PIOSITY

As I glance back in time I uncover acquaintances helping me to maneuver through disasters that awaited me. I also see myself shying away not wanting to relegate these maneuverings as warnings from others but instead as a design bestowed upon myself as brilliance. It seems I become frustrated when people, friends or otherwise, dictate the hows and whys of my life; what I do or things I say. The approach of these situations should be my business and decision should they not? These pious ne'er-do- wells are like irritating burrs under my saddle.

But really now, the people who I feel are full of piousness are no different than myself. They are not without temptation or tendency. No one is perfect in all areas of life but we all may have some contribution for betterment.

When I ask for an opinion I most usually am looking for resolution not absolution. Therefore I go to my friends who believe as I do and ask if my participation in some such matter is OK. If I do ask someone who may oppose me, and they do, I consider them pious not practical. I make an attempt to analyse their life and call them heretics not realizing they have succumbed to temptations with which they wish me not to struggle.

Sure there are Pharisaical frumps who have nothing better to do than stomp on my creativity.  But, I must make sure I am dealing with frumps and not parents who care for me or friends who hold me accountable or pastors who use the Word of God to sear my conscience.

Tendency to question, the still small voice or even the reason to reevaluate my steps are there for a reason...I must take heed lest I 

fall. I must be careful not to categorize people who warn or differ as pious for quite soon I may discover that what I thought pious is truth and what I felt was truth is actually piosity.

FRIENDS

Recently my daughter was married. Along with the celebration came many of her friends. It may not have been the idea of these people to include me as one of their friends but they stole my heart so what can you do? I have added them to my list of special people.  Many of Heidi's school comrades stayed with us and I can't tell you all the sweetness, laughter, long talks and just plain fun I enjoyed with these new friendships that were created.

I am incredibly blessed to have so many friends...or am I? What is it with friends? They freshen your life, they accentuate your demeanor, they push you to higher levels, they cry for you, they pray for you, they bail you out, they take you in, they hold you up and pull you along. they build you up and strengthen you... they humble you and keep you accountable. Why am I worthy of this? What do I have to offer? And even so, though I don't offer much, they don't care. I am accepted, propped up, prayed over, laughed with and fed much.

Then they leave and it's not just a bump in the road to climb over...it's a hole in my life to crawl out of. My friend left us and went to be with Jesus. Don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge him since many of our talks included a desire to see our God. Time with Kent was limited since normal life took up most of our time... then why this deep hole? Is this friendship thing all it's made out to be?

Kent was electric! You may think I'm just using a descriptive word... but that's what he was. I have a ninety nine cent extension cord running though my body. Kent was an electrical grid spewing energy all throughout the room. I don't think I remember any punch lines to Kent's jokes because I was waiting for him to explode. And when he talked about his Lord every muscle was twitching and his mind was so far out in front of his mouth because he so wanted to describe the wonder of it all. One never noticed how often he served others because it was so commonplace. And you knew his life was always true, with no show, because his family exemplified his instruction and faithfulness.

Would there be no holes if there were no friendships? Would the sorrow be less if the love was less? I should think the sorrow is great because the love is deep... and would I want it any other way? Thanks Kent for allowing me into your wonderful place of friendship. You will be greatly missed.

Unshakable

As the curtain is opened and this new year unfolds I see much suffering. Many friends of mine are struggling with afflictions life has sent their way. I pray for strength and healing and reflect on what grand times we have spent together. 

My view on what is important often changes from day to day, of which I am sorry to say. I look at what I deserve and see it as mostly what I do not have. What I do not deserve I have; a living God, a loving wife, wonderful children and incredible blessings. Often I want everything; no fuss, no problems and no work. I am a servant not a master. I am a sinner not a savior but I have a part to play in this production I call life. My true desire is that what I deserve I will learn from, what I do not deserve of this I will be faithful and what I want will not overtake me.

When this curtain opens to different acts throughout this next year I pray God will give us all a new appreciation, a greater dependence and a faith in Him that will prove unshakable.

Fringe

As I get older I tend to see myself morph into a stereotype I had had for others.  Generalities are beginning to inhabit entire people groups..."those young whipper snappers."  Respect is being demanded on account of my age not my character.  Seeing certain objects is futile no matter how many times I raise or lower my head.  Times of yesteryear ("when I was a boy") have remembrances of perfection even though many of these thoughts are tainted.

To keep myself from fading too quickly into this morass I look to my kids for some sort of relevance.  In this particular instance I was watching a TV series with my son.  "Fringe" has a story line which develops a parallel universe.  You can bet it took more than a pair of "cheaters" to bring this into focus.

One specific episode shows a man, in our world, who had developed into a caring professor intent on helping people deal with their difficult past.  This same man, in the parallel universe, grew up to be a serial killer intent on making everyone pay for the demons that followed him.  What was shown to be the difference?  This world of ours showed the helpful professor had had a woman who cared for and loved him in his brutal childhood.  The man in the parallel universe had no one to shelter him from the abuse he had experienced.

