My place on the wall

Do not fear . . . let not your hands grow weak. The LORD, your God, is in your midst, a warrior who gives great victory. – Zephaniah 3:16-17 (RSV)

I grew up in a house on a hill with a view of the Monongahela River. I’d often sit in the backyard on a summer day, watching the coal barges push upstream. On the near side of the river, extending the length of my hometown, was the steel mill. On the other side, a two-lane road ran between Webster and Monessen.

You had to be careful driving that stretch, especially during the spring. To make room for the road, builders had cut into the steep, rocky hillside, which made the entire hillside unstable. In the spring when the ground thawed, giant boulders came crashing down, destroying the high steel fence and littering the road. Signs were put up: “Danger. Falling Rock.”

Nowadays, unstable hillsides are restrained by huge stone walls built right up against them. However, these retaining walls, reinforced with steel rods and fencing meshed with stone, provide protection only for a time. Eventually they’ll give way to the forces of nature: the hillside will push against them, and if not reinforced periodically, these walls, too, will weaken and collapse.

From ancient times, walls have been built to protect. The Great Wall of China stretches over 4,000 miles and was once manned by one million soldiers. Ancient cities were protected by walls thick enough to contain houses, with watchtowers built along them. Troy’s walls could not be breached, thus the Greeks devised a way to get inside: we all know the story of the Trojan horse. Then there were the formidable walls of Jericho, which collapsed after a siege of only seven days.

One ancient wall that’s often overlooked is the wall that surrounded Jerusalem, which, generations after the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BC, remained “broken down, its gates burned with fire” (Nehemiah 1:3). Without a wall, a city was defenseless against its enemies. And a wall-less city was a disgrace.

Called by God in 445 BC to rebuild the wall around Jerusalem, Nehemiah faced a formidable task. The work was extensive—they toiled from “dawn till the stars came out,” not even taking time to change their clothes. Nehemiah and his crew had to be on guard constantly. Crafty and relentless, enemies without undermined his efforts with deception and murderous plots. The enemy within, exhaustion and discouragement, undermined the morale of the workers.

Nehemiah didn’t discount the power of his adversaries, but neither was he overwhelmed by everything that went wrong. Instead, he focused on God, rallied his workers, and pushed on.

“They all plotted together to come and fight against Jerusalem and stir up trouble against it. But we prayed to our God and posted a guard day and night to meet this threat,” he reported (Nehemiah 4:8–9). “From that day on, half of my men did the work, while the other half were equipped with spears, shields, bows and armor. . . . Those who carried the materials did their work with one hand and held a weapon in the other . . . So we continued the work” (Nehemiah 4:16, 17, 21).

Following God’s call doesn’t lead to a trouble-free life. The road of obedience is strewn with the boulders of deception, resistance, and animosity. The potholes of disappointment, discouragement, and doubt siphon energy and enthusiasm. Wounded and weary, we retreat, overwhelmed by the size of the task, the strength of the enemy, and our own weaknesses.

But wait! God hasn’t called me to defend the entire wall, only a section of it. Together we can rebuild the walls of faith that protect and defend us. It won’t be easy. But then, if it is, we’re no threat to the enemy.

We find strength not our own, but knowing that where God calls, He will enable.

Have you found your place on the wall yet?

Dear God, so much evil in the world, and it seems that the enemy is getting stronger and bolder by the minute. What can I, one little person, do to fight back? When I feel overwhelmed, remind me to focus on the portion You have assigned to me and that victory will come “not by might, nor by power, but by Your Spirit” (Zechariah 4:6). Amen.

Special-Tea: Nehemiah 4

Red flag days

All your waves and breakers have swept over me. – Psalm 42:7 (NIV)

All three of my kids and their families have vacationed on the shores of the Atlantic this summer, from Ocean City to the Outer Banks, all the way to Edisto Island, SC. I’m sure glad it isn’t this past weekend.

