MASCOT'S, CHICKEN'S AND CLOWN'S..OH MY!

Tuesday evening we traipsed off to downtown Ashland for the annual Christmas parade.
This had been the topic of conversation for several weeks; I want to go, I don’t want to go, was about as far as Carson went.
He still has a lot of trouble being in close proximity with any mascots, clowns or ‘big headed’ things. Are we bad, mean parents for prodding him along the sidewalk toward the festivities? He didn’t want to stand on the curb, so we secured a spot about 15’ from the street (well out of range of the constant rain of candy!) and he was semi-satisfied with this. It didn’t keep him from the intermittent “I’m ready to go home, let’s get outta here and I wanna NOW!” He spent a lot of time standing behind us, peering through the crowd and occasionally cracking a smile. Other times he actually let me put him on my shoulders so he could see (and he would invariably spot a giant head, clown, wildcat or chicken from a block away) and immediately demand to get down. The object of his fear would approach and as soon as it passed the 90 degree plane and started moving away he was fine, even laughed. Just as long as it was going away and not toward him. We did notice that he showed little fear of a giant teddy bear and Barney; I guess they posed no threat. The worst was a clown with green hair and a KFC chicken (Cris P. Chicken).

He lasted for an hour and we headed home, well before Santa appeared. We praised him for being so brave and going to the parade and he would have something to share with his classmates tomorrow. He was just a little outside his comfort zone but we were right beside him all the way just to support and calm his apprehensions. We all need that when we even as adults step outside our comfort zones.
I guess I had the same fears as a child also. I did sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas then left with a noticeable wet spot adorning the front of my jeans. I told that little story to Carson last week and friends pull into the drive while we are raking leaves and what do you think was the first thing he said to them? “Daddy peed on Santa’s lap and saw the Batmobile” (another story)
And I do admit that the ‘flying monkeys’ from the Wizard of Oz still creep me out today just as they did 40 years ago.
Overcoming our fears is a huge part of growing up and I guess some of us will forever be child-like in that aspect, we just gotta realize that the Encourager is forever with us.

THIS LITTLE LIGHT OF MINE

I have long been an amateur astronomer. I built my first telescope in the early 90’s from plans found in a book at the library written in the 1930’s. It is a Newtonian reflector on a Dobsonian base. I ordered my mirror set and constructed the whole thing from plywood, nuts and bolts and plumbing fixtures. It is not much to look at but does a spectacular job. I used to spend countless hours peering through the eyepiece awaiting the heavens to pass over my tiny window to the sky, as I live in the ‘holler’ and the hills rise steeply and there is no view to any horizon.

I once heard someone say that ‘to look at a star is to look back in time, as the light that falls on your retina left that celestial body many years ago. A light year is defined as ‘the distance that a beam of light travels in one calendar year.’ Light travels at approximately 300,000 km per second ( pretty darn fast!) and to put that distance in perspective, it takes 4.3 years to reach us from the nearest star in our galaxy and the light from the Sun takes 8.3 minutes to reach Earth.
So..now to borrow a phrase from that prior sentence and tweak it ever so slightly to make a point about what we see with our own eyes, let’s say ‘how far away is the ‘Light from the Son’? Is it, as Carl Sagan would have said; “billions and billions of miles away?” or is it omnipresent, forever emanating from us as Christians?
As Christians, we should strive to be Christ-like, flooding the darkness with the light of Jesus, embodying ourselves as to the lampstand and not hiding the light beneath the bushel. Some of us, me especially, have those moments where we tend to keep the wick so trimmed down as if to nearly snuff the flame. At other times we burn so bright that soot visibly rises and the wax flows in rivulets, cascading to collect at our feet.
How do we achieve that ‘light’? How do we appear to those around us? (bright, dim, shadowy, blinding?)
The light of Christ will forever glow within us; it is up to us to let that Light shine outward to others. The Light we exude through Christ shouldn’t take years to reach the eyes of someone else. It should be inconceivably fast in closing that distance.

I love the words to the song by Graham Kendrick:
Shine, Jesus, Shine

Fill this land with the Father's glory

Blaze, Spirit, blaze,

Set our hearts on fire

Flow river flow,

Flood the nations with grace and mercy

Send forth Your Word Lord, and let there be light

But I still like to sing along with Carson:
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine! let shine, let it shine, let it shine!

