Dean's jungle

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. – Romans 8:38–39 NIV
     
     

I call it “Dean’s Jungle”—the potted plant my husband lugged up from his mother’s house after she passed away.

That was in 1999. You’d think, with my track record with plants, the thing would be long wilted. But no, it’s green and growing and ugly (beauty is in the eye of the beholder, remember).

Even after having once been cut back to its roots, it stands over 5 feet high and is just as wide, its thick branches spreading out like an unruly child - branches that produce waxy, jungle-like leaves that spit wax because everything within a foot of it eventually acquires a waxy coating that’s a bugger to clean off.
     
During the summer months, Dean’s Jungle soaks in the sunshine on the back deck in a corner where I can’t see it, but where it gets plenty of wind, which, when strong enough, blows it over, spewing potting soil that you-know-who has to sweep up (not DH, and it’s his plant).
     
When fall comes around, it’s time to bring the monstrosity indoors. Last winter, my daughter-in-law kept it at their place since I didn’t have the room. So I claimed. Truth be told, I just didn’t want to make room for that dreadful thing. But, knowing what it means to my husband, I couldn’t bring myself to leave it outside once the nights brought killing frosts.
     
When spring arrived, guess what else did? And here I’d hoped the plant would grow on its adopted family. But no. Back on the deck Dean’s Jungle went to endure another windy summer. But come fall my daughter-in-law said she didn’t have room for it. She probably didn’t. Despite being blown over and alternately drowned and dried, the thing had grown up and out.
     
Fortunately for DH and unfortunately for me, we had the room downstairs since I’d given away my piano. Dean drove two 5-foot wooden stakes into the pot and tied the branches to them. At first the plant rebelled, dropping leaves like a mangy mutt during shedding season. Dean feared the plant was dying. I hoped it was.
     
But, alas, it was just preparing for another growth spurt. Now it thrives in the light streaming in from the southwestern window. Despite the fact that Dean forgets to water it and I purposely don’t. It just reaches for the sunlight and survives.
     
Dean’s Jungle is a living example of the kind of love Paul describes in1 Corinthians 13—a love that perseveres even when neglected. A steadfast love that never gives up, never fades, never wilts. A love that is everlasting.
     
The kind of love God has for us.
     
Father, forgive me when I take Your love for granted—when I ignore it, reject it, treat it as though it was something I deserve, something I’m entitled to. Remind me Your love is a gift I don’t even have to ask for. It’s there for the taking. Help me to love others as You love me. Amen.

More tea: Read Romans 8:31–39

Love notes

The ABC’s of knowing God better: the letter “L”

   

Thy steadfast love, O LORD, extends to the heavens, thy faithfulness to the clouds. – Psalm 36:5 (RSV)
      
God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God in him.  – 1 John 4:16 (NKJV)
      
      
My first high school boyfriend, a tall, skinny basketball player nicknamed “Rebo” (short for “rebound” – his job on the court) was the first boy in high school who liked me back. Finally, I got love notes like the other girls. I was loved! Oh, joy! He even gave me a huge stuffed St. Bernard that took up nearly half my single bed for Valentine’s Day. I named it “Rebo.” (Duh.)
      
Our romance lasted three months. On the bus ride home from our class picnic at the end of the school year, he handed me a note and told me not to read it until I got home.
      
It was a “Dear Michele” letter.
      
I was devastated. I mean, I finally get a boy to like me back, and he dumps me for a cheerleader!
      
I grieved all summer, sitting in the dark living room on the hard floor in front of the stereo, listening to Bobby Vinton and all those emo songs back then. I didn’t think I’d ever run out of tears or that my heart, shattered in a million pieces, would ever be whole again.
      
Then one summer evening, I went to a church bazaar with friends, including the boy who became my high school sweetheart. It was the last night of the event, and the magical August night sky blossomed with fireworks to end the evening.
      
Well, that was the first display of fireworks that night. The second was when I arrived home after walking my best friend, who lived across town, home. I should have called when we got to Kathie’s house. (Remember, no cell phones existed back then.)
      
