The iconic image of a southern estate property often includes a sprawling live oak laden with cascading moss. If you are not familiar with southern flora, you may not realize that ‘live’ does not describe the tree as not dead, but it is the name of the predominant oak variety in the south, particularly the coastal south. A live oak inhabits our front yard, not a spectacular specimen, but other larger beauties grow on nearby properties.
The name ‘live’ refers to the presence of leaves on the tree all year long. Live oaks shed and regrow leaves throughout the year. But there are other good reasons for calling it live. Live oaks are known for their longevity, easily living hundreds of years. They also spare life and prevent destruction. Due to their low, spreading nature and deep, strong roots, they survive coastal storms. Early peoples knew to cling to live oaks for safety during hurricanes. Their broad shape buffers wind and protects surrounding structures. I find compelling beauty in the live oak’s gangly, low-spreading branches, especially when adorned with natural mossy tinsel.
The first song in the book of Psalms compares living a godly life to a prospering tree. Psalm 1 states that a godly man flourishes like a tree planted near a good water source. The well-watered tree produces fruit and lush foliage. The Psalm contrasts the godly life to the “wicked,” whose life and successes are short-lived. Psalm 1 describes right living or the righteous as separated from sinful ways and focused instead on God’s law (the Scriptures). Whether the psalmist had in mind the elegant symmetry of a maple, or the majestic reaches of a redwood, or the unique form of a live oak, a thriving life flows out of wise spiritual habits. Here is the first Psalm:
Blessed is the man
who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,
nor stands in the way of sinners,
nor sits in the seat of scoffers; 2 but his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
3 He is like a tree
planted by streams of water
that yields its fruit in its season,
and its leaf does not wither.
In all that he does, he prospers. 4 The wicked are not so,
but are like chaff that the wind drives away.
5 Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous; 6 for the Lord knows the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.
This live oak is at Airlie Gardens in Wilmington, NC. The photo is from Wilmingtonandbeaches.com
This week, Christians continue joyously celebrating the risen Jesus, following Easter Sunday. As we ride the wave of resurrection victory, a detail from the four Gospel accounts caught my attention: fear. I had entertained the idea of writing about fear as part 3 of my living in North Carolina blog series. When fear showed up in the Biblical Easter story, I took the divine hint!
Why would I write about fear in a new-to-North Carolina piece? We do live in an area commonly referred to as the Cape Fear region, named so for the Cape Fear River. But I was not thinking about the river. I had in mind how old fears from Virginia transferred to new fears in North Carolina. In Virginia, I feared bats and ticks. Bats often darted over our heads as my husband and I took evening walks on our street. Bats are scary creatures, but what I was really afraid of was rabies: bats are the main carrier of rabies, when humans are infected. Human infection is rare, and usually people know when they get an animal bite … except when it comes to bat bites. I did not like that! Ticks? Yes, the prevalent deer tick. They carry Lyme disease, which can be a long-term, debilitating condition, difficult to diagnose and treat. I knew folks in Virginia who had it.
Of course, here in North Carolina we have bats and ticks (and deer), but I do not see bats on our walks, and I have not heard of any Lyme disease cases here. So, I’m fine now? No, I have found new things to be afraid of: alligators and Brown Recluse spiders! Hurricanes are worth being fearful of too, but there is a fair amount of warning time to make plans. Alligators and Brown Recluse spiders are hard to spot; victims are caught by surprise. And yes, I am aware of an alligator incident and a serious spider bite. Though my worries are relatively silly, they linger, along with other deeper trepidations. If I moved somewhere else, I am fairly sure my mind would find other things to fear. But let’s look at authentic fear.