MUSTARD SEEDS

It is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when it is sown in the earth is less than all the seeds that be in the earth. But when it is sown. It groweth up and becometh greater than all herbs… Mark 4: 31-32

One little seed can pack so much punch!

I admit..I’m a mustardholic, and have been since I can remember. Mustard has always been my condiment of choice, far surpassing ketchup and mayo. I probably inherited this trait from mom, who said she put mustard on her pizza the first time she ever tried it back in the 50’s.
I love the stuff. I slather it on sandwiches, use for dips, coat chicken and fish for grilling, I add it to a great many dishes I prepare.
I started out with the yellow stuff for years, did'nt know it came any other way. I was a teen before I found brown or Dijon and that only made me crave more. When I traveled I was always in the mustard aisle of the local grocery store looking for strange new tastes. I happened upon a jar that looked like nothing I had ever seen before. It was nothing but little golden seeds packed in vinegar and spices. I still remember the first taste, and that sensation of the ‘popping’ of the seed between my teeth, and the pungent aroma and bite.
My preferences then shifted to the seeded mustards that were so unique and more flavorable. My tastes haven’t changed much over the years except for the fact that I dislike any that is sweetened yet I am still find new exciting forms to try.
I currently have 8 different opened jars in the fridge at the present time thanks in part to my sister giving me a gift pack from the Mustard Museum ( yes it is a real place in Mt.Horeb,(a biblical name)Wisconsin. http://www.mustardmuseum.com/.
My other sister sent me lots of the stuff when she lived in Germany, many of which were contained in squeezable tubes just like toothpaste.
So whether you call it moutarde, senf, or just plain mustard, I promise you I will have the faith to eat it!

November Leaves

The leaves are still hanging on for their lives, but the majority gave up the ghost and fluttered to the ground. This year it seems as if gravity was kicked up a notch and they all came 'straight' down without following the breeze to the neighbors yard.

So, Carson and I spent a few quality hours together this afternoon, blowing and raking the leaves into piles and then mulching them up.

I was blowing, and Carson was raking. I had to redirect him several times as he began to rake the leaves back UP the hill in the opposite direction the other brown critters were headed.

He is a good little helper none the less.

The most precious moment was when I see him picking up leaves and hanging them back on the tree. It didn't matter that it was a naked dogwood now adorned with sycamore, beech, poplar, maple and oak, he said it needed its leaves back.

Its moments like these we treasure!

GET YOUR 'GAMEFACE' ON

Not knowing the rules shouldn’t keep us from enjoying certain games and activities.

While we sit in large stadiums, filled with rabid fans yelling till they are hoarse, and how many of them fully understand what is actually unfolding before their very eyes?
This doesn’t keep them from fulfilling a need to belong to a certain faction and join in the revelry.
We can play games without knowing the rules and have a good time doing it. During my short-lived days playing football in junior high, I had a teammate that just moved to Catlettsburg from the far eastern part of the state, He was twelve and probably never witnessed a real game of football. On the first day of practice, he showed up. The coach asked him what position he wanted to play. He responded with an enthusiastic “I wanna be the feller what packs the ball” Thankfully our coach and a few of us knew what that meant. Coach slapped a number 44 jersey on him and put him in the backfield. Did he know the first thing about running the football? Nope, but it didn’t stop him from having fun and he became better as the season went along.
While I enjoy joining a crowd on occasion, I often wonder why we can’t get that excited over Jesus and fill the churches to the brim every Sunday. A person can drive hundreds of miles and spend hours of driving to attend an event and then can’t get up and drive 2 miles to go to church. Or, if the game is not over till late on a Saturday will make the decision to sleep-in on Sunday morn.
Several years ago a co-worker of mine told me she golfed every Sunday morning and that was her “church” she was out in God’s country enjoying what He had created and that was her quiet time. She immediately saw the skepticism on my face and “you’re not buying that are you?’ This opened up an opportunity to share the gospel.
Many people attend church for different reasons; fellowship, commitment, sense of belonging and even guilt but it should only be for one reason and that is ‘to worship’.
We should join together as a group of baptized believers to worship and then go forth willingly to share the love of Christ to a lost and dying world.
Can we share the love of Christ without knowing all the rules? What if say something wrong? What if the person we are witnessing to turns a deaf ear? What if we are just plain scared to speak up?
Should any of the reasons keep us from enjoying the game and being part of the revelry?
Get out there and play! The fields are white already for the harvest!