With Hurricane Bill churning up the surf and generating dangerous rip currents, powerful waves towering from six to 22 feet threaten life and limb. Weather forecasters warned against swimming, boating or fishing.

“In order to be safe, just stay out of the water,” The Weather Channel Web site advised. “Simple as that. It’s tempting to do, but don’t do it. You’re testing your fate.”

I have two who’d probably ignore the red flag warnings and plunge in anyway. One seems to think he’s indestructible, and the other acts as though rules and warnings are for everyone but him. The third is just the opposite—she’ll gather her chicks under her wings and batten down the hatches.

Growing up in a rather poor family in southwest Pennsylvania, I didn’t go to the beach until I was in my late teens. And even then it wasn’t an annual trip. In nearly six decades, I’ve been to the seashore about six times.

Once was right after our youngest son’s baseball team lost in the first round of the Little League state championship. Since we were only a couple of hours from the coast, were traveling in our motorhome, and my husband had optimistically taken the entire week off, we drove on over to Seaside Park, NJ. We figured it would get our minds off getting beaten so quickly and easily.

I’d had visions of strolling through gently rolling waves lapping warm sands. How was I to know what those little yellow flags snapping in the stiff sea breeze meant? I sure found out when I tiptoed into the surf after my husband and son.

There was nothing gentle about the ocean that day. The only thing rolling was me! After getting pounded into the sand one too many times, I staggered to the safety and security of the blanket. At least I got my sinuses cleaned out, I thought, blowing my nose into a paper towel.

“What does that yellow flag mean?” I asked my husband when he dripped by.

“It means caution,” he replied. “To be careful because the seas are a bit rough.”

“Now you tell me!” I choked.

“The green flag means calm seas, and the red flag danger. You don’t want to go out on a red flag day. That’s when the waves are really high, but that’s also the best time to body surf.”

Who wants to body surf? I thought. I just want to romp in a gentle sea.

I prefer the same as I live my life. At my age, I’d rather romp in gentle waves than endure the breakers on those red flag days. I’ve learned through experience that I’m not indestructible—and that rules and warnings are for me, too. I’ve come to understand that battening down the hatches and riding out the storm doesn’t mean I’m a sissy, but a sage.

Sometimes I can’t avoid staying out of the water. Circumstances leave me no choice but to plunge into the treacherous waves that sweep me off my feet and pound me into the surf. Reeling from onslaught after onslaught, I often wonder where God is while I’m being battered and beaten.

But I needn’t wonder too long. Just in time, He plucks me out of the raging seas, lovingly sets me down on soft sands, and enfolds me in the soft, secure blanket of His love—whether I “deserved” being saved or not.

And I realize that, whether I got myself in this predicament through my own foolhardiness or whether it was foisted upon me, God will always hear my cry and come to my rescue.

He will for you, too.

Thank you, Father, for being with me in the red flag days of my life. Amen.

Special-Tea: Psalm 42

Of blights and blessings, part 2

In my distress, I called to the LORD, and he answered me. – Jonah 2:2 (NIV)

A little over a week ago, I was sure we’d lost all our tomato and potato plants. Late blight, which was responsible for the Irish potato famine of the 1850s and can destroy an entire crop in a couple of days, had infected our garden.

“I asked God to stop the blight in its tracks,” I wrote on my blog. I believe God could do that. I just had my doubts He would do it. After all, how many of my prayers, some I’ve prayed for 10 years, have gone unanswered? So far, that is. Sometimes I despair of praying about those unanswered items, especially when they involve others.

I was sure all our four dozen tomato plants and four rows of potato plants would have to be pulled and burned. What I didn’t expect was for the blight to stop in its tracks.

Oh, we did lose the potato plants. Every single one of them. But we found usable potatoes beneath the soil. Some are tiny, some are medium-sized, but they are edible. How well they will store, I don’t know. But we’ll use what we can.