In the resurrection narrative, folks faced real fear. The tomb guards were ‘scared stiff’ (Matthew 28 v 4). The women at the tomb “trembled” in bewilderment and fled in fear (Mark 16 v 8). Luke describes the women as having “fright” (Luke 24 v 3) and the disciples were also described as “startled and frightened” (Luke 24 v 37). John says the disciples hid in fear (John 20 v 19). What scared them? The scene of the empty tomb certainly shocked them. Just two days earlier they had witnessed the gruesome crucifixion of Christ and knew He was dead. After waiting out the Saturday Sabbath, they arrived at His burial site Sunday morning hoping to perform ministrations. The missing body stumped them in a terrifying way and they feared for their own lives too, as close followers of Jesus.
But the message on Easter morning was Good News! The angel at the empty tomb proclaimed, “Do not be afraid” (Matthew 28 v 5). Jesus appeared shortly after repeating, “Do not be afraid” (Matthew 28 v 10). Put similarly in other appearances to the disciples, Jesus greeted with the words, “Peace be with you” (Luke 24 v 36 and John 20 v 26). Jesus’ return to life, His triumph over death, which was His triumph over sin on our behalf, is spectacular and terrifying. It was unfathomable, to the point of pure fright, for those who first discovered it. For us today, a holy awe of fear for His selfless sacrifice and for the amazing spectacle of His Resurrection is our right response too.
“… we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.” Hebrews 10 v 10
After living my entire adult life in the DC area, I knew learning the layout of a new town would be a challenge. From the outset, I prepared myself for needing maps, GPS, and Google to find my way around. I purposed to be patient and willing to stop and restart as I drove to many new destinations. Even now, more than two years in, I often rely on navigation to get where I’m going. God has specifically protected me in a couple of dangerous mistakes, but most of the time I have navigated safe U-turns, arriving at the right place, my car and I intact.
U-turns are actually required driving in North Carolina. The road system blocks certain turns, instead redirecting drivers to designated intersections, widened for official U-turns. Sometimes there’s a stoplight for the U-turn, but sometimes it’s only a yield, which doesn’t seem any safer to me than a yielded left turn. Official or unscheduled, U-turns feature regularly in my driving experience here in North Carolina.
My long-time pastor liked to say, “God allows U-turns.” He was not preaching about driving; he meant choices on the road of life. Sometimes with intention, but often unknowingly, people find themselves going in the wrong direction. One can look up and realize the road ahead leads to a dead-end or to destruction. As long as one lives, no matter where one is or what’s going on, there is the opportunity to choose God and follow His direction. He charts a just-right course for everyone turning to faith in Jesus.
One of the most profound U-turn stories, literally of Biblical proportions, is the life of the apostle Paul. On a road trip to round up followers of Jesus for imprisonment or worse, he was struck by a blinding light and heard the audible voice of Jesus. That call redirected Paul’s future. For the rest of his life, Paul traveled the known world, missionary-style, preaching the gospel and writing much of the New Testament as prompted by the Spirit. The account of Paul’s U-turn is found in Acts 9 v 1-19 and is repeated in Acts 22 and Acts 26. And how did Paul summarize his conversion? “I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3 v 8) A priceless route correction!
This is Topsail Island, NC. The photo is from the America’s Transportation Awards website. The bridge project was commended for Operations Excellence.
Part 1 North Carolina Now
Two years ago this week, we moved into our new home near Wilmington, North Carolina. We left the DC area in the fall of 2020, but lived in temporary housing for several months, while we oversaw the building of our house. It was the height of the pandemic and we also lost my mother-in-law during this time. So I like to think of March as our real move anniversary.
Wilmington is a small, port city located on the Cape Fear River. UNC Wilmington is a major university, and the film industry is a presence in the area. Our town is on the outskirts of Wilmington. It has less city influence and a more rural southern personality. Farming and fishing were once the main businesses. While things are quickly changing here, the homey ways intrigue me.
Just down the street from us on the main highway of our town is a pawn shop. I see bikes, lawn equipment and surf boards propped up for sale in front of the store. I ventured into the store because I noticed a sign for jewelry repair. Sure enough, past the case of pawned jewelry and watches, and the inventory of sports equipment and power tools, I turned the corner through the guns and ammunition section, to find the small work space of a jeweler.