A CHRISTMAS STORY...2007

“I think I want Santa Claus to come to my house this year”, quipped Carson yesterday. I said “that is a good idea! he can land his sleigh on the other end of the house and drop off the toys in front of the fireplace and you will never know he was even here.”
Nah! Maybe you can just go meet him again at the Huntington Mall
Carson still is very apprehensive about Santa. He loves the thought, but still wants him to keep his distance. The Huntington Mall thing came about last Christmas Eve after the family departed and he was getting ready for bed. It was just then that he realized a jolly fat man in a red suit was going to enter his house while he was asleep just down the hall, He wasn’t just gonna drop off a few gifts, he was gonna sit in the big wingback chair, eat some cookies and down a glass of milk before hopping in the sleigh and flying off with the reindeer.
As the wheels in his head turned at breakneck speed, he devised a plan. “Daddy, I don’t want Santa to come here, I want you to meet him at the Huntington Mall” I told him the Mall was closed and he then told me just to meet him on the parking lot. I offered to meet him at the Cedar Knoll Mall and he rejected that idea, insisting I go all the way to Huntington. Cedar Knoll was 6 miles away instead of 20 and that was still a little too close for comfort. Sharla and I agreed and she put the cookies in a Ziploc bag for me to give to Santa. My pretend trip satisfied his anxiety and Carson was all smiles as he drifted off the sleep with visions of “sugarplums” dancing in his head. (Well actually knowing Carson it was probably visions of Skittles”.
Maybe I won’t have to venture out in the cold this Christmas to meet Santa, or maybe it can be Sharla’s turn this year.

HOG HEAVEN

Frosty November morning’s make my memories swirl. I hearken back some 20 plus years ago to my times spent in my mother’s ancestral birthplace of Left Beaver in Floyd Co. Ky. I wiled away a lot of hours there with my second cousin Chris, running the creeks and mountains, huntin’ possums with an old mongrel named “Beardog” and catching chubs and horny heads with worms we dug from behind the hog pen.
However the frosty morn memory that is still vivid is the rousing of the troops to kill a hog at daylight. My uncle Edgel always rose early. He had the fire built and the water boiling in an old Valvoline barrel set near the creek bank. I think he always planned this when he had a lot of family visiting as “many hands make light work”. We would all shuffle sleepy eyed toward the fire. As we passed the pen, the hogs were noticeably restless, maybe because they hadn’t been fed, or they smelled the smoke of the fire only a few scant steps away.
My cousin Pogo arrives with an old J.C. Higgins .22. He drops to one knee and rests the barrel on the middle slat of the fence and waits for the big white hog to turn and look him in the eye. He waits and waits for a perfect shot, just as he did the week before in Wyoming when he brought down a giant elk. Now the elk was bagged with a 7mm Wetherby at 300 yards and this shot was merely 6 feet but we all knew that it had to be precise. The two made eye contact and the crack of the rifle sent the hog to his knees and the other four scattered to the corners.

Pogo stood with his chest puffed out and just smiled. Then he took a drink of liquid breakfast from the Mason jar.
The hog was then dragged out and laid beside the fire. The scalding water was poured onto its side and we all commenced to scraping the hair off. The steam and smell that emanated from this, turned the stomachs of the "furrner's" from Ohio and Michigan but we all stayed and finished. We hung the old hog by the hind legs with a Red Devil from the big locust tree, and with one swift slice the innards spilled forth and were delivered into the rushing water to feed the crawdads. The meat was quartered and we hauled the pieces in a wheelbarrow to the shed where Edgel worked his magic with an Old Hickory knife.
The tenderloin was cut out and went immediately into the house where Aunt Mae fried it up to serve the crew along with biscuits, gravy, potatoes and eggs.

Nothing better than a good country breakfast after a morning of hard work.

UNRESTRAINED

How did we ever survive to see adulthood?