As for the tomato plants, we lost all but about a dozen. The plants on the lower end of the tomato patch are still lush and green, showing no sign of blight. Probably these are the blight resistant variety I’d bought and forgotten where I planted.

As for the other plants—some are brown and shriveled from bottom to top, but some show blight only halfway up the plant, with the tops still in blossom and green. Tomatoes on the blight-infected plants are rotting on the vines, but not all of them.

It appears that we may get some tomatoes to eat fresh and maybe even to can. It’s a case of “OGK”—“Only God Knows”—so we’ll have to wait and see.

It’s the same thing with prayer: Sometimes God answers lightning-fast, and all we can say is, “Wow!” Other times God seems to take His dear old time answering, and we cry in despair, “How long, O Lord?”

After being chosen by God and anointed king of Israel, David was forced to live a nomad’s life in the wilderness for years in order to evade a murderously jealous monarch. At one point, he cried in despair, “How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1) David eventually claimed the throne, but during those years of waiting he was being shaped and strengthened.

There was a time I prayed and prayed and prayed for someone who was making life miserable. I, too, cried, “How long, O Lord?” for years, never seeing an inkling of change. That person kept me on my knees, seeking God, clinging to Him, learning to wait. My trust in God was challenged—and strengthened.

Truthfully, I didn’t believe this prayer would ever be answered. This person was a hard nut to crack. And perhaps I wasn’t sure, at that stage in my young faith walk, that God could turn night into day and perform the miracle it would take.

When I was at a low point, a dear, wise Christian woman told me, “When it’s hardest to pray, that’s when you need to pray the hardest.”

Then came the day God answered. And all I could say, and all I can still say, was, “Wow!”

Is there something or someone you’ve been praying for, perhaps for years, and still see no sign of an answer? Does despair have you almost convinced that the answer will never come? Is it getting harder to pray? Is doubt, like a blight, eating away at your faith?

Hang in there, child of God. He hears you. He cares. And He will answer.

In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation (Psalm 5:3). Even though the wait seems long and the answers aren’t what I want, dear God, I know I can trust You and rest in the knowledge that You hear and answer--always. Amen.

In my distress, I called to the LORD; I cried to my God for help. From his temple he heard my voice; my cry came before him, into his ears. – Psalm 18:6

Special-Tea: Psalm 20

Of blights and blessings

Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior. –Habakkuk 3:17–18 (NIV)



I spoke too soon.

Wanting to share my joy at the abundant garden harvest we’re enjoying, I took pictures of the lush vegetable plants and posted them on my blog (see previous blog).

“When we planted our garden,” I wrote, “we prayed a blessing over it, then put a fence around it to keep the country critters out, then weeded and cultivated, then prayed some more. God has answered in Ephesians 3:20 ways.”

I then went on to list my harvest to date: 14 quarts of pickled beets, 7 quarts and 40 pints of beans (canned); 32 bags of beans for soup and stew, and 18 bags of pepper strips (frozen). Still to harvest are more beets, beans, carrots, onions, potatoes, squash, pumpkin, tomatoes and peppers.

I even splurged and bought a pressure canner. I figured I’d be busy into October. But that evening, my husband broke the news.

“I don’t know about the tomatoes,” he said, a worried look creasing his tired face.

I glanced up from my computer. “Why?”

“Blight.”

No. Forty-eight plants up in smoke. No tomatoes for the soups and stews and tomato dishes we enjoy through the winter.

I wasn’t going to panic, though. We prayed a blessing over the garden, right?

The next morning I asked God to stop the blight in its tracks, if that was indeed the problem. Maybe Dean was wrong. After all, it was getting dark by the time he’d made it to the garden to trim and tie up the tomatoes, which I’d described as a forest on my blog.

I googled “blight” + “tomato plants” + “Pennsylvania.” What I read wasn’t good. “Late blight,” as it’s called, has been running rampant in Pennsylvania since June and thrives on cool, wet weather, which has defined most of the summer. Not only can this blight wipe out an entire tomato field quickly, but it also affects potatoes.

