Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda

Life rolls by at lightning speed and opportunities fly by like objects blown in a hurricane. That good deed I meant to do, the expression of thanks all end up as good intentions rather than acts completed. I often feel that twinge of regret that reminds me that I allowed an opportune moment to slip by me. This time it was more than a twinge, it was an onslaught of full-fledged grief.

We moved into our new house 18 months ago. We met some of the neighbors but some kept to themselves. I met the pets of the little girl from the house down the street before I met her. Her two Siamese mix cats resembled our own felines. Her cats loved to hang out by our bird feeder and take a drink from our little pond and waterfall.

I never met her dad.. We spoke twice. Once when his dog got into my back yard and once, when my husband was ill and I was trying to shovel myself out of over a foot of new Christmas snow. He saw me struggling and arrived at my driveway with his snow blower. It had been a rough holiday, my husbands health was only one of the traumas we suffered this past December. I was at the end of my rope and this man with his snow blower was the best Christmas present I received. I thanked him tearfully and told him how much his act of kindness meant to me. I vowed to myself that I would take some cookies or other Christmas goodies to the house as a thank you. I meant well, I thought about doing something to show my thanks but life intervened, my husband still struggled with his health and my good intentions remained only intentions.

Fast forward to February and I learn that this man and his daughter are going to lose their home. One week I wave to the little girl as she waits for the school bus and rescue her cat from our tree and the next day their house is closed up and there is a foreclosure notice on the door.

My heart was pierced and I was desolate. I can't imagine what that man must have been going through in December. He must have already been behind with his mortgage and worrying about his home. In the middle of his problems, he took a moment to help a neighbor, to show a kindness. I thanked him for his kindness but went no further than that. I spent several days a week in ministry but I did not follow through on an opportunity to show the love of Christ to my neighbor.

Every day the house down the street stands in silent rebuke. The notice on the door reminds me that lives once lived there; dreams once dreamed there are gone. It stands empty of life and hope and it is a daily reminder that those moments the Lord gives us are too precious to waste. It is the silent witness to my lack of obedience and love. It stands on my street and reminds me that "woulda, shoulda, coulda are never words that should be used in God's economy.

The True Tie That Binds

By Anita Aurit

There are those who believe that the only true family tie is blood. Their requirement for full acceptance into the tribe is to be born into the family circle. Marriage gives you a limited pass, not full membership. To receive all the familial rights and privileges, you must have emerged from the same gene pool.

I’ve never understood this way of thinking. Perhaps this is due to my family dynamics. As a result of the physical and emotional abuse we suffered from my alcoholic father, my mother, sister, brother and I, like Scarlett O’Hara, were often forced to “rely on the kindness of strangers”. Over the years these strangers became as close and as loved as any family member.

My mother was a German immigrant, an only child and without any stateside relatives. My father had a wonderful brother and sister but they lived many states away. Visits to them were too few and far between.

Rather than playing the hand dealt us, over the years we stacked the deck with people who became pseudo family members. Our little single wide trailer would burst at the seams every holiday with those we loved and many we barely knew who had no family of their own. Although money was scarce and my mother worked two jobs, she always managed to provide a beautiful buffet and even place little gifts for everyone under the Christmas tree. My longing for a “normal” family was partially fulfilled during these holiday events as we enjoyed a family gathering without the traditional family. We all were grafted together in a crazy quilt of a pseudo family tree. It wasn’t DNA that made us family, it was love, respect, commitment to each other and the honest joy in being together.

Today, as a Christ follower, I have an even better perspective of the concept of blood being thicker than water. The phrase is true but only in the context of faith. The blood that truly binds us together is the blood of Christ. There is nothing that can create family and community better than a shared faith in Jesus Christ. We are grafted onto the family tree of Abraham through the blood, we are joined together in the eternal family of God through the blood, and we are redeemed and saved by the blood.

