Alone

There are many people who live here at Schowalter Villa who live alone. I would guess that there are more women than men in that category. Most of the ones I know are alone because their spouse has died. I have always thought that losing one's spouse would be a very difficult thing, especially if their marriage was a long one. And not only the immediate sorrow and grief that's experienced, but then the reality of living alone.

I'm alone this weekend. My spouse is coming back in a couple of days. I don't do well alone - meal times and bed times are perhaps the most difficult, but the silence in between isn't easy for me either. When there's no one to talk to what do you do? Well I don't always just sit there, I soliloquize. If you don't know what that is, look it up. Oh well, I'll just save you the trouble - it means talk to your self. Singing is another helpful activity. If I watch a ballgame I can always talk to the players, umps, or whomever. Once in awhile I can talk to a face that happens around. Yesterday I ate in the Villa dining room and easily found an audience for my blabbering. I also listened to a few words from my friends there.

Actually no one is ever really alone. God is always present in the person of His Spirit. That's comforting to me and I talk to Him on a regular basis. God doesn't make any noise though, except when it storms outside. He's letting me know that He is very powerful, and artistic. I actually smiled not long ago when we had a very active, and loud, lightning and thunder storm. I know it says that God speaks with a still small voice, but I think He also speaks in thunderstorms.

One can be alone and be in the middle of a crowd. Ever have that happen to you? I have, and it is almost worse than being alone by yourself. I'm glad my wife is planning to return soon. I would have liked very much to be where she is today, back in our "home community" in Illinois, but circumstances would not allow me to do that. But I'm glad she wanted to, and could go, and be with her three sisters, two brothers, and our two daughters.

I remain

Pilgrim on the way

She Knows Her Pop

I'm not talking here (in the title) about soda (pop). I'm talking about a Dad "Pop." But before I get into that, go back to the soda idea. What do you in Kansas call "soda?" In some places they simply call it "pop." In other places they call it "soda." And still in other places they call it "soda pop." How do you refer to it?

Now back to the "Dad Pop." I think most of my kids know me pretty well. I fool them once in awhile I think, but most of the time they know what my response is to different situations.

Take watching baseball games for instance. This Fathers' Day card is an indication that my kids know me well when I'm watching a Cubs game. I guess they know that I yell at the umps, managers, and players from both sides at times. I still do that once in awhile but not as often as I used to. And that's only when I'm watching on TV and not when actually at a game. I don't go to many games anymore - can't. Although I did go to one in Phoenix this spring - had to leave early though. But watching Cubs games on TV is one of my "hobbies" - one that will probably be over after this baseball season is over. My interest just isn't there as strong this year, and that's probably good. That's one point where my kids probably don't know me as well as they think they do. They think I'll continue to buy MLB extra innings every year as I have for quite some time now. I don't think that will happen next year, but I guess we'll see how well I know myself then.

We don't live close to any of our children anymore - never did except for a short time once. The closest one is about 7 hours away, the others a couple of days of driving time, if one was to go that way, which we can't anymore. It would really be nice to be closer to all of them, but when they live a couple of thousand miles from one another, how would one do that?

How well do you know your father, or children? How well do they know you? Hopefully each of these questions could be answered "very well." Perhaps a better question is, how well do you know your heavenly Father? We know that He knows us inside and out, all the time. Learning to know our heavenly Father can be done only by spending time with Him, communicating with Him, reading His Word to us and doing what He says. How well are you doing these things? How well am I?

Pilgrim on the way

How Big Is Your God?

One of the blog sites I look at, and read sometimes, is that of Greg Boyd. I have spoken of him in previous posts. He does some very deep, theological thinking at times. At others he can be quite entertaining.

I checked in this morning on one of his latest posts and found it quite interesting. The links he offers there are mind boggling! It stretches my mind as far as I want anything to when I think about our universe, and the God Who created it. How big is your God? Not only is my concept of God enlarged when I think about our universe, but also when I think about God's love, His mercy and grace, and His intimate care for all of His people on this globe.

It reminds me of the little song we used to sing as children, "Wide wide as the ocean, high as the heaven above, deep, deep as the deepest sea is my savior's love. I though so unworthy, still am a child of His care. For His word teaches me and His love reaches me everywhere." It also reminds me of a book I used to have, "Your God Is Too Small," written by J. B. Phillips. Most of us think too small when thinking and meditating on God.

Here are the links I saw this morning on Boyd's blog post. Enjoy!

getting bigger

getting smaller


Pilgrim on the way

Growing Older

In one of the devotionals by Leslie F. Brandt which I read this past week the author asked this question: "How do we know we are growing older?" Here are some of the answers he gave: "Our children begin to look middle-aged. Our knees buckle but our belts won't. We have all the answers, but nobody asks us the right questions. That gleam in our eyes is really the sun reflected off our trifocals. Our backs go out more than we do. People are beginning to address us as old timers."

I can think of a lot more and I'm sure you can too. Growing older is a fact of life, in process from the day we are born until the day we die. Perhaps "growing older" is a term used to avoid the "growing old" idea. We all know we are growing older, but no one wants to admit to growing old.

