered 61 questions from others.

Jesus taught that we are changed as much by what we say as what we hear. Mark 7:15 (NIV) “Nothing outside a man can make him ‘unclean’ by going into him. Rather, it is what comes out of a man that makes him ‘unclean.’” What a man speaks is what makes him clean or unclean. We are changed by the truth when we speak the truth. When Peter declared Jesus to be the Christ, he believed even more firmly that Jesus was the Christ.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, oh God, my strength and my redeemer.

Daughters-in-love

Over the years, Cheryl and I prayed for our kids’ spouses, and we are so happy that God answered our prayers and brought just the right men and women into our family as spouses and life partners for our children.

When Jeremy started school at Mississippi College, Jason had completed his freshman year. I was on staff there, and as I was reviewing the list of incoming freshmen, I was happy to see that the granddaughter of some friends was on that list. Her grandfather was the foreman of the very first team of volunteers who came and worked alongside us in the Tennessee Upper Volta Hunger Project. Over a five-year period we hosted 550 volunteers from Tennessee who all came to work with us for a minimum of 30 days. Many of them quit their jobs so they could come and serve as they were not able to take off from their work for a 30 day period.

This period of our lives was one of the most fruitful and yet one of the hardest. Through projects in the areas of agriculture, literacy, public health and water resource development the Lord led in the beginning of churches in 31 villages in our area of work.

Our friend Reg was retired, and he came out to work with us for the first four months of the project. He had a new crew every 30 days to build the sleeping quarters for the volunteers (concrete slabs with a tin roof with tiny spaces divided by woven elephant grass mats). He came back to Upper Volta the next two years during the dry season to continue to serve as the foreman of construction, and he brought his wife, Annette.  During these times of service alongside our family, Jason, Jeremy and Amanda called them Uncle Reg and Aunt Annette. Interestingly enough, I finished Mississippi College with their daughter, Ann, so we had more family connections.

When Ann and her husband, Charles, showed up at Mississippi College on move-in day, Cheryl and I made it a point to find them so we could meet their daughter, Kelli. We wanted to try to get Jason and Jeremy to meet Ann, Charles and Kelli because Kelli’s grandparents had been such important people in their lives. As one could imagine with 350 new students on campus along with their families, it was hard enough to find someone much less try to get people together for a meeting. We were not successful in trying to make the introductions and settled for the fact that we would have another opportunity to meet Kelli at another time.

We lived less than a block from the high school and only five minutes from the college campus, so we were accustomed to having kids in and out of the house every day. So it was not unusual when Jason told us that he was bringing a new friend to our home. Cheryl asked him her name, and he said Kelli. It did not cross our minds that this was the same Kelli that we were trying to get the boys to meet a few weeks before. It was only when we met Kelli that we made the connection with her mother and her grandparents.

When Jason and Kelli became interested in each other, Kimberly Magee was already a good friend of Kelli’s. Kelli asked Kimberly to go the tennis courts to watch Jason and some other guys play tennis because Kelli did not want to go there alone. It was at this tennis outing that Kimberly and Jeremy first met.

I will never forget Kimberly’s first visit to our home in Clinton. As stated earlier, kids were in and out of our house every day. However, early one evening I was sitting in my chair in the den and suddenly, a young lady was standing over me asking, “Is it OK for me to sit in your lap? I miss my daddy so much.” What could I say!? Kimberly stole my heart at that moment.

Kimberly and Jeremy became more interested in each other later in their freshman year, and they started dating. They broke up during their sophomore year, and in the spring semester Kimberly went to London in the study abroad program. Although she and Jeremy did not communicate during that semester, Kimberly and I continued to exchange emails. Soon afterwards they were dating once again, and I was happy.

The Lord called us back to overseas service, and we moved to Kandern, Germany in June, 1994. In the fall we started making Christmas plans for our family. Jason and Kelli, who were engaged by this time, and Jeremy were making plans to come to Kandern for the holidays. Cheryl and I decided to invite Kimberly, also. We wanted to share this time together with Kimberly also—even though she and Jeremy were not dating at the time of the invitation. By the time the holidays came, they were once again dating!

We had a memorable time together celebrating Christmas in a tiny German village called Kandern, traveling in Germany, France and Switzerland and having a great ski trip in the French Alps.

After another couple of years of dating Jeremy and Kimberly were married.

For many years I have been calling my daughters-in-law “daughters-in-love” because I fell in love with them early on.

This is a sad season for Cheryl and me. For a couple of years we had planned to celebrate the week of Thanksgiving with ALL of our family—there are 26 of us now. This took some planning and preparation to arrange the schedules of our busy kids and grandkids to have fun time together at Grey Wolfe Lodge. Unfortunately, that was all cancelled weeks ago. Our family celebrating Christmas together will be postponed as COVID-19 continues to reignite.

