Category Uncategorized

Dec 6 2010

Housekeeping at Grace Digest


Today I did some early spring cleaning on this blog. I took off my blog roll some sites that are no longer active and a few that seldom posted. I updated some links to new addresses and removed one because it seldom had a post related to the Bible, Christian living, Jesus, etc. After all, this is my blog and it is primarily a Christian blog so I have the liberty of linking only those I decide are valuable to my readers.

If you have a blog that you want included please let me know and if it meets my criteria I’ll include it in my links. At this point I think all of my links are by church of Christ people. I didn’t plan it this way, it just happened. I am happy to include any blog that provides good Bible teaching, inspirational writing, and in general honors Jesus. There is no sectarianism here. If you are a faith follower of Jesus you are my brother or sister.

I hope all of you are enjoying this season. It is one of expectation, joy, hope, family time, good food, and the greatest story ever told, the story of Jesus Christ who was and is “God with us”.

Merry Christmas

Royce
GraceDigest

 

Nov 30 2010

A day of my life….


First there was the rain… Early, a steady down pour and then a slow nasty drizzle. I am never thrilled about taking the big trash can to the street in a cold rain.

My wife and I drove about 40 minutes North West to a funeral. A friend’s mom, a good, godly, woman died. A very traditional service, many friends, some nice comments about the deceased, and a warning to anyone who might be there and not a Christian. But, oddly to me, no good news about Jesus. In fact, the message a non Christian would have received is that living a good life, being faithful in church, etc. will assure you of heaven.

We left the church building to be greeted by chilling winds! It seems as if the temperature had fallen at least 10 degrees during the 40 minutes we were inside.

I visited two friends in the hospital. One, damaged to the tune of two broken ribs and a punctured lung, had fallen from a ladder. Several days of rest and some unwelcomed pain and he will again be whole. His pain, and the inconvenience of a hospital bed has not dampened his enthusiasm for his ministry to prisoners and others whose addictions and destructive behavior have them at odds with society. So my friend has been appointed by God to love them and lead them to Him and recovery.

A short drive across the river to another hospital to visit another friend. This dear saint of God has battled cancer bravely for many, many months and It appears that his home going might be very near. He manages a smile, his usual posture, and thanksgiving for everything it seems. He and his wife are great examples to the rest of us who have not yet had to hear very bad news from a doctor. I love this man and really, really hate to see him go away. But, I am selfish and am being selfish for him. My head says he will soon have the better deal but my heart cries out to God to let him stay. It’s almost as if I don’t know what awaits those who are in Christ. Ahh, my faith is weak, my resolve nothing to boast of.

These days are not pleasant but they are the days of my life. So, I put one foot in front of the other and keep trusting my faithful God who has promised… even to a weakling like me, it will be better. I’ll keep going and loving those who are mourning the loss of loved ones. I’ll keep praying for the injured and sick. I’ll keep living my life with my sometimes tiny faith knowing that the Object of my tiny faith never fails.

We don’t like all of God’s promises do we? “In this world you will have trouble..” Or how about this one? “It is appointed unto man once to die and after this the judgement.” Trouble and death are constant companions but they don’t rule my life. I have seen deaths end, it is coming… And trouble? Yea, its always hanging around, just like the weeds in my flower beds, and the aches in my joints on these cold damp days, but I know I’m just passing through N.E. Louisiana. My home is on the other side of the horizon.

How shall I respond? I choose joy! I choose thanksgiving. I choose praising God for his love and tender mercy. I choose love. I choose peace. I choose an afternoon nap before my darling has me drag stuff down from the attic, put up the Christmas tree, and I will in the same moments be reluctant, and glad to do it.

Soon this day will be history, perhaps a memory, and if so likely not one that lasts very long. What will tomorrow bring? I don’t know, but what I do know is that it will be God’s gift to me so I will try to rejoice and be glad. It will be a day of my life never to be repeated.

Royce

Nov 10 2010

Coming out of the shed


I am delighted to present a guest post by Janet Paschal. I enjoyed and appreciated this glimpse into Janet’s childhood and thought you would too.

Here is Janet….

