There it sits, the Wishbone,
drying out above the sink;
Why it sits there waiting
has really made me think
About the wishbones of my past
long gone in a quick blink.

Whoever carved the turkey
made sure to save that bone
And let it dry above the sink
all by itself, alone.
The next day Mother held it
with the child who wasn’t grown.

“Make a wish,”  she said smiling,
as one side she did hold
And held it out unto the child
who’s dreams would yet unfold.
Ready, set, pull and snap -
“May your wishes be ever bold.”

The children are all grown up now
and working out their wishes;
Little dreams came easy
but bold ones are like big fishes.
Most of my dreams have come true
as I think, doing dishes.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Poem by Steve J. Pedersen, For Thanksgiving week 2009

“Things great have small beginnings.
Every downpour is just a raindrop;
every fire is just a spark;
every harvest is just a seed;
every journey is just a step because without that step there will be no journey;
without that raindrop there can be no shower;
without that seed there can be no harvest.”
- William Wilberforce

Silence isn’t just golden — it’s heavenly.

Published Oct 22, 2009

From Newsweek magazine issue dated Nov 2, 2009

It’s not hard to imagine hell as a place that is very, very noisy. In The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis’s Devil detests music and silence. Hell, he crowed, was filled with furious noise: “the audible expression of all that is exultant, ruthless and virile…We will make the whole universe a noise…We have already made great strides in this direction as regards the Earth. The melodies and silences of Heaven will be shouted down in the end.”

In the Middle Ages, Christian scholars believed that Satan did not want human beings to be alone with God, or with each other, fully alert and listening. This is why British author Sara Maitland believes the mobile phone is a “major breakthrough for the powers of hell.” Maitland is more conscious of noise than most—she spent more than a decade pursuing silence like a hunter its prey. She writes in A Book of Silence, just published in the U.S., how she traveled to the desert, the hills, and the remote Scottish Highlands because she wanted to discover what silence truly was, and immerse herself in it. “I am convinced that as a whole society we are losing something precious in our increasingly silence-avoiding culture,” she writes, “and that somehow, whatever this silence might be, it needs holding, nourishing and unpacking.”

After spending 40 days in an isolated house on a windy moor, Maitland found silence did several things: her physical sensations were heightened (she was overwhelmed by the deliciousness of porridge, heard different notes in the wind, was more sensitive to temperature, and emotional); she became what she calls “disinhibited” (a Jungian notion that once alone, you are free to do what you want—picking your nose while eating, stripping your clothes off, abandoning grooming, washing once a week); she heard voices (a young girl, then a male choir singing in Latin, which she thinks may have been the wind); experienced great happiness; felt connected with the cosmos; was exhilarated by the risk and peril in what she was doing; and discovered a fierce joy, or bliss.

It is a strikingly refreshing book to read, in the midst of the clamor and din, ever-mounting distraction, yelling TV pundits, solipsistic tweet-ing, and flash-card sentiment of our Internet age. It made me realize what a profound longing many of us have for silence, how hard it is to find, and how easily we forget how much we need it. Most snatch it in small grabs—hot baths, long runs, lap swimming, bike rides. Maitland rails against the idea of silence as void, absence, and lack—something that we must rush to fill—insisting it is positive and nurturing, and something more profound that must be actively sought. (When silence is imposed, of course, it is something entirely different.)

What’s interesting about silence is not just the extremism, often merging on madness, of those who can claim to have lived silently: the Arctic explorer, the deep-sea diver, the sailor, the hermit, the ascetic, the nun. What is also important is what the rest of us can wring from the more mundane moments of stillness. We can’t all skip around nude through the Scottish bracken, or inhabit caves in Tibetan mountains, but we can experience silence in ways so potent they become addictive: the magical quiet of swimming under the sea; the uninterrupted hours after midnight; the sweet intimacy between a mother and her baby, being nursed in the wee hours; the breathless stillness after excellent sex; the hush of awe while gazing at a proud, ancient mountain, a huge rock glowing red in the desert, or someone soaring down a 20-foot wave. Even if it is not pure silence, it can be enough. We may not all have visions of a spinning, shining, silent God as Maitland does, but, as our thoughts are stripped back and stilled, we might sense the mystery of something greater than ourselves.

We often talk about distraction, and the banality of a culture that seems to smother deep thought or time-sucking contemplation—we tweet sneezes, we blink and record it for our friends, we sprint to be the first to speak. The anonymity of the Internet has been replaced by hyper-identity; the idea of shutting up and staring at a rock, piles of sand, or blinking stars for hours, if not weeks, seems profoundly countercultural.

I know, it sounds like the lament of the Luddite. But if generations of mystics and seekers have insisted that there’s something that connects silence with the sublime, you have to wonder what we are distracting ourselves from—and who we could be if, every now and then, we paused.

http://www.newsweek.com/id/219010

People resist change for the following reasons:

• When the reason for the change is unclear. Ambiguity — whether it is about costs, equipment or jobs — can trigger negative reactions among users.

• When the proposed users have not been consulted about the change, and it is offered to them as an accomplished fact. People like to know what’s going on, especially if their jobs may be affected.

