On playing in the orchestra

Over 25 years ago,  I played my last performance with an orchestra.  My orchestra experience's, like fine wine,  grown more valuable with age. 

I first played in sixth grade.  I choose the string bass because I could rent one for 12 dollars a year.  The was more affordable then rent for a violin or viola.  I was given a music aptitude test in fifth grade; I did not receive an invitation to join the orchestra.  In sixth grade an open invitation was extended for all to join.  


Grade School was a trying time for me.  In about 1^st grade,  I stopped communicating with my peers.  I can remember sitting on the basement stairs of the school; feeling lonely and separated. To this day, I cannot step on the grade school grounds without a wave of strong emotions cascading over me.  

I was selected last to play most games.  I never learned to catch or throw a ball.  When I practiced my skills did not improve.  I kept my eye on the ball, but I still dropped it.  I shot a ball at the basket and nearly always missed.   I now understand my inability to catch was related to poor vision in one eye.  I have limited depth perception.  This inhibits my ability to determine how fast an object is coming towards me.

I lived in a self imposed invisible box.  Peer interactions baffled me.  I often found myself saying things at inappropriate times or in inappropriate places.  I missed many subtle clues.  With my peers I was socially impaired.  

I can remember being obsessed with patterns in the floor tiles.  In a 9 pattern square is it 5 blacks with four whites in the middle or is it four whites with 5 blacks on the outside.  If I bumped some part of my body, I need to touch the other side of my body to maintain balance.  I started eating sandwiches in 16 bites, four bits per row, sometimes even alternating the directions of the rows, to this day it remains an obsession with me.  If my body rests on something, I feel a compulsion to count the contacts and insure that they divisible by two.  

I related well with adults; there rules seamed easier to understand.  I felt acceptance in their world.   Part of this acceptance came from the fact I learned to read early and very well.  I was reading biographies in third grade and science fiction in fourth grade. 

I was a member of an orchestra for eight years; five of them were with one conductor.  Six of them were with the same core group of orchestra members.  Consistent social interactions with this group helped me learn to relate to my peers.  At times I ventured forth from my self imposed box. Many members of the orchestra overlooked my inappropriate responses and actions. The orchestra members gave me the courage to look beyond that box.  I felt the freedom to explore and to improve.  I learned the world was a good a safe place.    That I was loved for who I am and what I could accomplish.  These explorations become more frequent and lasted for greater periods of time as I learned to trust my interactions with my peers.  I look back fondly on those years.  These memories balance out the ones from grade school.  I will always cherish their friendships. My friends helped shape me into the man I am today.

Logan High School Symphony Orchestra 1983

By the way, that last concert was played as a member of the Weber State Symphony Orchestra.  I was attending Weber State on a full tuition scholarship.  I earned the scholarship while attending Utah All State Orchestra in my Senior Year at Logan High.  Not bad for a kid who failed his music aptitude test.     

 

Michael Card, source of our creativity

“Creativity does not truly come from the popularized image of the tormented artist, struggling with the muse.  True creativity is born in community as men and women of God listen to each other and to him; as we seek to understand each other’s woundedness  and strengths.  “

Michael Card “Scribbling in the Sand”

"Cats in a Cradle", a childs response

"Underneath the Door."

Natalie Martin

My father was a doctor who would come home late at night

With a soul so bruised and bleeding from his unending faithful fight

To keep a hold of kindness in a world that isn't kind

To hold out the hope of healing to his hurting human kind

And he'd flee back to his study to his bookish, quiet place

With notes and books and journals to wall in his special space

And then He's lock the door on things that cannot be locked out

And his yongest son would starve for what he would always do without

But it was meant to make me who I am and for all these many years

Still the little boy down on his knees full of hope, and full of fear

Calling underneath the door, this is me, it's who I am

For we love the best by listening when we try to understand

Desperate, stuby fingers pushing pictures 'neath the door

And longing to be listened to by the man that I adored

Inside someone who needed me just as much as I did him

Still unable to unlock the door that stayed closed inside of him

And it's strange the way we tend to flee from what we need the most

That a father would lock out his son when his heart would hold him close

But out wounds are part of who we are and there is nothing left to chance

And pains the pen that writes the songs and they call us forth to dance

Michael Card on his live album

"Scribbling in the Sand."

Cat's in a Cradle

"Cat's in a Cradle", Harry Chapin

The nature of sin and its deliverance

However absurd the statement may appear to one 

who has not yet discovered the fact for himself,

the ....cause of every man's discomfort is evil,

moral evil—

first of all, evil in himself, ...

     his own sin,

          his own wrongness,

          his own unrightness;

and then,

evil in those he loves: ......

the only way to get rid of it, is for the man to get rid of his own sin.