Yes, the blood of Christ is thicker than water and it is an indicator of family ties. The icing on the cake in this familial relationship is when those family ties are forever intertwined with your earthly family. What joy I find in sharing my faith with my brother and sister. This was a blessing I enjoyed with my mother when she was alive as well.

Blest be the true tie that binds us together!

The Coming Day

The sun rises in the eastern sky, sometimes dramatically. It's a symbol that speaks to the soul of all humanity. No one hates the sunrise, no one but the darkest of hearts. It's a universally ingrained portension of hope.

Our marveling over a glorious sunrise is more than anticipation of the day. God has inset this divine hope in our souls as a reminder of what to expect. When He will come again, no one knows.

"He's coming," we whisper, sometimes in half-belief. We want to believe it more than ever but the world throws darkness at us as if to insist that He cannot and never will. Still we see the sunrise and it thrills us.

No matter what beastly things happen, the killings, the wars, the many natural disasters...Our Lord returns. You can see it some mornings on the horizon. Your souls and mine recognize those precious scenes as truth.

A glorious sunrise is a forecast, a prophecy of the Son's Rise.

We who believe simply believe and we rest in it, like children waiting eagerly for the coming of day.

### Dwayne K. Parsons

Malapropism Mama

By Anita Aurit

The malapropisms of my German mother were a constant source of delight and amusement in my family. There was rarely a time when she was writing out a check that she didn't ask,"How do you spell five; with an F or a V?"

She often referred to notable people as being very extinguished and she never got mad, she got fur-ious. If she was extremely upset, she might even get her gander up.

Mom was always a bit put off when someone would ask, "Where are you from, I can't place your accent?"

"Akzent?", she would bark, giving them her best cold stare, "I don't shpeak vith an Akzent!"

One Sunday breakfast in particular comes to mind. As we sat at the large, round table and shared lively conversation with our friends, the waitress took our orders. When the food arrived, my mother was irate. Sitting in front of her was a plate of eggs, a bowl of chili and one piece of toast. Everyone else at the table with a toast order had two pieces. Why did she receive only one? To make matters worse, she had not requested any chili. Who in their right mind would eat greasy chili early in the morning?

Before Mom whipped herself into a lather, my sister, always the calm, thoughtful one in the family, suggested we review the order process and see if we could ascertain where the waitress went so woefully wrong.

"Okay Mom," my sister said in her soothing fashion, "Just tell us exactly what you said to the waitress."

Irritated but willing to play along in the hopes of solving this culinary mystery and calling the errant waitress to task, my mother replied in her heavy German accent. "All I said vas "I'll half an order of toast with chelli." It was several minutes before we could wipe the tears of laughter from our eyes and calm down enough to explain the solution of the wacky breakfast mystery to my mother.

Ah, Mom, the English language has never been the same for me since you've been gone.

First Snow

by Anita Aurit


It snowed last week, every ugly pile of soggy fall leaves covered in a blanket of white glitter. The trees looked like sugar-dusted confections. As I stood on my back porch and admired God's handiwork, I felt like a child again. The anticipation and excitement that the first snow brings always makes my heart smile. The first snow means skis, snowshoes, and warm fuzzy sweaters. It means good things to come like roasted turkey and beautiful packages under a fragrant tree. It means the celebrations of our thankfulness to God and our joy at His birth. First snow, I love it.

First snow reminds me of my walk of faith. I sometimes go through a fall season when my leaves feel brittle and fragile. I walk with Christ but somehow I seem to have fallen far behind Him on the path. Regrets and doubts fall down onto the ground in orange and yellow disarray. As I walk, they crunch under my feet, reminding me that my God is larger than any doubt or regret and yet, I still lag behind, following God much too slowly.

As I trudge along, feeling the full force of this autumn of my faith, a cool wetness touches my cheek. I look up and the sky is full of snowflakes. Sparkling crystals fall around me, covering the dry foliage on the path ahead. I look down the way and find that God is standing much closer than I had thought. I see his footprints in the freshly fallen snow and I know that I am not nearly as far from Him as I imagined. The snow falls and I smile with anticipation, knowing that as I come closer to Him, wonderful fellowship and blessings await me.