• When the change threatens to modify established patterns of working relationships between people.

• When communication about the change — timetables, personnel, monies, etc. — has not been sufficient.

• When the benefits and rewards for making the change are not seen as adequate for the trouble involved.

• When the change threatens jobs, power or status in an organization.

(—University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, 4.uwm.edu/cuts/bench/change.htm.)

—————-
Now playing: Pete Seeger – Wimoweh (The Lion Sleeps Tonight)
via FoxyTunes

A young lion wandered from his father to test whether or not he would get the same respect from the other animals as his father did. As the young lion approached some monkeys, he roared and asked, “WHO IS THE KING OF THE JUNGLE?”

The monkeys, being afraid, responded, “YOU are!”

The lion replied, “And don’t you forget it!”

The lion repeated this to each animal in the jungle and got the same response until he came across a herd of elephants. The little lion roared and asked, “WHO IS THE KING OF THE JUNGLE?” The big bull elephant walked closer to the lion, swooped him up in his trunk, swung him around and around and threw him in the river.

Battered and wet, the little lion replied, “Just because you didn’t know the answer to the question doesn’t mean you had to get nasty about it!”

Revelation 5:4-6 (New International Version)

⁴I wept and wept because no one was found who was worthy to open the scroll or look inside. ⁵Then one of the elders said to me, “Do not weep! See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals.”

⁶Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing in the center of the throne, encircled by the four living creatures and the elders. He had seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits^[a] of God sent out into all the earth.

The season of Advent begins Sunday November 29th. I invite you to join my on an Advent-ure.

Every Monday I will be reflecting on the Names and Titles of Jesus.  There will be the Scripture, Name, and questions to ponder and a prayer relating to the theme.  You can join in by commenting and adding your personal reflections and prayer if you like.

Hope you can join in!

The sky tried to cry but couldn’t as the drops stopped on the windshield of the hearse.  We drove under gray skies through town. Stopped at the red light by the Pizza Hut.  I could smell the grease from the pizza ovens. I was not hungry.  The light turned green.

We slowly restarted the procession only blocks from the bone yard.  Late Autumn in the graveyard adds to the sense of loss.  Barren trees, brown grass, chilly wind and nothing growing except the lumps in the throats of those who know this is the final goodbye.  I hope I die in Spring but not when it is muddy.

The family and friends came along side the graveside looking at the blue metallic casket placed above the grave by the pall bearers.  All in place, I said the liturgy for the Committal.  And the sun came out for 20 seconds and then was covered by a cloud.  The Funeral Director invited the group to come forward one by one and place a flower or petal of a rose on the casket or into the grave.  I took my place in line and was handed a white petal from a rose.  It fell like a feather into the grave.  I placed my hand upon the casket and shed a tear.  The last kiss was from the son on the head of the casket.  Real men cry.  Hugs were exchanged and we returned to our cars.  The backhoe started up its motor.

Another farewell for a another senior saint. A dear, fine woman of God.  See you in heaven, “Sheffie.”

The Senior Meal Site that now meets in our Fellowship Hall M-F needed to know how to use our industrial strength dishwasher.  So I showed the two Kitchen crew members how to operate it.  Dummy me I opened it up, showing them where to watch the water fill and where to place the detergent and then showed them the knob to turn on the water. Did a real nice spray job all over the place and got a good cleaning of my glasses. Needless to say, they got a chuckle out of my stooge like error.

Humility strikes me when I least expect it!

I wrote out three checks from the Deacon’s Fund to needy people for their medications.  I can see why we need some better health insurance for the poor who have to choose between rent, food, and meds.  Glad to help.

Over lunch I made it down to the YMCA for a treadmill sweat and steam room.  I then made a hospital call on a hip replacement and then later a Detention center call on an incarcerated friend.  I get around.

I came home to see that Kathy had just lifted a new Kenmore Microwave onto the shelf above the stove.  Our old one blew up on Sunday night. Fried real good. Sparks, smoke and a last electric groan.  Where do you dump some zapped appliance like that?

The last of the leaves are off the trees and trying to find refuge in my garage whenever the door is open.  Last year I had raked the final piles onto the street when it snowed a big one.  The plow scraped them all up and dumped them back on my curb strip.  It was late Spring when I finally shoveled the soggy mess into a trash can and took them to the dump.  Thankful that this year no snow yet and the piles I had on the street this morning where all picked up by the City.

Tuesday Night at the “Overcomers Group I heard survival stories from insanity to right living.  There is a power greater than our broken minds and lives that can restore us to sanity.  I put one guy’s bicycle in the back of my van and drove him home.  He lives near me.  Did I say I get around?

Grateful that Someone is around me!

I was inspired to post this video from our daughter Karin, who sings in a Gospel Choir in her church.  I envy her!  I always wanted to sing in a Gospel Choir that has energy and passion in their delivery.  She posted this song.  The lyrics really spoke to me.  May they help you this day.

As soon as I stopped worrying
Worrying how the story ends
I let go and I let God
Let God have His way
That’s when things start happening
When I stopped looking at back then
I let go and I let God
Let God have His way.

John Milton (1608–1674)

When I Consider How My Light Is Spent

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or His own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.”