No special sin may be recognizable as having caused this or that special physical discomfort ......

but evil in ourselves is the cause of its continuance,

the source of its necessity,

.......

Foolish is the man, 

     and there are many such men,

who would rid himself or his fellows of discomfort 

     by setting the world right, 

     by waging war on the evils around him, 

                   while he neglects that integral part of the world where lies his business, 

                   his first business—

                        namely, 

                        his own character and conduct. 

.......

There is no way of making three men right but by making right each one of the three; 

     but a cure in one man who repents and turns, 

     is a beginning of the cure of the whole human race.

……..

“The one cure for any organism, is to be set right —
to have all its parts brought into harmony with each other;
the one comfort is to know this cure in process.

Rightness alone is cure.  
The return of the organism to its true self,
is its only possible ease. …..”

(George Macdonald, Hope of the Gospel p. 3)

a new take Plato's "The Allegory of the Cave"

The Cave People

He came to the world that was his own, but his own people did not accept him.
John 1:11

LONG AGO, OR maybe not so long ago, there was a tribe in a dark, cold cavern.

The cave dwellers would huddle together and cry against the chill. Loud and long they wailed. It was all they did. It was all they knew to do. The sounds in the cave were mournful, but the people didn't know it, for they had never known joy. The spirit in the cave was death, but the people didn't know it, for they had never known life.

But then, one day, they heard a different voice. "I have heard your cries," it announced. "I have felt your chill and seen your darkness. I have come to help."

The cave people grew quiet. They had never heard this voice. Hope sounded strange to their ears.
"How can we know you have come to help?"

"Trust me," he answered. "I have what you need."

The cave people peered through the darkness at the figure of the stranger. He was stacking something, then stooping and stacking more.

"What are you doing?" one cried, nervous.
The stranger didn't answer.
"What are you making?" one shouted even louder.
Still no response.
"Tell us!" demanded a third.

The visitor stood and spoke in the direction of the voices. "I have what you need." With that he turned to the pile at his feet and lit it. Wood ignited, flames erupted, and light filled the cavern.
The cave people turned away in fear. "Put it out!" they cried. "It hurts to see it."
"Light always hurts before it helps," he answered. "Step closer. The pain will soon pass."

"Not I," declared a voice.
"Nor I," agreed a second.
"Only a fool would risk exposing his eyes to such light."

The stranger stood next to the fire. "Would you prefer the darkness? Would you prefer the cold? Don't consult your fears. Take a step of faith."

For a long time no one spoke. The people hovered in groups covering their eyes. The fire builder stood next to the fire. "It's warm here," he invited.

"He's right," one from behind him announced. "It's warmer." The stranger turned and saw a figure slowly stepping toward the fire. "I can open my eyes now," she proclaimed. "I can see."

"Come closer," invited the fire builder.

She did. She stepped into the ring of light. "It's so warm!" She extended her hands and sighed as her chill began to pass.

"Come, everyone! Feel the warmth," she invited.

"Silence, woman!" cried one of the cave dwellers. "Dare you lead us into your folly? Leave us. Leave us and take your light with you."

She turned to the stranger. "Why won't they come?"

"They choose the chill, for though it's cold, it's what they know. They'd rather be cold than change."

"And live in the dark?"

"And live in the dark."

The now-warm woman stood silent. Looking first at the dark, then at the man.

"Will you leave the fire?" he asked.

She paused, then answered, "I cannot. I cannot bear the cold." Then she spoke again. "But nor can I bear the thought of my people in darkness."

"You don't have to," he responded, reaching into the fire and removing a stick. "Carry this to your people. Tell them the light is here, and the light is warm. Tell them the light is for all who desire it."

And so she took the small flame and stepped into the shadows.

From A Gentle Thunder
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1995) Max Lucado

see also Archbishop Thomas Cranmers "Preface to the Great Bible"
http://www.bible-researcher.com/cranmer.html

C.S. Lewis, on forgivess

But though natural likings should normally be encouraged, it would be quite wrong to think that the way to become charitable is to sit trying to manufacture affectionate feelings. Some people are 'cold' by temperament; that may be a misfortune for them, but it is no more a sin than having a bad digestion is a sin; and it does not cut them out from the chance, or excuse them from the duty, of learning charity. ……………………….