The jeweler wears a large leather cowboy hat and decorates his niche with neon-lit western motifs. His space is neat, and he is soft spoken, especially when you consider he’s from Long Island. He assessed my broken chain and gave me an estimate. I left it for repair and in a few hours got a text from him with a photo of my necklace draped on a lovely velvet model, saying, “Here she is!” The idea that my necklace was repaired by a New Yorker in a cowboy hat who works in a pawn shop where they sell guns and ammo amuses me.
Just a few buildings down the highway from the pawn shop is a paint store. We were sent there by our builder to select the interior colors for our house. “Go talk to Jimmy, ” we were told. Jimmy and his business partner, who both sport gray ponytails, run a no-fuss paint supply store. Without fanfare, they carry all the paint brands in all the colors. A gentle cat keeps them company and one of them drives a vintage truck always parked out in front. Neither of the guys ever wore a mask during the mandate period.
There’s also a warehouse fish market off the highway strip where I occasionally shop. The place is wet and stinky but I think I get fairly fresh catches there, though I’ve never tried the alligator. They fly the American flag on the porch, carry homemade birdhouses and advertise bushels of crabs for Mother’s Day. Young kids, probably relatives of the owner, run the counter. In deep southern twangs they can advise you on flavor and cooking methods.
This culture is new for me; so different from the cosmopolitan suburban area we left. I enjoy the downhome feel of the unincorporated town where we now live. It is appealingly unpretentious. That’s how I find the true local people too: down-to-earth, authentic, likeable. Don’t get me wrong, there are also many conveniences and amenities that I miss greatly now! But as I said, the area is changing quickly due to rapid growth and many outsiders who, like us, are moving in. I hope in our time here, it doesn’t completely lose its southern, country soul.
At the two year mark, my husband and I marvel that we are here, that we transitioned away from DC during such a crazy time. We are confident this is the new place for us now and thank God for His good provision. Like the Psalmist David wrote, “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.” (Psalm 16 v 6). Read all of Psalm 16 for insights into God’s goodness in this life and in eternity.
After living my entire adult life in the DC area, I knew learning the layout of a new town would be a challenge. From the outset, I prepared myself for needing maps, GPS, and Google to find my way around. I purposed to be patient and willing to stop and restart as I drove to many new destinations. Even now, more than two years in, I often rely on navigation to get where I’m going. God has specifically protected me in a couple of dangerous mistakes, but most of the time I have navigated safe U-turns, arriving at the right place, my car and I intact.
U-turns are actually required driving in North Carolina. The road system blocks certain turns, instead redirecting drivers to designated intersections, widened for official U-turns. Sometimes there’s a stoplight for the U-turn, but sometimes it’s only a yield, which doesn’t seem any safer to me than a yielded left turn. Official or unscheduled, U-turns feature regularly in my driving experience here in North Carolina.
My long-time pastor liked to say, “God allows U-turns.” He was not preaching about driving; he meant choices on the road of life. Sometimes with intention, but often unknowingly, people find themselves going in the wrong direction. One can look up and realize the road ahead leads to a dead-end or to destruction. As long as one lives, no matter where one is or what’s going on, there is the opportunity to choose God and follow His direction. He charts a just-right course for everyone turning to faith in Jesus.
One of the most profound U-turn stories, literally of Biblical proportions, is the life of the apostle Paul. On a road trip to round up followers of Jesus for imprisonment or worse, he was struck by a blinding light and heard the audible voice of Jesus. That call redirected Paul’s future. For the rest of his life, Paul traveled the known world, missionary-style, preaching the gospel and writing much of the New Testament as prompted by the Spirit. The account of Paul’s U-turn is found in Acts 9 v 1-19 and is repeated in Acts 22 and Acts 26. And how did Paul summarize his conversion? “I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3 v 8) A priceless route correction!
