Christian Potpourri

Baby Boy, the once feral black cat, has completely adopted us. And we find ourselves continually astonished at the love and trust he exhibits only one year after he came out of the woods and into our lives.
We grieved when we learned he had feline leukemia. We were advised to euthanize him. We were told he shouldn’t be with our other cats. But Bobby and I did some research via the Internet, and discovered that the leukemia was transferred mostly by bite. So we watched Baby Boy carefully to see how aggressive he would be in his newly domesticated state.
Baby Boy had to acclimate to our other cats. It was tricky territory. Bobby and I have yet to figure out exactly why the others don’t really like each other, but we suspect it has to do with Kaylee. She was mistreated when she was a kitten and now she mistreats others. We think her prickly presence made the others touchy with each other. And we worried Baby Boy would exhibit the same behavior.
There is one cat that, because of Kaylee, they all pick on in particular. Poor Muggums. They go after her like an alligator goes after a sitting duck. Her life is lived pretty much tip-toeing everywhere. So when Baby Boy was thrown into the mix, we weren’t certain what would happen. Would his good natured personality be tainted? Would we live in fear of his biting one of our other cats?
So we watched. Time after time Baby Boy, contrary to a male cat’s desire to dominate, would submit. He would let the other cats eat first, go out the door first. Slowly the other cats became less cautious of him. It was truly remarkable to witness. This was a cat who had to completely fend for himself all of his life, and he was gracious in every move he made.
And Baby Boy made me get a catch in my throat one day. As one of the cats began to go after Muggums as usual, Baby Boy walked over, got between them and sat down face to face with Muggum’s aggressor. It was as if to say, “Don’t do that. But if you do, you’ll have to go through me.” And I thought to myself, “Muggums has a champion! This is awesome!”
It did my heart such good to see Muggums being defended after all the years of assault.
Do you feel assaulted by life sometimes, like I do? It doesn’t even have to be a personal attack; it can come in the form of watching the news. Or perhaps it is a personal attack. And you wonder why you’re going through what you’re going through, without an end in sight. Sometimes it can feel like years…and sometimes it is.
But we have a Champion!
Paul writes: “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren. Moreover whom He predestined, these He also called; whom He called, these He also justified; and whom He justified, these He also glorified. What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?” Romans 8:28-31
Indeed…if God is for us, who can be against us?
When assaults come, and they will…remember……….
You have a Champion.

Please note that though the story below hinges on my mother’s illness, she is now home from the hospital, praise God!