.....The rule for all of us is perfectly simple. ………………………..

Do not waste time bothering whether you 'love' your neighbor; ……….. …………………………………………………………….act as if you did.  .....

When you are behaving as if you loved someone, …………….. …………
.....................................……………………. you will presently come to love him. ....

If you injure someone you dislike, ……………
…………………………… you will find yourself disliking him more. ..........

If you do him a good turn, ……………
…………………………………you will find yourself disliking him less. ...........

….. There is, indeed, one exception. ……..

If you do him a good turn, ………………………………….…….
……………...…………….. not to please God and obey the law of charity,................
..............................................but to show him what a fine forgiving chap you are, ………… …………………...................and to put him in your debt, ….. …………
...............................………….and then sit down to wait for his 'gratitude', ………………
......................................................…………..you will probably be disappointed. …

....(People are not fools: they have a very quick eye for anything like showing off, or patronage.)...

......But whenever we do good to another self, just because it is a self, made (like us) by God, and desiring its own happiness as we desire ours, we shall have learned to love it a little more or, at least, to dislike it less.

(C.S. Lewis, Mere Chrisianity, Book 3, 7. )

on free will , or predestination

"Thus to his onely Son foreseeing spake.

Onely begotten Son, seest thou what rage [ 80 ]
Transports our adversarie, .....
............................whom no bounds
Prescrib'd, no barrs of Hell, ....
.............................nor all the chains
Heapt on him there, nor yet the main Abyss
Wide interrupt can hold; ...
.........................so bent he seems
On desparate reveng, that shall redound [ 85 ]
Upon his own rebellious head. ....
...............................And now
Through all restraint broke loose he wings his way
Not farr off Heav'n, in the Precincts of light,
Directly towards the new created World,

And Man there plac't, with purpose to assay [ 90 ]
If him by force he can destroy, or worse,
By some false guile pervert; ....
...............................and shall pervert
For man will heark'n to his glozing lyes,
And easily transgress the sole Command,
Sole pledge of his obedience: ......

...............................So will fall, [ 95 ]
Hee and his faithless Progenie:.....
................................ whose fault?
Whose but his own? ingrate, he had of mee
All he could have; ......
...................I made him just and right,
Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.

Such I created all th' Ethereal Powers [ 100 ]
And Spirits, both them who stood and them who faild;

Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.

Not free, what proof could they have givn sincere
Of true allegiance, constant Faith or Love,

Where onely what they needs must do, appeard, [ 105 ]
Not what they would? ..........
.....................what praise could they receive?
What pleasure I from such obedience paid,"

(John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book III)

further thoughts on eternal damnation, a choice (see May 3, 2011 post)

That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he sought
Evil to others, and enrag'd might see
How all his malice serv'd but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace and mercy shewn
On Man by him seduc't, but on himself
Treble confusion, wrath and vengeance pour'd.

(John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I, lines 214-220)

on Charles Darwin and an aurgument for first causes

Charles Kingsley to Charles Darwin, C. R., 18 Nov 1859

Dear Sir

I have to thank you for the unexpected honour of your book. That the Naturalist whom, of all naturalists living, I most wish to know and to learn from, should have sent a Sciolist like me his book, encourages me at least to observe more carefully, and think more slowly.

I am so poorly (in brain) that I fear I cannot read your book just now as I ought. All I have seen of it awes me; both with the heap of facts, and the prestige of your name, and also with the clear intuition, that if you be right, I must give up much that I have believed and; written.

In that I care little. ‘Let God be true, and every man a liar’. Let us know what is, and as old Socrates has it [GREEK CHARACTERS]—follow up the villainous shifty fox of an argument, into whatsoever unexpected bogs brakes he may lead us, if we do but run into him at last.

From two common superstitions, at least, I shall be free, while judging of your book….

 …1) I have long since, from watching the crossing of domesticated animals and plants, learnt to disbelieve the dogma of the permanence of species. …

... 2). I have gradually learnt to see that it is just as noble a conception of Deity, to believe that he created primal forms capable of self development into all forms needful pro tempore and; pro loco, as to believe that He required a fresh act of intervention to supply the lacunas which he himself had made.  I question whether the former be not the loftier thought.

Be it as it may, I shall prize your book, both for itself,  as a proof that you are aware of the existence of such a person as

Your faithful servant
C Kingsley Eversley
November 18, 1859

(http://www.darwinproject.ac.uk/entry-2534 , May 19, 2011)

sciolist

    1610s, "smatterer, pretender to knowledge," from L.L. sciolus "one who knows a little," dim. of scius "knowing," from scire "to know" (see science) + -ist.

