Monday, February 1, 2010
Christmas Parade Photos
Crystal was kind enough to hand these over to me at church the other day and I knew several of you would love to see them. Enjoy!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving 2009
Psalm 136
My love affair with Thanksgiving takes me back across several decades of time. I was perhaps eight, my brother Bob seven, and we were being raised by our maternal grandparents on 100 acres of land in Ohio County, KY, land that contained mostly timber but with just enough cleared areas to eke out a garden, truck patches, and of course, Burley tobacco, at the time the area's only cash crop and mainstay for most families. (Well, there was one other "cash crop", but it had to be secretly cooked and sold and somehow the "revenuers" took a dim view of that form of commerce. We would never turn anyone in but we knew when neighbors bought sugar in 100 pound lots they weren't making candy!). We literally lived from one growing season to another, completely dependent in winter on the vegetables the women had canned, potatoes buried in the earth (surrounded by straw to protect from frostbite), and whatever wild game the men and boys could kill. In especially good years there would be a fattened hog to slaughter. We savored and tried to preserve all of the animal...save the squeal and hair. Hog-killing usually took place around Thanksgiving, ensuring the weather would be cold enough, in combination with massive amounts of salt, to preserve the meat, which was hung in "smokehouses." We heated the old un-insulated clapboard house with coal obtained from the nearby mines. Clothing and shoes, both of which would be patched--and re-patched--were either obtained from the local "General Store" in Olaton or ordered from Sears-Roebuck or Montgomery Ward. That is, except for shirts, dresses, and bonnets sewn from chicken-feed sacks, which were relished and traded by the womenfolk as though they were actual currency. Loretta got it right in Coal Miner's Daughter: "Complain? There warn't no need."
But then came Thanksgiving! In school we had studied the Pilgrims and Indians, turkeys, and tables laden with produce from a blessed growing season. Our teachers found enough brown, orange, black, red, and yellow craft paper for each child to make a turkey, print his/her name across the tail feathers, and prominently hang it on a wall. On the last day of school before Thanksgiving "recess", we got to take the turkey home!
Oh, one other thing: in the public school, and at home, there was never any question as to Who the Source of all our blessings was...God...and we thanked Him in both places!
It was not unusual for the first significant snowfall to hit those parts around Thanksgiving. (The winter of '58 brought an 18" snow that closed schools for 2 weeks...rabbits took refuge in barns and when forced outside sank in the drift, unable to run, providing unusally easy pickin's). I recall one such Thanksgiving day, under a leaden sky, after we had dined sumptuously, and the grownup men sat talking, (also chewing, spitting, smoking tobacco), relaxing, snoozing around the big coal stove, the women finally having their turn at the dining table, having patiently served the men and children (let's see that one fly today!), while the kids played excitedly outside (no tv, telephone, iPod, internet...we built log forts from old fence rails, climbed young hickory trees, grabbing the very tops, using our body weight to ride them to the ground, and sometimes had great corn-cob wars). On this particular Thanksgiving afternoon, suddenly every kid stopped what he/she was doing and looked heavenward: huge snowflakes had begun to ever so gently drift to the ground! Not even a "sugar high" could compare to the thrill this act of Mom Nature was now giving us! Within minutes the ground was white and we made footprints, and "tracked" one another in the snow.
But as the snow brought the kids excitement it also triggered alarm with those who had travelled from afar. Since the afternoon was wearing on and dark-thirty would come soon (around 4:30), the adults began collecting dishes and coats, calling kids, warming cars (those that had heaters). Soon it would be just Bob and me, still outside catching snowflakes on our tongues, toting coal for the night, milking/feeding the old cow, while the grandparents cleaned the kitchen. Once more, we would be alone, isolated from neighbors and family, but with Thanksgiving falling all around...darkness, the sound of snow sifting to the ground, and physical exhaustion from a day of "giving thanks to the Lord."
