Wrinkles

My first impression was that she was v-e-r-y wrinkled! 

She was unknown to me, but she was there at the funeral home with some of the other family members I had come to visit.  My eye gravitated to her as soon as I entered the room. She was an older woman who had a very expressive face.  Deep furrows mapped out lines in her cheeks and around her eyes.  She was, in a word, "wrinkly" ---- if that's a word.  

Now I don't mind wrinkles.  I think they are testimonies to a full life, the marks of wisdom and a well seasoned life.  Smooth faces are kind of like a new pair of jeans that haven't been broken in yet.  But wrinkled faces are one-of-a-kind treasures. They are like the rich patina on a piece of antique furniture that can't be duplicated on a piece of wood by a quick application of stain.  Wrinkles take time to make, like the slow changing of copper from its bright shiny glow to the greenish sheen it takes on over a period of years that says "this has stood the test of time." 

So, I noticed this woman's wrinkles, but something didn't seem right about them. Of course, it's not every day that I spend a great deal of time pondering someone else's wrinkles, especially when they belong to a person to whom I have just been introduced.  Still, there was no denying it.  Even to the recently introduced pastor, there was something peculiar about these wrinkles. But what was it?

Just then, my friend offered insight into this wrinkly faced woman:  "She really is a wonderful and happy person!"  With that, I saw that face completely rearrange itself.  The woman broke into a broad smile. Instant transformation! Then I knew what was wrong before: the woman wasn't smiling. That's what made those wrinkles seem unnatural.  When she smiled, every fold of skin, every grooved line, seemed to snap to attention.  Every surface line conformed itself perfectly with the muscles underneath. Every groove and muscle became one with the true spirit of that woman.  This is who she is.  She is a smiling person. That's what she spends most of her time doing.  Her wrinkles are marks of her happiness and her true nature.

In Advent, we spend a lot of time thinking about wrinkles and grooves and ruts and straight paths. John the Baptist steps onto the stage with words like, "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight." (Matthew 3:3)

This advent, I'm going to spend some time preparing by thinking of that woman and her wrinkly face.  When she grew into that smile, she aligned her face, her grooves, her muscles, and her spirit with God's purpose for her in life: to smile. She was doing what she does best.  The wrinkles got their kinks out and made straight paths in her face that seemed to go straight into the very heart of her being. 

It is a beautiful sight when our wrinkles get lined up with what God wants us to be. During Advent, may we be open to God's love and inspiration, and may our wrinkles be signs that the Christ child has made his home in our lives.

My Little Red Knife

I didn't know that I needed a little red knife when, more than a decade ago,
Martha's brother Frank presented one to me and one to all the family members
one Christmas.  I had been ignorantly sailing through life with a pocket that
was devoid of one of the most crucial items anyone could every carry.

And I didn't know it.

Now, if I reach down into my pocket and I don't feel that knife's familiar smooth side and ridges, panic sweeps over me.  Did I lose it?  Is it gone forever?  Where could it be?  Where did I have it last?

My little red knife is multi-faceted. There is, of course, a knife blade.
Then's there's the nail file which sometimes can double as a screw driver or
pry bar.  I particularly enjoy the mini-scissors.  When my wife is forcefully
asserting to me that someone stole her scissors (a rather uncomfortable
experience for me now that the kids are out of the house) I can at least whip
my little scissors out and offer them to her (while I'm trying to think where
I last had her scissors!).  My knife's tools are nicely rounded out with a
toothpick (cleanliness not guaranteed), and a small but effective pair of
tweezers.

Just in the last few months I have used my little red knife to open packages
and letters, cut my fishing line, peel an apple, cut pictures out of the
newspaper, dig splinters out of my finger, loosen a screw, saw through weeds
rapped around my rototiller, harvest broccoli in the garden and remove
something stuck between my teeth (it was an emergency--no time for
cleanliness!)

I even lent it to my brother one day recently when we ran out of minnows on
one of our crappie quests.  He used it to dissect a fish, the dissected parts
to be used for bait so that we would have something to present to the
especially ravenous crappies that day.  On the habitat trip, I performed
surgery on the hand of the local construction committee chairperson who's
finger had become home to what was supposed to be a part of the house.  My
tweezers grabbed that little sliver and restored his bliss.  They grabbed
several slivers that week as well as being used to reform ragged fingernails
torn in the construction process.

People depend upon me.  They depend upon me having my little red knife handy
at all times.  It has become a part of me.  My self image would suffer without
it.  And before it was given to me, I didn't even know I needed it.

My little red knife is a lot like faith.  A lot of people don't know they need
it, but when someone gives it to them, they soon can't figure out how they
ever got along without it.  They begin to carry Jesus' word's and promises
with them all the time.  They're continually reaching into their pocket or
their heart for it.  They find that they depend upon it, and others depend
upon them having it.

I want you to know that my little red knife, like my faith, is in my pocket,
giving me confidence, ready for action at all times.  I can't imagine how I
would get along without either one of them.

The Parson Ponders: Offering Plates

I've seen all kinds of them...brass, silver, aluminum, wooden.  I guess you can make an offering plate out of just about anything.  The fact is, I've discovered that when people want to give they can always find something in which to collect the offering.

Through the years, I have placed my offerings in hats, buckets, wicker baskets, china bowls, styrofoam cups, and paper bags.
I've seen five gallon water jugs fill with coins to support youth group trips.
It seems clear that if you give people opportunity to make an offering, they
will.  Something yearns within us until we share from our bounty.

As a child on a fishing vacation in Quebec, we attended a French speaking
Catholic church on a Sunday morning.  I couldn't understand the lessons nor
the sermon spoken in French; nor could I understand the liturgy sung in Latin.
But I did understand when the usher came around with what looked like my dad's
landing net.  He inserted that pole into our row, and passed the pouch on the
end of it to each one the row's occupants.  We may not have understood
anything else in the service, but we understood the offering.

At one mass worship service I attended, the offering was collected in Kentucky
Fried Chicken buckets.  There's something strange about having Colonel Sanders
smiling approvingly at you as you drop your money into the bucket.  But then,
maybe that's not such a bad idea.  Perhaps it would be good to have a smiling
Jesus on the side of our offering plates...or smiling children...or smiling
hungry people...or thankful senior citizens.

In the old testament people felt the urge to make offerings too.  They made
offerings for a variety of reasons.  Some felt guilty, and the offering helped
ease their conscience.  Some wished to honor another person, and they gave an
offering to God in tribute to the person.  Some gave an offering as they asked
for God's favor.

But mostly, they made offerings out of thanksgiving for the generosity of
their creator who gave them all that they had.  God created their world.  God
created them with all of their talents and abilities.  They offered their
"first fruits" as a sign that the first and the best of what they had belonged
to God.

In the New Testament, Jesus admired the widow who felt the urge to give to the
poor even though she herself was nearly penniless.  And since there was an
offering box for the poor outside the temple, this widow who felt blessed in
spite of her lack of funds dropped in her two coins, all that she had.

Even children understand the offering plates.  They love to bring their
offering and have the privilege of putting their quarter in the plate as it
goes by.  Sometimes Dad even lets them take hold of the plate and pass it
themselves in spite of the ever present danger of the slipped plate dropping
and banging to the floor and coins rolling to who knows where under the pew.
But then, as I have observed, even sure handed ushers occasionally lose
their grip on the full plate!

The offering plates aren't just about money.  They are about a deep seated
need within us to acknowledge the one who made us out of nothing.  Whether the
offering receptacles are made of fine polished brass or a cardboard chicken
holder, we will use whatever is at hand to offer up a portion of what has been
given to us.