As usual I got sidetracked. This tangent took me elsewhere and left me wanting more.  No extrapolation on this woman occurred but I so badly wanted her story told.  What was she like?  What did she do?  How was she involved in this boy's life?  I know, it's a TV show, but it's the same story we all live.  Who has affected my life?  Whose hand do I hold when I'm bad?  Whose hand do I hold when they're sad?  Who do I laugh at when they're joked about?  How long is my reach?  How swift is my kick? Do I yell at the merging motorist?  Am I impatient with my co-worker?  Am I short with my child?  Is this really something I do or is it something I have become?  My guess is that this woman didn't plan or do anything unusual, she probably just was.

How do I just be like Christ? Of course, putting aside me watching a TV series about a parallel universe, what do I fill my mind with?  I'm not a hormonal rhythm crier or a subliminal backwards masker but what do I allow to affect my life?  Do I hold true to the statues God puts forth in His Word?  Does the love and mercy of my Savior ooze from my life?

And why shouldn't it ooze?  In a way I live in a parallel universe. In I Corinthians 15:42  Paul states it like this;  "...the body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body."

Unlike the "Fringe" God has enabled me to move past the depression of the parallel universe and the hopelessness  of our universe and has given me the opportunity to change my eternal outcome and enjoy peace, joy and hope through the shed blood of His sacrificial Son.

Graveside

Yesterday I sat, watched and listened…eloquent speeches, beautiful music and heartfelt tears… all a tribute to someone so accurately portrayed as a mom to all.  What a woman!  She was accomplished, polished, classy, down-to-earth, diligent, loving, tough and elegant.  But in all the ability and perfection that was seen is it possible it was accentuated because of what was not seen?

Let me explain.  Often when I was a boy and most always when mom lived with us, I would be up early and find mom praying or reading the Bible.  As I would bring her coffee we would chat, never enough of course, and I would find she wasn’t reading and praying for fun and pleasure but for comfort and guidance.  Mom was a worrier but often that wasn’t her fault.  Usually the worry was caused by her out-of-hand sons or hard to control husband.  A quick example: “Boys, if that motor for the mini bike comes today, do not put it together” she said knowing somehow clouds were forming over the horizon.  Mom drives away, the delivery truck drives in.   A few hours later mom comes back to find a mini bike tipped over and me on the ground with my head covered in blood.  Worry, and why not?

She couldn’t protect us, she couldn’t make decisions for us, and she couldn’t change the hearts or direct the paths of all who called her mom.  So she wept for wisdom, she prayed for protection and she read for guidance because she felt inadequate for the journey.  And because of her wonderful dependence on her loving Savior, we all experienced an incredible outpouring of greatness.  So you see, she was not only great because she was great, she was greater because she was blessed.

A book I had read once had an incredible description of death.  Unfortunately, I can’t remember the author or book to give proper recognition.  As I read this description I thought I understood what he said.  I may have, but it seems as if now I understand better not what he said but what he meant.  Something happened a few days before mom died to make the meaning clearer.   She had called out for her husband, her son and Nathan, her grandson.  This author presented the idea that as we pass from this life to the next there often is a sight and a struggle. The picture presented was crossing a river to Glory.  As one who knows Christ, we see those who are waiting for us…not only family and friends but Jesus, whose blood enabled our passage from death into life.  This sight gives us the desire, courage and endurance to cross that last struggle and swim into the presence of our Savior.  She’s there, she made it and the last struggle is over.  She’s in the arms of Jesus.

Mom

There she was…pretty lady, remarkable musician, time for no ordinary man.  Was it the stately engineer, wide eyed inventor, or the man in uniform that caused the second glance?  Whatever it was, the Benson household was established.  Five boys came along to cause much anxiety and hopefully many smiles.

Are your family memories burdensome?  I sure hope not, but if they are please share mine because mom created enough great memories to go around. 

Mom’s life was to be anything but ordinary.  Thank goodness God lets us experience life as it comes otherwise many of us wouldn’t be up for the journey. 

I was not spoiled in life only in blessings.  Although my parents were not perfect, they loved their God immensely and spread that love around as best as they knew how. 

My mom was a woman who never told or even thought of her capabilities.  Don’t misunderstand me, you had to pay attention.  Choir director, musician, community organizer, teacher, mother, wife, friend, chauffer, cheerleader….she never really stopped.  But back to her journey…did she think she would ever coerce juvenile delinquents into new ways of life?  Yeah, I know what you’re thinking and no, I am not talking about us brothers.  Dad had this great idea that since he was too old to hold down a job he would drag mom off to Indiana to straighten out the paths of a bunch of young whippersnappers.  Did she think she would influence a whole community into appreciating different kinds of music?  Did she ever fathom God would give and take her sons in such a short span of time?  Did she ever dream she would run down escaped horses in her Sunday best, or help a veterinarian winch a calf out of its mother? 