I pray your 2009 Thanksgiving will be blessed as never before!
julian
My love affair with Thanksgiving takes me back across several decades of time. I was perhaps eight, my brother Bob seven, and we were being raised by our maternal grandparents on 100 acres of land in Ohio County, KY, land that contained mostly timber but with just enough cleared areas to eke out a garden, truck patches, and of course, Burley tobacco, at the time the area's only cash crop and mainstay for most families. (Well, there was one other "cash crop", but it had to be secretly cooked and sold and somehow the "revenuers" took a dim view of that form of commerce. We would never turn anyone in but we knew when neighbors bought sugar in 100 pound lots they weren't making candy!). We literally lived from one growing season to another, completely dependent in winter on the vegetables the women had canned, potatoes buried in the earth (surrounded by straw to protect from frostbite), and whatever wild game the men and boys could kill. In especially good years there would be a fattened hog to slaughter. We savored and tried to preserve all of the animal...save the squeal and hair. Hog-killing usually took place around Thanksgiving, ensuring the weather would be cold enough, in combination with massive amounts of salt, to preserve the meat, which was hung in "smokehouses." We heated the old un-insulated clapboard house with coal obtained from the nearby mines. Clothing and shoes, both of which would be patched--and re-patched--were either obtained from the local "General Store" in Olaton or ordered from Sears-Roebuck or Montgomery Ward. That is, except for shirts, dresses, and bonnets sewn from chicken-feed sacks, which were relished and traded by the womenfolk as though they were actual currency. Loretta got it right in Coal Miner's Daughter: "Complain? There warn't no need."
But then came Thanksgiving! In school we had studied the Pilgrims and Indians, turkeys, and tables laden with produce from a blessed growing season. Our teachers found enough brown, orange, black, red, and yellow craft paper for each child to make a turkey, print his/her name across the tail feathers, and prominently hang it on a wall. On the last day of school before Thanksgiving "recess", we got to take the turkey home!
Oh, one other thing: in the public school, and at home, there was never any question as to Who the Source of all our blessings was...God...and we thanked Him in both places!
It was not unusual for the first significant snowfall to hit those parts around Thanksgiving. (The winter of '58 brought an 18" snow that closed schools for 2 weeks...rabbits took refuge in barns and when forced outside sank in the drift, unable to run, providing unusally easy pickin's). I recall one such Thanksgiving day, under a leaden sky, after we had dined sumptuously, and the grownup men sat talking, (also chewing, spitting, smoking tobacco), relaxing, snoozing around the big coal stove, the women finally having their turn at the dining table, having patiently served the men and children (let's see that one fly today!), while the kids played excitedly outside (no tv, telephone, iPod, internet...we built log forts from old fence rails, climbed young hickory trees, grabbing the very tops, using our body weight to ride them to the ground, and sometimes had great corn-cob wars). On this particular Thanksgiving afternoon, suddenly every kid stopped what he/she was doing and looked heavenward: huge snowflakes had begun to ever so gently drift to the ground! Not even a "sugar high" could compare to the thrill this act of Mom Nature was now giving us! Within minutes the ground was white and we made footprints, and "tracked" one another in the snow.
But as the snow brought the kids excitement it also triggered alarm with those who had travelled from afar. Since the afternoon was wearing on and dark-thirty would come soon (around 4:30), the adults began collecting dishes and coats, calling kids, warming cars (those that had heaters). Soon it would be just Bob and me, still outside catching snowflakes on our tongues, toting coal for the night, milking/feeding the old cow, while the grandparents cleaned the kitchen. Once more, we would be alone, isolated from neighbors and family, but with Thanksgiving falling all around...darkness, the sound of snow sifting to the ground, and physical exhaustion from a day of "giving thanks to the Lord."
I pray your 2009 Thanksgiving will be blessed as never before!
julian
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Prayer requests for the week-
Judy Williams- praise report- making a good turn in her health.
Faye’s mom - praise report- she is doing well right now. Pray for Don- Faye’s brother
Kids at Rockvale Middle School.
Shane and Jennifer’s new baby- Noah.
Jobs for members' families.
Janina’s parents
Betty’s dad
Robbie and Nancy- closing a house
Lee’s hs classmate seriously ill- family and kids
Corey starts a new job
Judy Williams- praise report- making a good turn in her health.
Faye’s mom - praise report- she is doing well right now. Pray for Don- Faye’s brother
Kids at Rockvale Middle School.
Shane and Jennifer’s new baby- Noah.
Jobs for members' families.