My sister, Penny, called me on Monday, March 13th, to tell me that our Mom was being admitted to the hospital in Greenwood, Mississippi, where she lives. She was having respiratory problems. Penny and I talked and I made plans to go to Greenwood on Wednesday, March 15th. I would have to make the trip alone, a 6 ½ hour drive and I arrived early in the afternoon that day.
When I got there I could see Mom didn’t feel well at all. I won’t relate all the events at the hospital, but suffice it to say we had some alarming moments, with a two day stint in ICU.
Due to the efficiency of the doctors and staff, and the providence of God, Mom rallied. Her breathing eased and so did ours. The crisis was over. And I was able to make plans to get back home to St. Louis on Monday, March 21st.
I left around 8:30 that morning accompanied by sunny skies and absolute relief that Mom was better. Mile by mile the stress of those five days melted. When I reached the long, flat, straight as an arrow stretch of I-55 around West Memphis heading toward Blytheville, Arkansas, I began to feel a drowsiness invade. I called my husband, Bobby.
“I’m on the road and doing fine, but I’m feeling a little sleepy.” We talked for a while and he expressed deep concern. He encouraged me to pull over if necessary and I assured him I would.
In all of my adult life I only remember having this kind of drowsiness pull at me twice before. Both were on this same road. Years ago I had made a similar trip by myself. I remember I rolled the windows down, turned the radio on very loud, and slapped my legs hard. The other time was when I had been in Greenwood for two weeks helping my mom and stepdad move. Our two young daughters were with me, and I was so tired I pulled off the road only an hour and 45 minutes into the journey back to St. Louis and got a hotel room.
So on this day as I headed back to St. Louis, I thought about these things and promised myself I would pull over if it got too bad. I sat up and away from the comfortable seat; I turned the AC on high. I used my cell phone and called friends. But the sleepiness still invaded.
Two hours south of St. Louis it got really bad. As I approached Cape Girardeau I recognized some familiar exits from when our daughter, Julie, lived there. And I almost pulled over. But my desire to get home preceded and I passed the exits. I was so close to home. I could make it.
I picked up my cell phone to move it and when I did it dialed home by itself. I really have no idea how that happened, but it did. Bobby answered, and he asked me how I was doing. I had to tell him.
“I’m still sleepy.”
We weren’t far into the conversation when I saw him. He was sitting on the overpass with his radar gun aimed right at me.
“I’ve got to go. I’m about to get a ticket.” I said.
“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re not about to get a ticket.”
“I’m not kidding. I’ll call you back.”
I looked at my speedometer. I was going 80 in a 70. I was fairly certain I would see flashing lights in my mirror soon. It was interesting to me how calm I felt.
I was surprised, however, at how quickly he approached. But I was ready. As I pulled over I thought about how I had not had a ticket in about 24 years. I thought about all the times I had pushed the pedal past the speed limit. I had to admit it; I deserved a ticket.
When I rolled down the window for the highway patrolmen, I heard loud whooshing as cars sped by, and felt my car move with the rushing air. About that time I made the decision to not explain and try to talk myself out of it. I was all too aware of how officers put their lives in peril out on the road.
“Hello, officer.” I said.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked.
“Yes sir. I was speeding. I haven’t had a ticket in over twenty years, though. But I know I speed sometimes and I guess it was time I got caught.”
“You were going 82 in a 70 mile limit.”
“I understand.”
I handed him my driver’s license.
“Would you like me to move up the ramp there where it’s safer?” I offered.
“No.”
He went back to his car to check my license.
Moments later he came back with the ticket. He explained that I could go to court if I wanted to refute it.
“No sir. I’m guilty.”
He asked me to sign. I did and handed it back.
As he turned to walk away I said, “Thank you, officer.”
He came back and said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you for the traffic.”
I smiled and repeated. “Thank you, officer.”
He nodded and started to walk off again, but before he did, he leaned back toward my window for just a second and I could tell he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He walked back to his car and that was that.
I called Bobby.
“Well, I got a ticket.”
He was not happy. “Did you tell him that you were sleepy and were trying to get home?”
“No. Bobby, I’ve sped before and it was just time I got caught.” He still wasn’t happy as he envisioned our insurance rates going up. I understood. We talked for a few minutes longer.
Later, when I was about fifteen minutes down the road, I called Bobby again.
“Sweetie”, I said, “I know you’re upset about the ticket. But I just have to tell you something. I’m not sleepy anymore.” And that was all I had to say.
A few days after I got home I knew I had to write the officer and thank him. I told him how I had been fighting drowsiness, and that he very possibly had kept me from falling asleep at the wheel. While I wrote I wondered if he had ever received a thank-you for giving someone a ticket. When I was through with the note I looked at the ticket to see where to address it, and to whom.
When I saw the officer’s name a deep laugh exploded from me. Was it what I thought it was? I placed the ticket on my scanner and enhanced it to be sure. Yep. It was what I thought it was. His name was Valentine.
I am reminded again as I write this today, that God works in ways we don’t always see. But every once in a while He sends us a valentine where we are able to see the signature.
Mine came on a yellow ticket on the side of I-55, Monday, March the 21st, and the message could not be more clear.
I am loved.

One of the things Bobby and I discussed after I got the ticket was the video he had just captured as a photojournalist with Channel 2 in St. Louis. The date was March 16th, 2011. You may have seen it; it made it on Fox News, CNN and is on YouTube. The footage is of a car crashing full throttle into a police car. I actually thought to mention it to the officer that day, but immediately I thought how ironic it would be to tell him about the video as he stood in the danger zone on the side of the Interstate.
You can see the footage at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shx2jcbOaFo

There is a memorial cross I have passed almost every day for the past three years. It’s not on an Interstate where you usually see that sort of thing; it’s on a main thoroughfare in the part of St. Louis where my husband and I live. When I passed by the other day I saw a group of young people, mid-teens, standing around the cross. They were looking down at it and at all of the tokens that had been placed there, artificial flowers mostly, mixed with a teddy bear and another stuffed animal. And I noticed all the young people were smiling, perhaps lost in memory of the young man whom they had come to honor. The date was February 9, 2011, and it had been three years since the fatal accident had taken place at the intersection behind them.
I remember the accident scene well. My daughter, Julie, and I had been out that day, February 9, 2008, and we must have been there only minutes after the crash. Traffic wasn’t backed up terribly, though firefighters and paramedics were on the scene. I called my husband at home and he drove to the parking lot Julie and I had pulled into and set up his news camera. As difficult as it was, it was news. It was also a very sobering moment for us all as we wondered if we knew anyone in the car. We didn’t.
All these things went through my mind as I passed by the group there the other day. When I saw them smiling I understood that some of the rawness of their grief had passed. Three years had brought some healing. Yet they were still drawn there to mark the date once again and remember their friend, perhaps their sibling or cousin. And their presence moved me.
As I watched the young people standing over their friend’s memorial cross, I reflected on the crucifixion of Christ. What agony His followers experienced! What grief! And what tremendous spiritual turmoil. Yet three days later they would witness the empty tomb and rejoice that Christ had indeed risen! Agony turned to indescribable joy! The horrific cross which had taken the life of the Son of God came to signify hope of eternal life through Him. If it were not for the Resurrection there would be no real meaning to a cross. It would simply be two boards nailed together to mark a spot.
But there was a resurrection. And there is real meaning to the cross. So now we can look UP with the hope of Easter and smile with praise on our lips to the One who died and rose again. So when you see a cross on a highway or bi-way, remember the One who gives us hope in our darkest moments.
Lord, we thank You!
Amen!