Many of us older folks bounced around the car as kids, unrestrained, never knowing the inherent dangers we faced. If I recall, our seatbelts were stuffed into the crack of the rear seats and the only time we ever saw them was when we flipped up the seat to search for loose change. We got to ride in the floor, the FRONT seat, and my favorite; over the rear seat on the ledge beneath the window. I would lie there in the big maroon Ford Galaxy on my back pretending I was flying, taking in the sights with my face pressed to the window, watching the scenery whiz by until I became dizzy.
We even got to drive! We sat on Dad’s lap and steered for miles, he would often correct the trajectory by turning the wheel ever-so-slightly with his knees if we started to veer off course.
Kids today will never have those experiences as they are now banished to the backseat to be strapped down in car seats, booster seats and with seatbelts. They will never get to ride beneath the rear glass and stare into space as the car rockets down the highway; they simply sit and watch a DVD!

Whodathunkit?
But, they are safe there in their little restrained world, as they should always be.

Just think how we would feel as Christians if we were able to ride through life unrestrained. We would be bounced, beat and bedraggled. I’m just thankful we have the Holy Spirit to convict us and occasionally “jerk a knot in our tail” as he steers us down life’s highway.

THE DUMPLIN' EATER

Dumplings, or just plain "dumplin's" as we call 'em in Kentucky, are little more than flour, milk, a pinch of salt and occasionally an egg, cooked in a hot chicken broth.

My dumplin' eatin' days are long gone. A period of my life that was filled with the countless bowls of wholesome goodness.

I had the unique situation as a young boy of being caught in the middle of a "dumplin" Battle Royal. I, along with my sister's and brother had the best of both worlds on Sunday afternoon. we got to eat dinner at both Grandparents houses.

My maternal Granny was of the "big, light, fluffy, pinched-off and dropped into the pot" school of dumplin' making.

My paternal Nanny was of the 'rolled out flat, cut with a knife, kinda-chewy, noodle-like dumplin'.

Both were delicious and I ate them with gusto. (and it shows to this day)

I was thrown into the mix"pun intended", of being an expert judge as to which dumplin' was the best. I was coerced by each to choose sides and say that hers were the best. It was a jovial, yet somewhat prideful competition that we laughed about for many years.

I still can close my eyes and remember the taste and textures of those afternoons, gorging myself on the savory dishes. The dumplins' swimming in the thickened mix as yellow-gold beads of the rendered chicken fat floated above, coating the spoon with every bite.

I haven't tasted anything remotely similar since their passing away over ten years ago and I'm sure I never will.

My forays into the restaurant variety dumplin' has left me empty and wanting. My desire has faded and all I'm left with are the memories but what memories they are.

I'm sure the competition is still raging up in heaven, and I'll just wait till I'm called to that banquet table someday and eat my fill from both pots, as I'm sure they're cooking together.

Nanny & Granny the "dynamic dumplin duo"

IF YOU GO OUT IN THE WOODS TODAY........

If you go out in the woods today,You’d better not go alone.It’s lovely out in the woods today,But safer to stay at home.

A real shocker today.

I was perusing the Google Earth this afternoon, looking at soccer stadiums across the globe and on a whim, typed in my address as I had done before and zoomed down on my house. This is an amazing site. I can see the house and cars in the driveway. I used the directional pointer and started a journey up Hurricane Rd. Less than 1/2 mile and before the next house there was a blue dot. Now a blue dot on Google Earth allows you click on it for some pertinent information. I clicked and a box appeared with a web address and nothing else.

I clicked again and it directed me to http://www.bfro.net/ The Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization.

Now I have to admit that I was really into Bigfoot, Yeti and other unexplained beasts but got over that phase back in 1974. I read every book, newspaper article and could watch that short, shaky Patterson film over and over again, truly believing it was for real. I wanted to travel to Northern California and Mt Hood in Oregon to chase my own Sasquatch!

I guess I just outgrew my fascination and moved on with other pursuits.

So I click on this dot and read the headline...Mother and her son see a tall, hairy, bipedal creature cross the road in two steps.

The account goes on to explain that it was 2;30-3:00am on a blacktop country road..it was extremely tall..extremely hairy...took lanky steps.