Janina’s parents
Betty’s dad
Robbie and Nancy- closing a house
Lee’s hs classmate seriously ill- family and kids
Corey starts a new job
Monday, July 20, 2009
BAPTISM INTO WHAT?
How well I remember the night! Though it’s been a long time I can vividly recall making the Confession before a packed house in a little one room clapboard church building as wasps dive-bombed and plump ladies tried generating air movement with paper fans supplied by a local funeral establishment. It was mid-July, and in mid-Kentucky it was hot! About 45 minutes after the service broke we gathered at a neighbor’s cattle pond and there, in the headlight beams of a few cars, I was baptized. (I won’t tell you how old those cars would be now but will tell you if you own one you’re holding a valuable, big-bucks vehicle).
I recall the preacher saying something like “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…” (Actually, he probably said “Holy Ghost” as the King James Version of the Bible was the only one we knew). Later that evening, as I lay in bed being serenaded by a symphony of crickets, I waited for the old house to cool enough for sleep to come. But mostly I was deep in thought about what I had just experienced. I had the uncanny feeling I had just been “transitioned” from something into something. But what, to be sure, I wasn’t sure.
At age 30 Jesus came to the Jordan River and the spot where his first cousin, John, was baptizing, Mark 1: 9-11. Here Jesus was baptized by immersion (“He came up out of the water”…it was the mode of baptism practiced by the Essenes (John) and other Jews of the time…and yes, I do think it’s important). But as Jesus stood dripping in the very H2O He had created so long ago, Mark says “…He saw heaven being torn open (italics mine) and the Spirit descending on Him like a dove.”
The “tearing open” of heaven suggests a transition to a new era. And lest we miss it…when something is opened it can be closed again, but when “torn open” can never be closed again! What’s torn, stays torn, stays open. On that day God was opening a way to heaven…through His Son!
Jesus’ baptism in water that day had nothing to do with personal repentance from sin, but it did mark the beginning of the three and one-half year trek to His other baptism—His crucifixion. In its most basic sense baptism represents a metaphorical identification with someone or something. On the day He was baptized in water, Jesus identified with me—a sinner. And shortly thereafter, alone for forty days and nights in the wilderness, He was tempted to become me, the sinner. He didn’t, and I am so glad!
I think I see it a little better now. On that sultry July night I was baptized as a sinner into both Jesus’ water baptism (in which He identified with me, the sinner) but especially into His other baptism, the Cross, on which the spotless Lamb of God sealed my pardon with His blood, Romans 6:3,4! And as only God could, in the same eternal stroke added me to His Church, that invisible Kingdom composed of the hearts of believers over which Jesus reigns in sovereignty, Acts 2:38-47. (Yes, the church does have lots of visible expressions…perhaps you know one? If not, the redeemed but still imperfect folk at Christ Family Church would love to have you visit).
But now, “baptism into what” carries a whole new precious meaning. I hope it does for you as well. If you’ve never been baptized, you should be, into the likeness of Jesus’ death and resurrection, 1 Peter 3:21. And one other thing: you shouldn’t put it off!
julian
I recall the preacher saying something like “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…” (Actually, he probably said “Holy Ghost” as the King James Version of the Bible was the only one we knew). Later that evening, as I lay in bed being serenaded by a symphony of crickets, I waited for the old house to cool enough for sleep to come. But mostly I was deep in thought about what I had just experienced. I had the uncanny feeling I had just been “transitioned” from something into something. But what, to be sure, I wasn’t sure.
At age 30 Jesus came to the Jordan River and the spot where his first cousin, John, was baptizing, Mark 1: 9-11. Here Jesus was baptized by immersion (“He came up out of the water”…it was the mode of baptism practiced by the Essenes (John) and other Jews of the time…and yes, I do think it’s important). But as Jesus stood dripping in the very H2O He had created so long ago, Mark says “…He saw heaven being torn open (italics mine) and the Spirit descending on Him like a dove.”
The “tearing open” of heaven suggests a transition to a new era. And lest we miss it…when something is opened it can be closed again, but when “torn open” can never be closed again! What’s torn, stays torn, stays open. On that day God was opening a way to heaven…through His Son!