Note: I wrote this article last week, before the events in Egypt began to unfold. As we have watched we have once again become very aware of how important a legal, dedicated, strong police force is. They are the protectors of our freedoms, and the barrier between us and anarchy.

My husband and I are discriminating with what we watch on TV. We do the best we can to be careful, too, with the movies we bring into our home or what we pay a pretty price for at our local theaters. Yet as our moral climate changes and deteriorates, so have the entertainment offerings. We’re actually quite shocked when we try out a new TV show only to find underlying themes that don’t meet our spiritual dietary intake. As a matter of fact, we shudder to see what’s on regular TV for children and teens and young men and women to watch. It’s a smorgasbord of nastiness filled with foul language, bloody violence, and sexual situations both implied and….not implied at all.

There is a show, “Southland”, which I am not recommending by the way, which my husband and I have become interested in. It has had servings of violence but mostly it’s the language that’s surprised us. But because it is a police show, wed both agree that it’s about as realistic as it can be, and therefore we have found it a bit more palatable than many other shows, and not as gratuitous. But again, we are not recommending it; I’m just making a commentary based on something I saw on the show last week.

In this particular episode two policemen who are partners happen upon a bank robbery. The thieves have left the bank armed with some serious weaponry. The two police officers do not hesitate, though the situation was extremely dangerous. They call for back-up. In the background you see innocent bystanders scrambling for cover as bullets start to fly. Shortly after, more police support comes and a street battle ensues. As I watched the scene transpire I thought again of how grateful we all should be for our police forces, for they truly are the only thing that keep us from rampant crime; they are the barrier between us, the good guys, and unadulterated evil. What on earth would we do without them?

I know the story above is fictitious, a television series. But it is also a truth of the time we live in. Evil seems to be growing exponentially all around us, while more and more laws, and law enforcement is needed to protect us from those who seek to steal and destroy like the devil himself. And the picture the policemen in “Southland” draw for me is that of how the Holy Spirit challenges and keeps evil from running rampant. I don’t know about you, but that thought about brings me to my knees! But…there is a terrifying time somewhere in the future when believers in Christ are called Home and the Holy Spirit will no longer hold the leash on the beast.

You and I, believer in Christ, know the Holy Spirit dwells within us. And we know we are now in what is called “The Age of Grace. But that age will end.

When I watched this TV show, I thought of all these things and praised God for His Holy Spirit. But I also found it horrifying to think of those who would be left to face the most terrifying time in all of human history, when pure evil runs amok.

If that’s not enough to get me up off the couch and talking to people about Jesus, nothing will.

When I was small I vividly remember looking at the sky on Christmas Eve, imagining what it would have been like hundreds and hundreds of years ago when Christ was born. I would gaze at the sunset colors, wondering what it would be like for the angels to fill the heavens, what it would be like to hear their voices. And I would peer into the sunset looking for them.
I remember also a Christmas Eve when I was a little older, perhaps about 11, and I was on a swing at a nearby park. It was incredibly quiet. It seems to me I was by myself, which wasn’t a big deal back then in the little town of Greenwood, Mississippi. The sun was setting behind the trees and the colors were incredible, gold, yellow, orange, and I felt such a presence it was amazing.
I really do look at the sunset on Christmas Eve and think of all these things, but I’ve never told anyone about it. Many might think I’m fanciful or just silly to have such imaginings. But I think if we really do believe what the Bible says, we should look to the heavens with great awe and imagination trying to picture what’s going on out there. It is not a great ‘nothing’ out there. It is a great ‘something’.
This Christmas Eve I will look once more at the evening sunset and continue to gaze with wonder and awe. And perhaps entertain some angels….unaware.