This is Topsail Island, NC. The photo is from the America’s Transportation Awards website. The bridge project was commended for Operations Excellence.
Two years ago this week, we moved into our new home near Wilmington, North Carolina. We left the DC area in the fall of 2020, but lived in temporary housing for several months, while we oversaw the building of our house. It was the height of the pandemic and we also lost my mother-in-law during this time. So I like to think of March as our real move anniversary.
Wilmington is a small, port city located on the Cape Fear River. UNC Wilmington is a major university, and the film industry is a presence in the area. Our town is on the outskirts of Wilmington. It has less city influence and a more rural southern personality. Farming and fishing were once the main businesses. While things are quickly changing here, the homey ways intrigue me.
Just down the street from us on the main highway of our town is a pawn shop. I see bikes, lawn equipment and surf boards propped up for sale in front of the store. I ventured into the store because I noticed a sign for jewelry repair. Sure enough, past the case of pawned jewelry and watches, and the inventory of sports equipment and power tools, I turned the corner through the guns and ammunition section, to find the small work space of a jeweler.
The jeweler wears a large leather cowboy hat and decorates his niche with neon-lit western motifs. His space is neat, and he is soft spoken, especially when you consider he’s from Long Island. He assessed my broken chain and gave me an estimate. I left it for repair and in a few hours got a text from him with a photo of my necklace draped on a lovely velvet model, saying, “Here she is!” The idea that my necklace was repaired by a New Yorker in a cowboy hat who works in a pawn shop where they sell guns and ammo amuses me.
Just a few buildings down the highway from the pawn shop is a paint store. We were sent there by our builder to select the interior colors for our house. “Go talk to Jimmy, ” we were told. Jimmy and his business partner, who both sport gray ponytails, run a no-fuss paint supply store. Without fanfare, they carry all the paint brands in all the colors. A gentle cat keeps them company and one of them drives a vintage truck always parked out in front. Neither of the guys ever wore a mask during the mandate period.
There’s also a warehouse fish market off the highway strip where I occasionally shop. The place is wet and stinky but I think I get fairly fresh catches there, though I’ve never tried the alligator. They fly the American flag on the porch, carry homemade birdhouses and advertise bushels of crabs for Mother’s Day. Young kids, probably relatives of the owner, run the counter. In deep southern twangs they can advise you on flavor and cooking methods.
This culture is new for me; so different from the cosmopolitan suburban area we left. I enjoy the downhome feel of the unincorporated town where we now live. It is appealingly unpretentious. That’s how I find the true local people too: down-to-earth, authentic, likeable. Don’t get me wrong, there are also many conveniences and amenities that I miss greatly now! But as I said, the area is changing quickly due to
rapid growth and many outsiders who, like us, are moving in. I hope in our time here, it doesn’t completely lose its southern, country soul.
At the two year mark, my husband and I marvel that we are here, that we transitioned away from DC during such a crazy time. We are confident this is the new place for us now and thank God for His good provision. Like the Psalmist David wrote, “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.” (Psalm 16 v 6). Read all of Psalm 16 for insights into God’s goodness in this life and in eternity.
This year my birthday fell on Sanctity of Life Sunday. The irony was not lost on me: the day my birth is remembered, we remembered how important all life is and lamented the loss of millions whose lives were extinguished before the chance for a birth day. The Pro-Life stance has been maligned and labeled as oppressive, but God’s Truth completely ordains the infinite value of all life and qualifies God as sovereign over the beginning and end of all life.
The issue of life, or of abortion, has hit unparalleled rending in America. The elections of 2022 especially seemed to escalate the “right to life” divide, disregarding all other candidate credentials and capabilities. Likewise, it precipitated an unprecedented lawless leak in the highest court of our land. A sad moment for the integrity of the Supreme Court.