Jesus’ baptism in water that day had nothing to do with personal repentance from sin, but it did mark the beginning of the three and one-half year trek to His other baptism—His crucifixion. In its most basic sense baptism represents a metaphorical identification with someone or something. On the day He was baptized in water, Jesus identified with me—a sinner. And shortly thereafter, alone for forty days and nights in the wilderness, He was tempted to become me, the sinner. He didn’t, and I am so glad!
I think I see it a little better now. On that sultry July night I was baptized as a sinner into both Jesus’ water baptism (in which He identified with me, the sinner) but especially into His other baptism, the Cross, on which the spotless Lamb of God sealed my pardon with His blood, Romans 6:3,4! And as only God could, in the same eternal stroke added me to His Church, that invisible Kingdom composed of the hearts of believers over which Jesus reigns in sovereignty, Acts 2:38-47. (Yes, the church does have lots of visible expressions…perhaps you know one? If not, the redeemed but still imperfect folk at Christ Family Church would love to have you visit).
But now, “baptism into what” carries a whole new precious meaning. I hope it does for you as well. If you’ve never been baptized, you should be, into the likeness of Jesus’ death and resurrection, 1 Peter 3:21. And one other thing: you shouldn’t put it off!
julian
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Tornado
Sure hope you can be at worship tomorrow. You may have read that a preacher was walking on one of the trails in Murfreesboro when the tornado came through. He clung to a tree for his life...literally. David Young will be sharing how that experience was a direct result of his prayers to God preceding that event, and how sometimes, experiencing God can be something you don't quite expect. Afterward, we'll pull up to a table to down some July 4th picnic-fare together. Bring some fried chicken, watermelon, lemonade, or a chocolate triple layer brownie truffle cake (hint, hint) and a friend(s).
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The Perspective of a Not-Raised-in-Church Kid.
Julian's post was thought-provoking for me - I was not made to go to church as a child. My dad was in retail, and he often had to be at work by 10 on Sundays, so our family did not attend a church. I went to a Christian school, but for me, going to church was always a treat. It was special - something I only did when i was with grandparents or friends.
Anyway, now that I am a grown woman with 2 kids of my own, I look forward to going to church. I like feeling connected to God and to other believers - and I bring my kids with me. Right now, one of them LOVES going to church because for her, it is just playtime with other kids. The other is too young to care where he is. This makes me wonder though, what my kids will think about church as adults having "had" to go as kids. Hopefully, they will always want to go.......
Anyway, now that I am a grown woman with 2 kids of my own, I look forward to going to church. I like feeling connected to God and to other believers - and I bring my kids with me. Right now, one of them LOVES going to church because for her, it is just playtime with other kids. The other is too young to care where he is. This makes me wonder though, what my kids will think about church as adults having "had" to go as kids. Hopefully, they will always want to go.......
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
"Aw, Mom, do I hafto?"
Ever had someone tell you the reason they no longer go to church is because they were made to go as a kid? Take the guy whose Mom called up to his bedroom one Sunday morning: "Son, get up. It's time to get ready to go to church." From under the covers came his muffled reply: "You always made me go but now give me three reasons why I should go?" Came his mother's tart response: (1) "Because I'm your mother, and I said 'get up.'" (2) "Because you are a grown man." (3) "Because you are the preacher."
There are many for whom the very mention of the word church (in this case meaning the assembly), seems to send chills up the spine. A few days ago, while speaking at a funeral and on heaven in particular, I tried to encourage those gathered that heaven wouldn't be an all-day church service. I wish you could have seen the facial expressions...from my vantage point! Looks of surprise and relief seemed to reveal that for many "church" was not currently a preferable use of their time. Reckon any of them were made to go as children?
I know people, some very close to me, who offer the excuse mentioned above for not being involved in a local body of believers. And each time I hear it I wonder anew what went wrong? For you see, I want to go to church! Why? To connect with God in assembly, (Psa.111:1), expecting His Presence, (Mt. 18:20), and together with other fallible creatures look to be showered by His grace. And I expect to receive, almost unwittingly, blessing upon blessing from fellow travelers who from time to time share experiences from their past week's/life's faith journey.