In my understanding of the Bible, God ordained two things: the church and the family. Since the beginning of time blood relatives have organized themselves into tribes, clans, and families. Families are the strength of a society. Everyone needs family, and if they don’t find it with their own blood relatives, then they will go elsewhere to love and be loved. I do not understand why people don’t spend more time celebrating family. It seems that we get busy and forget our priorities. I believe that it is not so much the quantity of time spent with family, but the quality of time with our loved ones that is most important.

Make the most of time with your family. You will never say that was wasted time.

Smell

I read this week a relatively old news report that dogs are being trained to sniff out the COVID-19 virus. Amazing! I never cease to be amazed at the extraordinary abilities of the dog’s olfactory capacity.

One of the pleasures that I enjoyed earlier in my life was to follow a pack of beagles on the trail of a rabbit. The dogs were so good at tracking the elusive rabbit, and they were so persistent in the briars and thickets that the tips of their tails became bloody. The rabbit was rarely in sight, and I would think that the dogs had lost the trail. But their noses were always near the ground, and most of the time they would pick up the trail and take off in hot pursuit. 

Recently as I exited our house next to where our two yard dogs were snoozing in their bed, I walked near them with a garbage bag with chicken scraps tucked away somewhere in the bag, and the dogs were immediately awake and sticking their noises in the air. 

A dog’s sense of smell is from 1,000 to 10,000 times greater than that of a human. Humans perceive the world through their vision, while dogs experience the world through their nose. Every smell is different for a dog, and each smell has a story behind it. When a dog smells a person, another dog, or any random scent, he is trying to determine the history behind it.

Like all humans my smelling ability is only minuscule compared to that of the dog, but I do have some history behind “smells”—experienced during my travels in many other countries over the years.

Walking in the sand of the desert in eastern Chad, I smelled the camel dung in the largest camel market I have ever seen. Most people would turn their head away from the smell of animal manure, but for this farm boy, that’s like potpourri!  

The aroma of fried dumplings on the streets of any city in China made me hungry even when my stomach was full.

As I walked the narrow streets of the medina in Sanaa, Yemen, I smelled the newly cured leather of goatskin.

Crepes cooking in a cart on the street in France. Coffee beans roasting in Guatemala (and I don’t even like to drink coffee). The sweet smells of a Lebanese bakery or mangoes being peeled in Egypt. Smelly open air fish market in Abidjan. Durian in Indonesia (Yuck). Haria soup in the Marrakesh market - tastes as good as it smells.

Where we lived in Burkina Faso, I smelled the dried seed from the nyeri tree, which is used in preparing the sauce that provides sustenance for families in the Sahel. It is a repelling smell, but the taste is not bad! 

One of our closest neighbors to our house in Sanwabo used natural indigo dye to color hand spun cotton material. Every time I came near one of his dying pits, my nose burned from the odor of the dye. I dreaded shaking his hand as it always reeked of the dye.

The Lord has been saying to me, 'Larry, if you have any purpose in My work - it has to do with these scents. For these are the smells of the world I died for.' 

For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing, - 2 Corinthians 2:15 (NIV)

Spoiled

It is common to hear people talking about “spoiled children” or a “spoiled child.”  

In our family we did not talk about a spoiled child until Amanda was born. Having two boys only 17 months apart in age, we did not talk about either boy being “spoiled.” When that cotton-top little girl named Amanda appeared on the scene, the boys were as guilty as their parents in spoiling her. 

As a preschooler in Burkina Faso, Amanda had only one local playmate, Janeen, who was our house helper’s daughter. Most children of all ages—even four-year olds—were kept busy all day helping with chores, hauling water or working in the fields. There was little play time for village children. Janeen’s dad worked for us so their family had a steady income and did not have to farm to grow food for their family, so she was able to play each day with Amanda. 

When Allison joined our clan Amanda was four years old. Amanda, the boys and Janeen all participated in spoiling her—along with her parents! There is four years difference in our girls’ ages, so Allison came along at just the right time for Amanda to pretend that she was her real baby.

Allison was definitely the most spoiled of our children. Maybe that’s because she is the fourth child, or she is the baby of the family. Regardless of the birth order, her three siblings doted on her so much that Allison was queen of the house.  

As parents we did not consider ourselves as heavy disciplinarians. We were firm with our kids for sure. I admit that I was less firm with our fourth child because I really did not need to be firm with Allison. Sometimes whenever Allison did something wrong, I did not have to say a word. I could just look at her a certain way, and she would lower her chin and look away from me. What a sad face! Whenever I gave her the “look,” she understood that she had done something that she should not have done, and she had that repentant reaction.

Isn’t it interesting how Allison’s reactions to her father’s “look” made her know that she had done something that displeased her father? The same is true with our Heavenly Father: we know when we miss the mark with Him without a word being spoken to us—and not even a “look.” 

Lord, as we walk with you, guide us to be so in tune with You that we don’t need a word or a look from you to know when we are not pleasing You.