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Hey Everybody,
There is an old Chinese proverb which says, ‘Distance lends enchantment to the view.’ I think that’s probably true, but, still, there are days I’d love to go back – back to childhood summers, dinner around our family table, and Sunday mornings at our house. I honestly think they were as great as I recall.
Our summers at home were fun: Kay, indoors, practicing her homemaking skills and I, outdoors, locating the perfect tree to climb. We had a real playhouse, a swingset and a bicycle, not to mention a forest of Carolina black pines behind our backyard.
One of our favorite indoor pasttimes was constructing a tent in the kitchen (a quilt pulled tight over chair backs and held by heavy books.) We’d take pimento cheese sandwiches inside and watch ‘I Love Lucy’ on the 19” black and white tv my dad won at the local car dealership. Pimento cheese never tasted as good, or Lucy’s antics seem as comical.
Because we had a very strict upbringing and were not exposed to the worldly vices of that day, one summer afternoon Kay and I decided to take matters into our own hands. We agreed to say all of the bad words we knew. We walked outdoors to our dad’s workshed, went inside, closed and locked the door, and proceeded to say the bad words. There were two. It was so strange hearing them in our voices. A few minutes later, we repented fervently and left the shed. Our conscience plagued us for a long time over that one.
My mom cooked dinner every night (and breakfast every morning.) We all sat at the table, together, at the same time and everyone shared what had happened at work or school. Kay always told her stories so well (aiding and abetting where necessary) that I usually deferred to her. Even as a child I remember looking forward to ‘supper’ because that’s when everyone just talked together. That is still one of my favorite things.
Sunday mornings were extremely predictable. My dad sang hymns along with the television singers, Kay dressed early and practiced her piano, and my mom took a few extra moments to dress. Each week she looked more beautiful. We’d load into the car, Kay and I in patent leather shoes (she with matching purse,) and head for my grandpa’s church. My grandmother taught our Sunday School class for several years and we loved that. At one point, they purchased an easel board complete with individual Bible characters made of felt that stuck onto the board, allowing the teacher to illustrate stories and people more colorfully. We thought we’d moved into the ranks of the high church.
At the bell we’d run – ah, walk – to the sanctuary for the worship service. In my mind’s eye I can see every detail: Mrs. Payne sitting at the piano with her pocketbook at her feet, my grandmother sitting on the inside row, second pew, and my grandfather making sure he shook every hand in the congregation before he mounted the pulpit. Following announcements and prayer requests we’d grab a hymnal from the pew in front of us and turn the worn pages to the familiar pieces we sang over and over. After identifying the song, some of us would smugly close the book again just to emphasize the fact that we knew the words. Oh, the crazy things we did….
As a child, I did not realize that the hymns we sang found lodging deep inside the core of who I am. I did not realize that the theology contained in the great songs of the church would strengthen and uphold me years later when, as Job, the thing I most feared came upon me. I did not know that the poetry and rhyme of the ancient writers would help shape the person I am or who I will yet become.
Now, when I hear an old familiar lyric, it is almost like riding up the road, over the railroad tracks, past the small white mission, and left at the country store. The driveway goes uphill – to the big oak tree where Larry Perkins used to tease me and say that he was my boyfriend – to the little church that was air-conditioned before any of our homes or cars – to the graveyard where my grandfather waits for his bright tomorrow.
While the hymns can’t transport me back to those days, their rhythmic words on a page help define my faith. They ignite my memory. They lend perspective to grim days. They woo me back to my first love.
So, on a given day, I’d go back if I could; not to change anything much, but just to live it all again. It was so simple and so pure. Well, except for that shed thing.
Have a blessed November…
Janet
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You can enjoy more of Janet’s wit and wisdom and hear her songs at
JanetPaschal.com. And you can find her on FaceBook at Janet Paschal and Friends.
Nov 8 2010

Gone but not forgotten


This past Saturday my neighbor and good friend Mike called and suggested that we visit the “Moving Wall”, a memorial to those who paid the ultimate price in Vietnam. It was a moving experience.

On the wall there are the names of 58,320 casualties. Of those 8 are women. 2,056 are inscribed “Body not recovered”. The average age of the deceased was 22.8 years. In the mass of people who came out on Memorial Day to see the moving wall there were many veterans. I witnessed one old gentleman look at a spot on the wall for perhaps a minute and then, with his back as straight as any Marine ever stood he gave a prolonged salute. When he finally turned away with parade precision I saw tears running down his cheeks. They never forget, the pain never goes away.

This letter left at the bottom of the wall by a 5th grader is a fine example of what it means to be a patriot. We care. The few, the brave gave all they had to give, and we care.


The Vietnam War was the first war whose military strategy was decided not by experienced military men on the ground but by political types in Washington, D.C. who had never had their hands dirty. We will never win a war run out of the beltway.

What did our country accomplish in Vietnam? Well today what was then North and South Vietnam are now just one big Communist country. We made a lot of children orphans. We made a lot of wives widows. And we largely treated those who did make it back to our shores like human trash.

Liberalism has not changed except that it is worse. A segment of our people do not know honor, have no shame, and live only for what is easiest and satisfies the most base desires of a human.

This American will not forget those who died in the jungles of Vietnam, those whose planes were shot down over Germany, those who died in the deserts of Iraq and Afghanistan, and at Pearl Harbor. Neither will I forget those who died at Fort Morgan, Gettysburg, Vicksburg and dozens of other places where brave young men gave their all for their countrymen.

The Civil War General Sherman said “War is hell boys…”. I hate war and all it represents. But, as long as evil is alive there will be war. The brave will step up and put their lives on the line just as they have since the first in the history of mankind.

I believe that if something is serious enough for the United States to send our young men and women into harms way it is serious enough to win at all costs. Trying to fight a heartless and evil enemy while being politically correct is unwise and the persons responsible when we do it should be tried for treason.

I hate war of every kind. But, if you are going to have a war, Win it!

I salute every family and friend who was touched by losing a loved one in Vietnam.

Royce Ogle