Recently I became quite ill after going to bed on a Saturday evening and then was up most of the night..., no, I won't gross you out with personal details. Ugh, but it was bad! Next morning, as time for church neared, I realized that for the first time in a long, long time, I wouldn't be physically able to attend. As the old timers used to say, I would be "providentially hindered." Later in the morning, after my wife had joined her parents for worship, I dragged my sick body to the nearest convenience store. Gatorade was the only thing I imagined I could swallow to keep down, and I reasoned it would prevent dehydration. I saw lots of people on that brief jaunt, going about their affairs as on any other day. I wonder if any of them were now enjoying "freedom" from having been made to attend church as a kid? (I realize Sunday morning isn't the only time folk attend church these days).
Yes, for the most part "church" is a desirable, pleasant experience for me. And even though my little part requires considerable preparation, still I wouldn't trade derived blessings for any so-called "freedom" not to attend. (By the way, as a boy I was sometimes "made" to take a bath. But somehow I don't refuse a refreshing shower today because cleanliness was "forced" on me back then). Go figure!
I want my whole attitude about church to be like that of a man's talking centipede (100 legged bug). Having selectively chosen the critter at a pet store he took him home in a neat white box that doubled as his home. Our friend decided the best way to start his relationship with the centipede was by going to church. So, "Would you like to go to church with me today? We'll have a good time." No answer from within the white box. After a few minutes another try: "How about going to church with me and receive blessings?" Again, there was no answer from the new pet. For his third and determined to be final time, the man put his face against the little white box and shouted: "Hey, in there! Would you like to go to church with me and learn about God?"
Finally, an answer: "I heard you the first time! I'm putting on my shoes!"
By the way, at Christ Family...wing tips and heels aren’t required!
julian
There are many for whom the very mention of the word church (in this case meaning the assembly), seems to send chills up the spine. A few days ago, while speaking at a funeral and on heaven in particular, I tried to encourage those gathered that heaven wouldn't be an all-day church service. I wish you could have seen the facial expressions...from my vantage point! Looks of surprise and relief seemed to reveal that for many "church" was not currently a preferable use of their time. Reckon any of them were made to go as children?
I know people, some very close to me, who offer the excuse mentioned above for not being involved in a local body of believers. And each time I hear it I wonder anew what went wrong? For you see, I want to go to church! Why? To connect with God in assembly, (Psa.111:1), expecting His Presence, (Mt. 18:20), and together with other fallible creatures look to be showered by His grace. And I expect to receive, almost unwittingly, blessing upon blessing from fellow travelers who from time to time share experiences from their past week's/life's faith journey.
Recently I became quite ill after going to bed on a Saturday evening and then was up most of the night..., no, I won't gross you out with personal details. Ugh, but it was bad! Next morning, as time for church neared, I realized that for the first time in a long, long time, I wouldn't be physically able to attend. As the old timers used to say, I would be "providentially hindered." Later in the morning, after my wife had joined her parents for worship, I dragged my sick body to the nearest convenience store. Gatorade was the only thing I imagined I could swallow to keep down, and I reasoned it would prevent dehydration. I saw lots of people on that brief jaunt, going about their affairs as on any other day. I wonder if any of them were now enjoying "freedom" from having been made to attend church as a kid? (I realize Sunday morning isn't the only time folk attend church these days).
Yes, for the most part "church" is a desirable, pleasant experience for me. And even though my little part requires considerable preparation, still I wouldn't trade derived blessings for any so-called "freedom" not to attend. (By the way, as a boy I was sometimes "made" to take a bath. But somehow I don't refuse a refreshing shower today because cleanliness was "forced" on me back then). Go figure!
I want my whole attitude about church to be like that of a man's talking centipede (100 legged bug). Having selectively chosen the critter at a pet store he took him home in a neat white box that doubled as his home. Our friend decided the best way to start his relationship with the centipede was by going to church. So, "Would you like to go to church with me today? We'll have a good time." No answer from within the white box. After a few minutes another try: "How about going to church with me and receive blessings?" Again, there was no answer from the new pet. For his third and determined to be final time, the man put his face against the little white box and shouted: "Hey, in there! Would you like to go to church with me and learn about God?"
Finally, an answer: "I heard you the first time! I'm putting on my shoes!"
By the way, at Christ Family...wing tips and heels aren’t required!
julian
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