The thing about mom was no matter the obstacle she accomplished the task with a sort of flair.  I look back and wonder if mom was ever cut out to be a farm girl.  Probably not, but since she was there she might as well do it with a bit of class.  When her boys were down by the river and she needed us home for supper did she use the annoying car horn or the ordinary cow bell?  Oh for shame, of course not, she developed the farmstead yodel never leaving any confusion to whose supper was waiting.  Did she wear drab old overalls?  Pfft, really? Not my mom, pastel dresses and white socks were farm fare. 

Now I know this all makes her sound kind of perfect, but she also had her flaws.  She served us lima beans and lutefisk…eh she’s Swedish, what can you do.

There were many things mom loved, I’ll share just three:

·       She loved to be read to.  Mom stayed with our family for a while before she moved into Elim Home.  At that time I was writing a blog and she always wanted me to read it to her.  I often open my blog with questions to get the reader thinking.  In January 2013, our nation was facing the fiscal cliff, so I addressed the issue.  I began reading:  “Are you ready to jump?” “No!” mom answered rather loudly. “Mom, you just ruined the whole premise of my blog. These are questions to think about; you don’t have to answer them.” I responded trying to calm my racing heart from her boisterous reply.  She couldn’t help it she had to answer the questions.  So off we went, I would ask, she would answer, I would reprimand and she would giggle uncontrollably.  Like most people, I’m not so sure she ever understood what I was writing about.  But her interest in what I had done was much more gratifying than her understanding of what I had written. 

·       She loved people.  When I was a kid, mom and dad would invite most anyone over to our house.  More than once I would come into the dining room at meal time and find myself saying, “Who are they?” The more the merrier, the fuller the table; that was my mom.  I’m sure it will be no different in heaven….she will want that banquet table full. 

·       She loved Jesus.  The most desired thing in her life was that you had Jesus in your heart.  And can you blame her?  For eternity she will sit, chat and laugh as she enjoys her family, friends, and her Savior with a cup of coffee and a handful of M&M’s.  If you haven’t decided to follow Jesus yet she would be ecstatic to know you made that decision today.  

Ya know, mom hung around a long time.  Maybe we guys were more delinquent than we thought.  Maybe she hung around as long as she did hoping we would get our acts together.  Whatever the case, I’m so glad she did.  Mom, I’ll miss your uncontrollable laugh, your love and your prayers.  I’ll miss you for now but I’ll see you soon.

Vulnerable

I have a wonderful friend from years gone by and even though we only seem to see each other at funerals of mutual acquaintances, I hope I am considered a friend as well.  When I have thought and prayed for her, as of late, memories of days gone by come to focus in my normally blurred mind.

I don't remember the exact words that were used but before I went to college she told me that us Benson boys are not very good "huggers".  Off to college I went not registering such a preposterous statement.  Returning from school I gave her a big hug, not thinking of our previous conversation, but because I was glad to be back amongst old friends.  She said, "You're getting better." Odd as it may seem, her comments had significance.

To this day hugging can be uncomfortable.  Is it my Scandinavian heritage or the revelations of confusing body language?  Will they think I'm flirting? Should I do a front hug, side hug or a fist bump?  Is all this hugging stuff even about me?  Maybe my open arms of acceptance are nothing more than being vulnerable. I should think Jesus was a great hugger.  He was there for all who needed him.  His arms are open even when we yell, rebel or spit on Him..."Father forgive them for they know not what they do."  I must beware, however, if I do inconsiderate things to my Savior when I know what I'm doing, but we'll leave that for another day.  How many times could God say, "Enough, off with their heads"? But He doesn't, he gives us time to seek Him out.

I am programed to worry about me.  I have no idea what other are going through.  The most "together" people could be unraveling as fast as my favorite old shirt.  I think I should open myself to others even if they despise me.  I am awkward, I get that, I don't know what to do or what to say.  There is protocol, standards and cultural issues, for sure.  But maybe hugging isn't necessarily hugging. Maybe it's just being vulnerable to someone who needs a boost and the appreciation that they are who they are.

As I pray for this friend I hope she will accept the hugs of those who reach out to her and let their vulnerability give her peace.  I think I was born one hundred years too late.  I feel like I could go away, homestead some unknown land and be fine.  But the Bible instructs me, in Hebrews 10:25, to ".....not forsake the assembling of ourselves together."  We must be vulnerable to prod and be prodded, help and be helped, sharpen and be sharpened.  This is how we manage the journey.  It's not always easy but as we share this walk together the added strength that is received when we all become vulnerable makes our load lighter and our days seem brighter.