“An infected plant,” I read, “would show a white mold on the underside of the leaf.”

I stared at the photo of an infected leaf, then pulled on my sandals and marched through the wet morning grass to the garden.


The tomato plants were lush no more. Withered, brown leaves spread from the bottom up.

Maybe, I thought, it’s just that the plants were so full, they aren’t getting enough air. A good trimming is all they need.

I leaned across the fence, plucked off a leaf and turned it over. White mold ringed the brown. I checked the potato plants, which I’d thought were dying off naturally. White mold there, too.

Does that mean God didn’t answer my prayer when I asked Him to bless my garden? If that’s the case, then why bother to pray about anything?

I can believe God didn’t hear, didn’t answer and doesn’t care. I can moan and groan and curse my luck. But that will just allow bitterness, like the blight, to infect my spirit.

Daniel wasn’t spared from the lions’ den. Neither were Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego spared from the fiery furnace. They were spared in it. They went to the lions’ den and the furnace trusting God, whether He spared them or not (Daniel 3 and 6). Even Job said, “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” (Job 2:10)

What about me? Do I trust God?

A resounding Yes!—even though my four dozen tomato plants and four rows of potato plants will have to be pulled and burned.

I’ve still plenty to be thankful for: 61 sparkling jars in my pantry, 50 bags of homegrown veggies in my freezer, more veggies to harvest, and a faithful, loving God that still has the whole world—and that includes my garden—in His capable hands.

And, Lord willing, there’s always next year.

Thank You, God, that You are in control and not me. Amen.

Special-Tea: Psalm 100

Our answer to the recession

The kiss of sun for pardon,
The song of birds for mirth,
One is closer to God in a garden
than anywhere else on earth.
~ Dorothy Frances Gurney

When we planted our garden, we prayed a blessing over it, then put a fence around it to keep the country critters out, then weeded and cultivated and prayed some more. God has answered in Ephesian 3:20 ways. We who usually have to struggle to maintain a garden despite the wildlife and weather and soil have an abundant harvest, exceeding our expectations.

So far I've canned

• 14 qts. pickled beets (plus 2 qts. given away, and 1-plus qt. enjoyed fresh, with pickled eggs)

• 7 qts. and 30 pints green beans
• 10 pts. wax (yellow) beans

and frozen

• 20 1-cup bags green beans (for soup & stew)
• 12 1-cup bags mixed (green and yellow) beans
• 15 snack bags of sweet banana pepper strips
• 3 snack bags of green bell pepper strips

One more batch (about 7 qts.) of beets to do. I pulled the bean plants (notice bare ground on the left), but left one row of yellow beans, since they aren't done yet. I figure one more picking.






Still to harvest:

• carrots
• more peppers (48 plants)
  
• tomatoes (48 plants), which are slow this year because of the cool, wet weather (but I usually can tomatoes in September)
• onions
  
• red potatoes
• pumpkin
  
• squash (butternut and spaghetti squash)
  

The tomato patch (left) looks like a forest, with the cherry tomato plants looking more like trees than plants. DH (Dear Husband) will have to trim them.

And somehow we must have gotten one hot pepper plant mixed in with the sweet banana pepper plants--I figured this out when we added a pepper to chipped steak, then had to put out the fire when we ate it. I can't tell which peppers are the hot ones, so when I slice them, I take a small bite. If it bites back, I put it aside to give to my oldest son, who, unlike DH and I, likes dishes with some kick.


Last year we enjoyed canned pears from our trees (left), but this year, the pears are few. And what we do have growing on the small tree, the deer are eating. So DH put a fence around the tree last night. But I still won't have enough pears to can. Maybe I'll buy a bushel . . .

Speaking of the pear trees, the one on the right (the bigger tree) was the recipient of an arrow, which split the tree in two, when our oldest was target shooting, getting ready for bow season. That was at least 15-20 years ago.