This account was witnessed in 1998 but reported in October 2001.

The area in question is a heavily wooded area,only a mile southeast of Blackburn Ave in Ashland. I have lived here for 17 years. It consists of several hundred acres of uninhabited woodland with a lot of heavy timber. The area directly behind my house and extending toward Skyline Dr is 2 miles long with only 4 houses on that side of the road and the other side is comparable with only a few more houses crowded into a short 800'.I have covered practically every inch of this area over the years and I do believe that is secluded enough to harbor many forms of wildlife and I have witnessed many beasts roaming the woods..squirrels, deer, raccoons, owls, turkey, snakes, tarpins ,( box turtles for you folks that "ain't from around here" and even coyotes....but never a Bigfoot!

Further investigating led me to http://www.kentuckybigfoot.com/ it had pictures of Bigfoot's taken in Carter County and Boyd County.

I printed the report and gave it to Sharla to read without any explanation. She read along, stopping only to say "is this for real"? after she finished, she dropped the paper on the table and said "we're moving!"

Nah, we're staying put. I'm not gonna tell Carson about this one, as he won't want to play outside and I'm not sure Sharla will let him.

If the cat food starts disappearing...or the cat..then I'll think about moving.

TO THE BATCAVE!!

One of favorite family things to do is to take a short trip to an unknown destination ( well, unknown only to Carson). A recent adventure took us a few short miles away to one of my favorite areas of Kentucky, Carter Caves State Park.
The drive there was filled with questions from the backseat, as to where we were headed., The guesses flowed and varied from Chuck E. Cheese, Central Park, the mall, Lexington, Disney World, Gatlinburg, PawPaw’s, Mcdonald’s, Thomas the Train, Bardstown and way too many to list.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Trading Post and started walking down the path toward the natural bridge. He still didn’t know where we were. All he knew was that he was hiking and there was a creek. We approached the entrance to the natural bridge and his eyes opened as wide as his mouth and out came “a cave!”
We had read one of my childhood books a few nights ago at bedtime. Caves and Their Mysteries, I spent countless hours pouring over those pages as a kid, dreaming of exploring the caves, dangling from ropes, wading through crystal pools of cool water, and shielding my face from the giant hoards of bats buzzing past me to escape to the outside world. This was my dream as a boy and I have always had a fascination with caves and have fulfilled many of those childhood dreams in my countless journeys.

Back to Carson…We strolled through the bridge and walked the dirt path to the entrance of the Bat Cave. There is a small cave at the mouth just about 4 feet high and proportioned perfectly for a four year old. I pulled a Spiderman flashlight from my pocket and handed it to him. Off he went! That little cave only sunk into the side of that cliff about 60’, but he forged headlong into the darkness and disappeared without a second thought or fear.

We went there with the intent to just let him explore at his own pace and not push or entice him to go someplace that he didn’t want to go, and we were sure we weren’t going to pay to take a tour, only to have to leave in the middle if he “freaked out in the darkness.

He emerged from that cave and said “I love caves daddy”, that was a joy to hear.

He never ceases to amaze me with his enthusiasm for adventure, and like me, always asks what is around the next bend or over the next hill.
We had a picnic, played miniature golf and then he wanted to go to another cave.
As we exited the park, we stopped and walked to the entrance of Laurel Cave. Sharla waited on the bridge. Carson now had my headlamp on and was scrambling across the boulders into the darkness, I was trying to keep up and telling him to wait for me. The darkness enveloped us and he I could see a great smile on his face in the glow of his light, he stood motionless as he let large drops of water cascade down onto his head. His pants were muddy, his hands were dirty, he was tired but he was having a memorable day with mom and dad.

He already is planning a trip back and wants to go through the cave and out the other side!
For now, he is simply enjoying the wonders of nature, with not a inkling about karst topography, hydrodynamics and oolitic limestone….but I’m sure he will have questions soon.

COME HERE!!!!!!!

Come Here!!! Come Here!!!