If I haven’t already lost you on this divisive topic, stay with me while I share something about the abortion argument that I only recently learned. A common talking point for those favoring abortion rights is the case of the life of the mother. To save a mother, the life of her baby should be taken, it is argued. In very rare instances, pregnancy might threaten a mother’s life. If a pregnant woman’s life is at risk, her doctor will attempt to save her life, not destroy the life of her baby. In other words, the necessary procedure is not at all an abortion but is a premature delivery. Her doctor will end the pregnancy by inducing labor or by performing a Caesarean section. The baby, depending on its gestational stage, will be treated and saved, or if it is too early, will not be viable and will die of natural causes. In both cases, parents of the baby can experience their baby’s birth or passing, demonstrating love for the precious little life. This is not a talking point that I had ever heard expressed in any secular discussion of the life issue.
Upon hearing this, it dawned on me that I had been familiar with a couple in this scenario. Their unborn baby was diagnosed with a serious prenatal condition. Even with advanced technology and specialist doctors, the condition rapidly worsened putting the mother and baby in danger. A C-section was performed but tragically, the baby was stillborn at birth. The consolation in the loss was the parents’ time of bonding and grieving, holding their tiny infant in their arms. The procedure did not result in a dismembered human body to be disposed of. It is important for all to know that the right to save a mother by medical procedures to deliver her baby is not outlawed in this country.
Just this week I again came across the familiar first five words of the Bible. Genesis 1 v 1 goes, “In the beginning God created.” Yes, He did. He created life. He determines the beginning and end of life. We cannot understand all the hard things some people experience; I have no easy answers for the myriad of difficult life stories out there. What I lean on is God’s sovereignty; He knows and I must leave it at that. I value life because God gives life, all life. And let us be warned that not valuing the life of a pre-born baby quickly spirals beyond: beyond to questioning the value of the aging, the diseased, the cognitively impaired, even a race or group that another race or group deems unwanted or disposable. In Jeremiah 17 v 9, God warns us of the endlessness of evil; so we “stand firm,” as God’s words through the Apostle Paul encourage us (2 Corinthians 15 v 58).
This past December, my husband and I were in an office supply store to buy a wall calendar. We like something big with large squares to write in appointments and events, and it hangs in the kitchen where we can see it daily. While checking out, a man (wearing a realtor nametag) commented to my husband that he hadn’t seen anyone use a paper calendar in years! The remark felt disrespectful and condescending to me. Of course, we are aware of digital calendars and on-line scheduling. We use technology options too but a calendar’s day-to-day visual reminder serves us well. Frankly, thanks to his comment, I won’t be calling the guy in the store for my real estate needs, but I suppose he’s right that wall calendars belong to the parent generation, the brunt of a series of recent insurance commercials.
I will be honest: I like calendars. Back in my classroom days, I kept several calendars up. The photos or art for each month aided conversation and content in my ESOL classroom. They added cheer and color to institutional walls and I find them cheerful now inside of closets, on the back of a door, and in a workspace. Some calendars remind me of a ministry with needs; others take me to a beautiful scene or share an artist’s work each month. My all-time favorite FREE calendar was the gorgeous photography and gardening news in the Merrifield Garden Center annual calendar but sadly I am not in Fairfax anymore to pick one up.
Calendars measure time, something precious and finite in the human experience. Belonging to the Author of Life, I thoughtfully consider time. I want to enjoy it, I don’t want to waste it and I know I am held accountable for it. I realize my earthly time will end one day. Already, I have attended two funerals in the new year. One life remembered was long, full and clearly dedicated to the Lord. The other memorial service also honored someone with a faithful legacy of serving the Savior, but the years were much short of the “span of seventy, maybe eighty years” described in Psalm 90 v 10.
We have quickly flipped over the first calendar page to February, torn off January, or digitally have swished or scrolled forward. We might still be in the mode of planning, goal setting, prioritizing or establishing better habits for the new year. That’s where I am too but I hope you are also considering how you will make your relationship to God a priority this year. How will you spend time with our very Author of Life, learn of Him in the Scriptures, and be encouraged by others who share faith in Jesus? David the Psalmist wrote that he “set the Lord always before” him (Psalm 16 v 8). The entirety of Psalm 16 describes the safety, value, goodness, joy, and LIFE in choosing Him as our priority. Blessings as you pursue Him fully in this unfolding new year.