Where have all the flowers gone that DH planted at the woodsline behind the house? (see picture at right) Wonder no more. See why we put a fence around the pear tree and the garden? And to discourage them from jumping the fence, DH added the clothesline wire above it and I tied on about two dozen plastic grocery bags, for which I got laughed at. But, hey, it worked, didn't it?

We are family

And since we are all one body in Christ, we belong to each other, and each of us needs all the others. – Romans 12:5 (NLT)

“We are family” boasted black letters on a fluorescent green shirt, obviously made for this year’s family reunion.

How nice, I thought, smiling as the little girl wearing it skipped past.

It got me thinking about families. What is a family anyway?

Most simply, a family is a group of people who share a common bond. Families are most often defined as being related by virtue of having the same ancestors.

My Slovak grandmother arrived in America on May 4, 1910, at the age of 20. My mother was born four years later. I don’t know much about my father’s family, except that they, too, were Slovak, and, like many immigrants in the early 1900s, found work in the steel mills of western Pennsylvania.

My grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles are all gone now, and few of the cousins that remain remember much of our heritage. But, still, there is an unbreakable bond that ties us together.

My husband, on the other hand, says his background is “Heinz 57.” Although his ethnic heritage is mixed, his roots go deep into farming—we live on land that was once homesteaded by his great grandfather (or was it great-great-grandfather?).

Each year we attend two family reunions—the Woods reunion (his mother’s family) and the Huey-Wetzel reunion (his father’s side). When my children were little, I dreaded these day-long events. My family never had them, and secretly I felt resentful. I saw it only as work and often felt like an outsider. But I’ve changed my views.

“The older you get,” I told my son recently, “the more your roots mean to you.”

My roots tell me who I am—why I am the way I am. Understanding my past gives more meaning to my present and helps me to face the future. My grandparents’ generation embarked on a new life in a new country, not even knowing the language, then faced two world wars and a country-crippling depression while raising families of eight, nine, or more. That’s strong stock. I’m proud to say we are family.

There are other families, too. This year I’ll attend my fortieth-year class reunion. Although I’ve gone to only one in four decades, this time I feel need to go. I finally understand what binds us. We grew up together, sharing the Beatles, the Vietnam War, racial unrest, a cultural revolution. We are family.

Then there are those parents whose sons were on our son’s college baseball team. Together we cheered our boys on and sometimes (OK, often) booed the umpires. Victory, defeat, bad calls, rain, snow, energy-sucking heat, bone-chilling dampness, long road trips, disappointment and joy bonded us together. This summer, a year after our sons graduated, we held the first annual UPJ baseball reunion. The love that flowed among us was stronger than ever. We are family.

Last weekend in Punxsutawney the third annual “Church in the Park” weekend was held, with seven churches of varying denominations participating. Friday evening we enjoyed the movie Bolt on a screen set up in the town square. Saturday night featured a Southern gospel concert given by a choir made up of singers from the different churches. Sunday morning we gathered around the bandstand and worshipped together.

Earlier in the week, all seven churches worked on a community project together, cleaning up the local section of the Rails to Trails corridor.

How nice, I thought, for once we aren’t circling our wagons, but are facing outward, reaching into the community, asking, “How can we help?”

Yes, there are differences, but the bond we share, Jesus Christ, is stronger. Through Christ, we are family.

Family, you see, finds within the common bond meaning and purpose, strength and courage to face and impact the world outside—and, in the process, creating other families.

I am reminded of the words of a song I liked when I was in my teens: “No man is an island. No man stands alone. Each man’s joy is joy to me. Each man’s grief is my own. We need one another, so I will defend each man as my brother, each man as my friend.”*

Dear God, thank you for the families of which I am a part. Thank you that because of them, I do not have to face the world alone. Amen.

*From the song by Joan Baez, “No Man Is an Island,” ©NA

Special-Tea: Ephesians 4:1–13