My mother was forty years old when I was born, so to me she always looked sort of old. I used to ask her on her birthdays if she was old yet, and she always said no - until she was eighty. When I asked her if she was old yet on that memorable birthday, she finally said, "Well I guess if you say so." Mom lived to almost 90 - she died in February and would have been 90 in May.

Someone asked me not too long ago how long I wanted to live. I said, well my father lived to be 90 and my brother lived to be 90, so that sounds like a pretty good age to go for. Sometimes I wonder, though, if I really want to live that long. Indications are that my health might not be ideal for the next 12 years. I really would not look forward to dealing with serious health concerns during those years.

The biblical text Brandt used in the devotional mentioned above was from Psalm 126:5 - "Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy." I close this post with another quotation from this devotional: "At least one of the reasons for aging is the tears we have sown throughout the years. There have been both good and sad times. There will be more to come. In spite of those arthritic twings, however, we can be happier than we have ever been. Life has been full of dark nights, but we now see the light at the end of the tunnel. It is time to celebrate. We ought to acknowledge our Lord's love and concern, our secure and eternal relationship to him, and allow our bodies and spirits to break forth into happy hilarity and give our nerves and muscles the healthy exercise of laughter."

That is a big order, especially when one is dealing with health concerns on a daily basis. But it is my desire to do that as I continue to be a

Pilgrim on the way

(Quotations are from Bible Readings for The Retired, published by Augsburg Publishing House, Minneapolis, MN.)

Ken

I don't think I have ever done two posts in one day before so I guess this is a first. I was planning to do this one before the incident this noon related in my earlier blog today, so while the story of this post is fresh in my mind I'll do it anyway.

Ken Rodgers has become my friend in the last three years or so. At that time he directed our church choir for our annual Christmas program and morning worship service. Ken was quite informal and just made the rehearsals a lot of fun. The choir always ended up doing a very good job of singing the songs.

In the ensuing years since then I have been fortunate enough to develop this friendship a bit more. Ken attends our church now whenever his schedule will allow. He has been on the Hesston College faculty since 1988 teaching piano, organ and courses in music history and the humanities, and he conducts the College Chorale. He has also been overseas a number of times accompanying Tony Brown as they did programs with the general theme of "peace." I have one of Tony's CD's and count him as a friend as well.

I'm doing this post because of an organ concert Ken did in our church sanctuary last evening (Sunday). Now I have not attended many organ concerts, but for me this concert was exceptional. The works Ken did last evening were on the theme, "Music of Healing and Hope," not an easy theme to plan an organ concert around. It was done as a part of our Centennial Celebration Series for our church, which we are celebrating this year.

Several of the works done are actually in our hymn book, "Hymnal, A Worship Book." Some were songs I had no idea were in the hymnal, such as "At evening, when the sun had set," and "Silence! Frenzied, unclean spirit." A number of other works were done which were all done exceptionally well.

I truly like to watch, and listen, as Ken plays our new pipe organ. One can tell by his playing that he likes what he is doing and that he "gets into" the music in a way that makes him a joy to watch. I know that he spent much time in researching some of these pieces, and that certainly added to his presentation.

I wish Ken the best and God's richest blessings as he continues to inspire many along the way with the gifts God has given him and which he has developed richly.

Pilgrim on the way

Tomato Soup

The following is a story I tell on myself which I wouldn't want anyone else to tell on me. I don't even know why I'm doing a post about this except that I just wanted you my readers to know that I, along with all of you, do dumb things once in awhile.

This noon for our lunch my wife was planning to make some tomato soup using that which comes from a can. We both detest the cans that have a lid that's supposed to open with a tab. Why not just let us do it with a can opener? The can opener will not work on these cans, so we are forced to use the tab.

Well as you might have guessed the tab broke off when Clara tried to open the can. I then said very confidently, let me open it. I retrieved my all-purpose tool which I thought had one of those openers that makes a pointed hole in the top, but this one doesn't have that. So I used the next best I saw on it, a pointed knife blade. I forced a small hole in the top where the tab had been, then proceeded to jab the lid with the knife blade. Suddenly the force of my jabs knocked the lid off and down into the soup with a "sploosh," and all at once there was tomato soup over much of me, the table, the floor, and in other places that we didn't notice until later.

As a result of that unwise action I needed to undress right there at the kitchen table while moving as little as possible. Using paper towels at first, Clara began to clean up the mess and I began to clean up myself. A clean set of clothes was in order of course, as was a small load for the washing machine.

The whole episode reminded both of us of a similar incident way back when we lived in Indiana. One night at bedtime Clara (8 months pregnant) pulled a gallon of milk in a glass bottle from the refrigerator and dropped it on the concrete/tiled floor. Milk and glass literally went everywhere in that kitchen. There are other details of that story that could be told here, but now we know that both of us are capable of making a major mess.

We are just glad that in neither of these experiences was anyone injured physically - only our pride, ego, or whatever you call it, a little bit. Thankfully a can of soup or a bottle of milk that gets destroyed doesn't hurt anyone. Perhaps I can learn something from this experience that will help me as I continue on my journey as

Pilgrim on the way