As surely as I know God is always on the path with me I know that there will be another autumn of my faith. I don't fear it, I wait to learn from it and look forward with joy to its end, to the first snow.

I love first snow.

Construction

by Anita Aurit

My husband and I are having a house built .We have floor plans, we have walked the lot and seen the house staked out but we are still a bit tentative about the whole thing-particularly since the second level of the house will be built into the side of a hill. We've been told there will be a yard, a nice yard but we stare at the sloping landscape and sigh, confident that we can trust the professionals but unable to translate this dream into a visual. Our joy in this new home is mixed with trepidation. The delight of what we believe to be true is counter balanced by the apprehension of what we cannot see or totally understand.

Hmmm, it seems as though I have just described some of my hurdles of faith. When I chose Jesus Christ, I stepped into the plans that God had for my life. Just as I stand here on this empty lot with string and posts giving only a hint of what the builder will do; I stood in a spiritual empty lot on that day as well. I had only a vague idea of what God would be building in my life; I could not visualize the new structure He had conceived for me.

His plan for my life was also bigger than just that one decision to follow Him. Just as this lot on which I stand will be excavated, foundation poured and walls erected, God was beginning the foundation work in me as well. As time has passed, I can now see the wonderful structure of my faith. The walls of are strong and protect me from so many winds that blow against my life. Where my soul was dark I now have light pouring in and the view that I see is one that is God-centered. So much work has been done but this spiritual house of mine is not perfect. I can still turn a corner and see an unfinished area, a place that is an opportunity to build something new, a place ready for a bit of renovation.

Is my spiritual house finished? Never! Any homeowner will tell you that a house is never done. There is always a tweak here, a change there as well as the regular upkeep. So it goes with my spiritual house as well. Just when I finish one room and am completely satisfied, I walk into another and am shocked at the work that is still to be done.

My spiritual house is a never-ending work in process yet I don't worry about the details. The Master Builder, the Architect of my heart and soul never fails me. I may not understand the blueprints. I may stand on the empty lot, with strings and stakes and stare in confusion but I know one thing with absolute certainty. This house of my soul will be beautiful and just what the Builder had in mind-all I have to do is believe in Him and trust what I cannot see.

The Same Permission

By Dwayne K. Parsons

The other day while working, I heard a young man singing short phrases in various tunes. I paid little attention because the work was demanding. He was a carpenter putting up interior trim in another room. I was a painter sanding new boards smooth to accept the stain I would later spray on them.

On the second day, I happened to walk by the doorway to the room where the young man was and heard him sing, “…because you’ll never let me go.” I stopped outside the room and listened for a moment longer. He was singing to God, singing of God’s love for him, short phrases not necessarily connected one to the other. It wasn’t so much a song, just heart thoughts that I heard.

I smiled. Then I thought about where I was in my own life, how I had been working hard, long days and taking little time for myself or my family and I realized I had gotten away from prayer time, quiet time and praising God myself. I could see all the hurry in my life and the urgency to get things done because I had filled my life up with work

All the while I was thinking these things I could hear this young carpenter singing his simple songs of praise. I realized I had put God out of my mind and replaced him with focus on the work of too many jobs. I had forgotten that praise and worship are powerful harmonizing tools for the soul, that peace comes from them and diligence, wise thinking and productivity. I knew if I went back to praising and giving thanks by habit that the striving would disappear.

I can’t say that I went into the next room and started singing to God. I didn’t. I went on about my work that day much the same as before. But the young man’s voice filled the house with song. Everyone could hear him.

Later I told him that I liked what he was singing and that I thought God did as well.

“I’m not singing for people to listen,” he said.

That was it. That’s all he said. Perhaps he thought I was trying to flatter him. But I wasn’t. Really, I was just telling myself aloud that I should give myself the same permission.