It was after midnight when I climbed the front porch steps. My father, who’d never gotten angry with me before, met me at the door – not unruffled and quiet, like he usually was. After our heated exchange, I stormed to my room, grounded for two weeks.
      
I treated Dad with icy silence the next day, Sunday. Monday he left for work. He traveled for his job and would be gone a week.
      
Wednesday I received a letter.
        
My dear Michele, Dad wrote. Perhaps by now you are over the mad spell at me for scolding you.
      
It had been the first time I’d ever stayed out late without calling, he explained.
       
I was sick with worry after walking up to the bazaar and not finding you there, he wrote. By that time I was imagining everything.
      
Mom told me he’d ventured out in his pajamas, poking through the bushes along the way.
       

It is so hard for a parent to be cross with a child, he concluded. But sometimes it is necessary for your own good. Perhaps when you have children of your own, you will understand how we feel.
      
My icy heart melted. One moment of panic, I realized, doesn’t cancel out years of steadfast love. I clutched the letter to my heart, tears once more filling my eyes. But this time they were tears of joy.
      
Love notes – I think my father’s trumps them all.
      
      
Thank you, Father God, for Your steadfast, faithful, and unfailing love. And thank you for the Bible, Your love note to me. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Romans 8:31–39

(Love note image courtesy of StuartMiles/FreeDigitalPhotos.net)

Tracking number

The LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. – Psalm 121:8 (NIV)

The verdict was in: My old laptop couldn’t be fixed. My computer guy tried—ordered an internal jack to replace the bad one that was causing the screen to flicker and a too-frequent-for-comfort loss of power. But he couldn’t get into the computer to replace it.

In the days preceding the verdict, I’d prayed about the decision whether to buy a new laptop or repair the old one. So when I got the news, I told my husband, “That’s my answer.”

I’d already pored through Consumer Reports and visited the websites of the companies that made the models that were my top choices. I’d pretty much made up my mind which laptop would suit my needs and pocketbook. So when a little “chat with a representative” window popped up, I clicked on it.

I told the rep I needed it no later than Friday. It was Monday. I was scheduled to fly back to Colorado Springs the following week for another writing stint, and I needed the laptop in time to set it up and get somewhat used to it before I left.

“No problem,” he wrote. “I’ll schedule it for expedited shipping at no extra cost.”

So I ordered it—a nice, sleek laptop that was half the size and bulk of the old one. And I had enough money left over to buy a much-needed all-in-one printer.

In the confirmation email the company sent me was a tracking number—by clicking on it, I could follow my order en route from the distribution facility across the country to my home. And that’s what I did. From Tuesday to Thursday, I watched the laptop’s progress from Carlsbad, Calif., to San Diego to Indianapolis to Pittsburgh to Johnstown to my home. I even had a pretty good idea the hour it would come. I all but sat by the front window all day. Then did the happy dance when it arrived.

And so God watches our progress from birth to death. We’re all “special orders” to Him. You’re the apple of His eye (Ps. 17:8)—beloved, precious and honored (Isaiah 43:4). Some of us are on an expedited route and will arrive home sooner than others. But most of us, I daresay, are going home by way of ground shipment, which will take longer and will have more “parking spots” and bumps along the way.

Our Heavenly Father knows every stone, every pothole, every mountain and valley, every river that must be crossed—and does the “happy dance” when we finally arrive on the doorstep of our eternal home.

Dear God, You saw me before I was born and scheduled each day of my life before I began to breathe. Every day was recorded in your Book! How precious it is, Lord, to realize that you are thinking of me constantly! I can’t even count how many times a day your thoughts turn towards me. And when I waken in the morning, you are still thinking of me! (Psalm 139:16–18 LB). Awesome! Thank you. Amen.

Special-Tea: Psalm 121

More Tea: Psalm 139, 1 Peter 3:12, Jeremiah 24:6, 2 Chronicles 16:9