(http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=sciolist, may 19, 2011)

on being vulgar

 

Redneck Olympics

"I knew I couldn't be wrong about the mob," …

he said, beaming over the enormous multitude, which stretched away to the distance on both sides. …

"Vulgar people are never mad. I'm vulgar myself, and I know. I am now going on shore to stand a drink to everybody here."

(G.K. Chesterton, The Man Who was Thursday)

 vulgar 

late 14c., "common, ordinary," from L. vulgaris "of or pertaining to the common people, common, vulgar," from vulgus "the common people, multitude, crowd, throng," from PIE base *wel- "to crowd, throng" (cf. Skt. vargah "division, group," Gk. eilein "to press, throng," M.Bret. gwal'ch "abundance," Welsh gwala "sufficiency, enough"). Meaning "coarse, low, ill-bred" is first recorded 1640s, probably from earlier use (with reference to people) with meaning "belonging to the ordinary class" (1530). Vulgarian "rich person of vulgar manners" is recorded from 1804.   (www.etymonline.com)

on the death of a very bad man who choose , like Lucifer, Eternal Damnation

The Father and the Son

viewing from the Empyrean, 

Lucifer's upward flight 

from Pandemonium, through Chaos, 

to corrupt man 

and the new formed world. ….

"They trespass, Authors to themselves in all

Both what they judge and what they choose; for so

I formd them free, and free they must remain,

Till they enthrall themselves: I else must change [ 125 ]

Thir nature, and revoke the high Decree"

… It is revealed,
that Lucifer
and his angels,
fallen, self deceived,
are never to be redeemed.  

(John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book 3)

[The preceding was prompted by the death of Osama Ben Laden on May 1, 2011]

Thirsty on the Cross

Thirsty on the Cross
by Max Lucado

Jesus’ final act on earth was intended to win your trust.
This is the final act of Jesus’ life. In the concluding measure of his earthly composition, we hear the sounds of a thirsty man.
And through his thirst—through a sponge and a jar of cheap wine—he leaves a final appeal.

“You can trust me.”

Jesus. Lips cracked and mouth of cotton. Throat so dry he couldn’t swallow, and voice so hoarse he could scarcely speak. He is thirsty. To find the last time moisture touched these lips you need to rewind a dozen hours to the meal in the upper room. Since tasting that cup of wine, Jesus has been beaten, spat upon, bruised, and cut. He has been a cross-carrier and sin-bearer, and no liquid has salved his throat. He is thirsty.

Why doesn’t he do something about it? Couldn’t he? Did he not cause jugs of water to be jugs of wine? Did he not make a wall out of the Jordan River and two walls out of the Red Sea? Didn’t he, with one word, banish the rain and calm the waves? Doesn’t Scripture say that he “turned the desert into pools” (PSALM 107:35 NIV) and “the hard rock into springs” (PSALM 114:8 NIV)?

Did God not say, “I will pour water on him who is thirsty” (ISAIAH. 44:3NKJV)?

If so, why does Jesus endure thirst?

While we are asking this question, add a few more. Why did he grow weary in Samaria (John 4:6), disturbed in Nazareth (Mark 6:6), and angry in the Temple (John 2:15)? Why was he sleepy in the boat on the Sea of Galilee (Mark 4:38), sad at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35), and hungry in the wilderness (Matt. 4:2)?
Why? And why did he grow thirsty on the cross?

He didn’t have to suffer thirst. At least, not to the level he did. Six hours earlier he’d been offered drink, but he refused it.

They brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means The Place of the Skull). Then they offered him wine mixed with myrrh, but he did not take it. And they crucified him. Dividing up his clothes, they cast lots to see what each would get. (Mark 15:22–24 NIV,italics mine)

Before the nail was pounded, a drink was offered. Mark says the wine was mixed with myrrh. Matthew described it as wine mixed with gall. Both myrrh and gall contain sedative properties that numb the senses. But Jesus refused them. He refused to be stupefied by the drugs, opting instead to feel the full force of his suffering.
Why? Why did he endure all these feelings? Because he knew you would feel them too.
He knew you would be weary, disturbed, and angry. He knew you’d be sleepy, grief-stricken, and hungry. He knew you’d face pain. If not the pain of the body, the pain of the soul … pain too sharp for any drug. He knew you’d face thirst. If not a thirst for water, at least a thirst for truth, and the truth we glean from the image of a thirsty Christ is—he understands.