Sweet generations remind us of the passage of time.
I originally posted this blog piece on November 27, 2022 through social media. At that time, my blog was down. I continue to work on my blog to restore it to full functionality. I believe there are still software and hacking issues. Sadly, this post is timely again after another rampage in California:
Poor Virginia! My heart aches for the Commonwealth I called home for most of my life, after two multiple murder rampages, and a senseless shooting in a Lynchburg restaurant between the two. But it’s not just Virginia. There was killing in a nightclub in Colorado and slaughter in a college town in Idaho. In an underreported update, fifty-five police officers have been shot and killed in 2022, as of October 31, according to the Fraternal Order of Police. Thanksgiving was upon us but impacted families and communities faced shock and grief.
Questions race through our minds. Who does this? Why is this happening? Answers don’t come easily but one factor stands out to me: our familiarity, even glamorization, of gunfire and violence in this culture. How can something to be played, a game, be called “Death Race” or “Bulletstorm?” Why is there a music group named “The Killers?” Songs and music videos, especially Rap and Heavy Metal, glorify all types of violent behavior. Movies, videos, and apps like Tic Toc stream disturbing, vulgar, and bully-inducing material that young children can access. I’ve noticed that even if you go to a cleaner movie in the theater, you will be subjected to violent and sexual content in the previews: the stuff you and your families wanted to avoid!
On the flip side, how many families regularly gather for togetherness and screen-free dinner hours or game night (the safe kind, for fun!)? Do young adults enjoy outdoor adventure and healthy indoor interaction over late hours at a bar or beer bash? Most importantly, who is in church on Sunday morning enjoying worship, community and sound preaching rather than sleeping off a Saturday night of binge-watching Netflix or scrolling through social media with morning coffee? According to statistics about American church attendance, the vast majority are the latter.
Services at my church this morning beautifully combined the gratitude of the season with clear teaching from Scripture, and ended on a note of doxology and praise ushering in the Advent season with “Behold Your God … Come let us adore Him.” (Jonathan Baird, Meghan Baird, Ryan Baird, Stephen Altrogge; Sovereign Grace Worship, see YouTube link for the song below) I pray for peace in our land, but know that ultimately it only comes as we commit to peace with God through Jesus’ work on the Cross.
As we step across the threshold of 2023, I also throw out the welcome mat to my blog, again. I last wrote a post on this blog in November 2022 and shortly after that I discovered my blog was no longer functional. My administrator privileges were not available to me and eventually I could not even pull up the URL address and my six years of content were gone!
I began attempting restoration; I reached out to the hosting site and the blog software. They were not coming through with support. Friends and family offered to help but we kept hitting the same dead ends. I don’t have an affinity nor an aptitude for technology, so I was lost!
About two weeks ago, I found an IT specialist who works on these issues. He quickly got absorbed in my case and spent hours to determine the problem and fix it. I am not fully clear on what happened and how, but my blog was hacked into, my credentials were changed, and content was hidden. With the expertise of the IT specialist, the hosting and blog software sites put my blog back together. The IT guy charged me for only one hour of his many – but he got a 100% tip from me!
I have written a few posts during the time my blog was down. Some of you may have seen them on social media. Soon I will re-post them on “A Writer’s Daughter,” but I am not sure that I can back date them; they may show up all at once with a real-time date.
As always, I thank you for reading my blog. I enjoy your comments. I pray that the site will stay secure. Its restoration is a gift from God and an answer to prayer. For the time being, I will be able to keep that proverbial pen in my hand, along with my coffee cup. Here is a prayer for the New Year and for this blog: “Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands.”
The Canadian Shield, a massive expanse of central and eastern Canada from the Great Lakes to the Artic and Greenland, “constitutes the largest mass of exposed Precambrian rock on the face of the Earth,” according to the Britannica Online Encyclopedia. I became familiar with the term “Canadian Shield” as a sixth grade Social Studies teacher. The first unit of study in sixth grade Social Studies is the regions of North America. But in reality, I had learned about the Canadian Shield as a child, though not through school. My family vacationed in Ontario each summer and I experienced the beauty of the many lakes and deep forests that intersperse the endless rock ledges and boulder shorelines of the region. Rock outcroppings fill the gorgeous landscape of the Canadian Shield!
Lakes, forest, rocks and … boathouses abound in beautiful Muskoka, Ontario.
In the last decade or more, I have revisited this area of Ontario several times. I began to notice peculiar piles of rocks stacked on the exposed ridges edging the highway. Mile after mile sat columns of fist-sized stones, stacked usually less than a foot tall, in a graduated pile with no other ornamentation. A bit of quick internet searching informed me that these stacks are called cairns. Cairns are an ancient construct for the purpose of marking a place, possibly a trail, border or as a memorium. Today, however, the stone-stacking trend represents mindfulness, or oneness with nature. Cairn building is popular in America and Europe as a form of New Age graffiti.
Stones and rocks are mentioned aplenty throughout the pages of Scripture, which is not surprising due to the prevalence of rock in the Middle East region! Having toured Israel and bordering areas, sometimes that’s all you see: rocks and desert! In Scripture, rocks play all kinds of roles.
There are warnings about rocks in the Bible. The second of the Ten Commandments forbids making an image, an idol, to worship as a god. Idols were carved from wood or stone, often overlaid with gold. Pillars, some likely constructed with stones, are often condemned for spiritual misuse. Rocks served as boundary markers and moving them was against the law.
But stones also serve purposes of importance and good in the Scriptures. More than forty times God is called the Rock or our Rock. Christ is called the Chief Cornerstone in the New Testament. God also instructed His people to use stones or pillars to mark a spot of significance. When God held back the flood-stage waters of the Jordan River for the Israelites to cross into the land God promised, he ordered the leaders to collect twelve shoulder-sized boulders from the dry riverbed. When the river began flowing again, they piled the stones at the exit point to commemorate the place where God had miraculously given them a dry path, recalling how He had also parted the Red Sea as the Israelites fled the Egyptian army. God wanted that rock monument to remind the people that God had saved and provided for them. See Joshua 4
This tells me that we are apt to forget. If a miraculous dry path through a raging river doesn’t stick in your mind, memory loss is a significant problem! We do suffer from spiritual amnesia. We forget what God has given us and more importantly, what God has done for us. We need mental, and maybe even actual rock piles, to trigger our recollection of God’s blessing and goodness. Not just at this season of thanksgiving, but every day, in our attitude and prayers, may we express rock solid gratitude.
They remembered God Most High, the mighty rock that kept them safe. Psalm 78 v 35 (Contemporary English Version)
I’m stuck at a hurdle here. This is the 100th post on my “A Writer’s Daughter” blog site. One hundred is a milestone and suggests something significant. One hundred is a century and a dollar. The 100th day of the school year is a big deal at the primary grades; teachers always look for creative things to celebrate, and the number 100 is important in our numbering system so it’s a math lesson too! But this time, my mind isn’t formulating a significant contribution to honor one hundred.
On the five-year anniversary of my blog, I wrote a recap of my venture into blog writing. I reviewed my highs and lows, topics of my posts and my continued goal in writing. Those reflections remain the same just 15 months later so I will let them stand. You can reread them at https://www.brendaproulx.com/2021/08/
I will move forward past the hundred marker now and pursue the next blog topic, as God allows me ideas and time. Mostly, thank you for reading my posts, encouraging me, and sharing your comments. I pray my writing ministers to you, as it does to me and that I might “abound … in this labor, knowing that it is not in vain.” 1 Corinthians 15:58