And because he understands, we can come to him.

This is Love - The Extraordinary Story of Jesus
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 2011) Max Lucado

On men and women

Memories of Mamma

Memories of Mama?

 When I was a kid I didn't have a cell, laptop, internet, XBox, or Wii, but I wanted a TRS-80.  I didn't have a bike.  or a curfew. My toys were the outside world, rain or shine. I didn't eat what my momma didn't make. I would have liked to tell my Momma "no" but she was not home.   It was a not a good life... And I survived.

No one would say my Mom was a saint, but she was not a devil.

She was a girl that married too young and grew up with her children.  I grew to love me Mom.

Enjoy these songs for my Mamma.

 In the Good Old Days,  Dolly Parton
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCHAC2ctXgg&feature=related

George Jones - She Loved A Lot In Her Time
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Pcq86dPgBw

on nurturing women

Aunt EloDean

I attended my Aunt EloDean Herzogs' funeral today.  (03-23-2011)  In the last 12 months, I have lost three important women in my upbringing.  Aunt Colleen Wildman, my mother and now Aunt Elo.  Count yourself lucky if you have been raised by good women.  

At work today I remembered a quote from Robert F. Kennedy.  He was in Indianapolis Indiana the day Martin Luther King was murdered.  He was running for president at the time.  He was urged by his friends not to go to the rally.  It was in a very rough neighborhood.  In part of his speech he quoted the following.

'My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He once wrote: 

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget 

falls drop by drop upon the heart, 

until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom 

through the awful grace of God." '

You may ask, what does this have to do with nurturing women?

 I am not sure. 

No one would say my Mom was a saint, but she was not a devil.

She was a girl that married too young and grew up with her children.

I remained deeply angry with my mother until a year ago this last month, when after my Aunt Collen's  funeral.   I went and had a long talk with her.  I told her as child I was deeply hurt but as a parent I understood her actions.

As I continue to mourn my mothers death, I think of the many lessons her actions helped me to learn,

Grace, Mercy, Love, Compassion,  Patience, Percipience.

For years I have hated Mother's Day.  It was not a good day to be around me or in my Home.  Listening to the hymn "Love at Home" would me screaming from the room.  a little like fingernails on the chalk board.  

Offering to carry my Mother's burden lightened my own.  Offering her Mercy granted me the Grace to grow.

My mother spent the last years of her life in a self imposed prison of diabetes and obesity.  After we spoke last year my mother's spirits lifted and she endured better the time that remained.    

Voyle Bassett

What does this have to do with Aeschylus, I am not sure other then now I am free.  Mother's day will be much happier around my house this year and I requested "Love at Home" as the closing song at my mother's funeral.

Goodbye Mom, I love you and look forward to seeing you gain

per·cip·i·ent  (pr-sp-nt)
1. adj. Having the power of perceiving, especially perceiving keenly and readily.
2. noun. One that perceives.

Robert F. Kennedy on the death Martin Luther King

Ladies and Gentlemen - I'm only going to talk to you just for a minute or so this evening. Because...

I have some very sad news for all of you, and I think sad news for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over the world, and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and was killed tonight in Memphis, Tennessee.

Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice between fellow human beings. He died in the cause of that effort. In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it's perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in.

For those of you who are black - considering the evidence evidently is that there were white people who were responsible - you can be filled with bitterness, and with hatred, and a desire for revenge.

We can move in that direction as a country, in greater polarization - black people amongst blacks, and white amongst whites, filled with hatred toward one another. Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand and to comprehend, and replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand, compassion and love.

For those of you who are black and are tempted to be filled with hatred and mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I would only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had a member of my family killed, but he was killed by a white man.

But we have to make an effort in the United States, we have to make an effort to understand, to get beyond these rather difficult times.

My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He once wrote: "Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."

What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.
(Interrupted by applause)

So I ask you tonight to return home, to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King, yeah that's true, but more importantly to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love - a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke. We can do well in this country. We will have difficult times. We've had difficult times in the past. And we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; and it's not the end of disorder.

But the vast majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want justice for all human beings that abide in our land.
(Interrupted by applause)
Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world.
Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people. Thank you very much. (Applause)
Robert F. Kennedy - April 4, 1968

http://www.historyplace.com/speeches/rfk-mlk.htm

When You Are Low on Hope

When You Are Low on Hope

by Max Lucado

Water. All Noah can see is water. The evening sun sinks into it. The clouds are reflected in it. His boat is surrounded by it. Water. Water to the north. Water to the south. Water to the east. Water to the west. Water.

He sent a raven on a scouting mission; it never returned. He sent a dove. It came back shivering and spent, having found no place to roost. Then, just this morning, he tried again. With a prayer he let it go and watched until the bird was no bigger than a speck on a window.

All day he looked for the dove’s return.

Now the sun is setting, and the sky is darkening, and he has come to look one final time, but all he sees is water. Water to the north. Water to the south. Water to the east. Water to the …

You know the feeling. You have stood where Noah stood. You’ve known your share of floods. Flooded by sorrow at the cemetery, stress at the office, anger at the disability in your body or the inability of your spouse. You’ve seen the floodwater rise, and you’ve likely seen the sun set on your hopes as well. You’ve been on Noah’s boat.

And you’ve needed what Noah needed; you’ve needed some hope. You’re not asking for a helicopter rescue, but the sound of one would be nice. Hope doesn’t promise an instant solution but rather the possibility of an eventual one. Sometimes all we need is a little hope.

That’s all Noah needed. And that’s all Noah received.

Here is how the Bible describes the moment: “When the dove returned to him in the evening, there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf!” (Gen. 8:11 NIV).

An olive leaf. Noah would have been happy to have the bird but to have the leaf! This leaf was more than foliage; this was promise. The bird brought more than a piece of a tree; it brought hope. For isn’t that what hope is? Hope is an olive leaf—evidence of dry land after a flood. Proof to the dreamer that dreaming is worth the risk.

To all the Noahs of the world, to all who search the horizon for a fleck of hope, Jesus proclaims, “Yes!” And he comes. He comes as a dove. He comes bearing fruit from a distant land, from our future home. He comes with a leaf of hope.

Have you received yours? Don’t think your ark is too isolated. Don’t think your flood is too wide. Receive his hope, won’t you? Receive it because you need it. Receive it so you can share it. Receive his hope, won’t you? Receive it because you need it. Receive it so you can share it.

What do you suppose Noah did with his? What do you think he did with the leaf? Did he throw it overboard and forget about it? Do you suppose he stuck it in his pocket and saved it for a scrapbook? Or do you think he let out a whoop and assembled the troops and passed it around like the Hope Diamond it was?

Certainly he whooped. That’s what you do with hope. What do you do with olive leaves? You pass them around. You don’t stick them in your pocket. You give them to the ones you love. Love always hopes. “Love … bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (1 Cor. 13:4–7 NKJV, emphasis mine).

Love has hope in you.

The aspiring young author was in need of hope. More than one person had told him to give up. “Getting published is impossible,” one mentor said. “Unless you are a national celebrity, publishers won’t talk to you.” Another warned, “Writing takes too much time. Besides, you don’t want all your thoughts on paper.”

Initially he listened. He agreed that writing was a waste of effort and turned his attention to other projects. But somehow the pen and pad were bourbon and Coke to the wordaholic. He’d rather write than read. So he wrote. How many nights did he pass on that couch in the corner of the apartment reshuffling his deck of verbs and nouns? And how many hours did his wife sit with him? He wordsmithing. She cross-stitching. Finally a manuscript was finished. Crude and laden with mistakes but finished.

She gave him the shove. “Send it out. What’s the harm?”

So out it went. Mailed to fifteen different publishers. While the couple waited, he wrote. While he wrote, she stitched. Neither expecting much, both hoping everything. Responses began to fill the mailbox. “I’m sorry, but we don’t accept unsolicited manuscripts.” “We must return your work. Best of luck.” “Our catalog doesn’t have room for unpublished authors.”

I still have those letters. Somewhere in a file. Finding them would take some time. Finding Denalyn’s cross-stitch, however, would take none. To see it, all I do is lift my eyes from this monitor and look on the wall. “Of all those arts in which the wise excel, nature’s chief masterpiece is writing well.”

She gave it to me about the time the fifteenth letter arrived. A publisher had said yes. That letter is also framed. Which of the two is more meaningful? The gift from my wife or the letter from the publisher? The gift, hands down. For in giving the gift, Denalyn gave hope.

Love does that. Love extends an olive leaf to the loved one and says, “I have hope in you.”

Love is just as quick to say, “I have hope for you.”

You can say those words. You are a flood survivor. By God’s grace you have found your way to dry land. You know what it’s like to see the waters subside. And since you do, since you passed through a flood and lived to tell about it, you are qualified to give hope to someone else.

From

A Love Worth Giving:

Living in the Overflow of God’s Love

Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 2002) Max Lucado