The word “here” is usually drawn out to a resounding Bill Cosby”ish” “HHHeeeeerrrrrreeeee!”
A phrase uttered countless times throughout a typical day in the ol’ Johnson household.
It is a command directed at our son that often times seems to go in one ear and out the other. Other times the words just seem to hover around the room until they finally dissipate into thin air without ever causing the slightest tympanic vibration. My wife and I agree that life would be so much simpler and less stressful if he would just do as we say on the first command, without the repetitious droning of our will against his.
But that seems to be the way of most four year olds, and we realize as parents that we are not alone in all this. The times he follows the instructions on the first prompt are rewarded with praise and thanks.
During these episodes of disobedience and indifference I often find myself reaching a level of frustration, that causes me to step back and take a deep breath and cool my head.
I had an instance of this yesterday that completely turned my head around to see myself in the mirror and realize that my disobedience grieves the One that cares about me the most, in the exact same way.
When I don’t obey the will of the Father, I know that He must feel the same hurt that I feel when my son rejects the direction I offer him. I know that I have rejected direction from God in the past, to follow my own path and now wonder what I could have done differently and where I would possibly be at this point in my Christian life.
I am so thankful we serve a Savior that loves us for what we are and where grace abounds.
So now, every time I have to repeat the phrase” Come Here” , I’ll stop and look at myself and remember the forgiveness in my heart that is there from the One that forgave me.

There is too much love to be shared and too little time to dwell on the negative words that just want to keep us from His joy.

"A PECK OF DIRT"

As the old adage goes “you eat a peck of dirt before you die.”
Now that is a lot of dirt!
A peck is a dry measure equal to a quarter of a bushel or 8 quarts, and for our friends elsewhere in the world that comes to roughly 9 litres.
The USDA governs the amount of dirt we consume along with the many microbes, rodent hairs and other unseen yuckies!
We put food into our bodies that we think is clean and never realize it is dirty until we chomp a miniscule piece of grit and spit it out. A piece so small that we cannot see it, yet we feel its presence on our tongue most repulsive. One little speck! That is only a drop in the bucket (or peck) that we theoretically devour in a lifetime.
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t detest a little dirt in my food and generally expect to find some on a jacket of a baked potato and I almost demand to see an ultra-fine layer of grit in the bottom of a bowl of authentic clam chowder ( that ain’t really dirt! just some sand).

So..What about the people that eat dirt for the fun of it? Affectionately know as “Geophages” (Geo from the Greek meaning “Earth” and phagein meaning “to eat”). These people gain pleasure and sooth a craving by eating dirt on a regular basis. Maybe it’s a vitamin deficiency.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand that one, but to each his own.

The part about being repulsed by a mouthful of dirt brings me to the point of this post.
Last month during the next to final game of our soccer season, my son was on the receiving end of a fist that connected to his cheek while being sat upon by an older teammate before a game. He had never been subjected to any physical violence in his four years and was totally caught off-guard. He has never been around someone that derives sadistic pleasure from bullying and has always seen the good in everyone. (the innocence of a child, and one I wish he will always keep. I told him some people are mean and want to hurt others, his response was simply “why daddy?”
I witnessed the attack and promptly rescued him all the while making a small scene with my quick temper (I need a lot of your prayers with this one).
After drying the tears and telling his mommy what had just unfolded, we told him just to keep his distance from the kid and stay to himself, we only had one game left.
The week proceeded and more talk about the incident brought the same advice. Stay away!
Well, that final game came and went without any confrontation. After the game the coach (which shall remain nameless) came to me and said, “Well, he got him back”. Immediately my heart raced and I replayed the game in my head. I didn’t see him do anything to the other kid. I asked what did he do? The coach said the kid came running to him and complained that my son had put dirt in his water bottle!
Justice served! That was on the sideline during the game. I know he wasn’t thinking about retaliation, he just randomly filled water bottles and probably his own as well, and had fun doing it! A non-physical retaliation to a physical assault.
Then at the end-of season banquet, all was well and forgotten, if only we as adults could forget and forgive as easily.

So…..that kid has a real head start on the 8 pounds he is gonna eat.

Maybe he can ask Santa for a spoon for Christmas!

X-RAY VISION?

You are being watched!

Every eye seems to turn upon you when you least expect it. We go about our everyday activities, often times seemingly drifting through the day without a care in the world, minding our own business, other times we can be one on one in a witnessing situation sharing Christ with a co-worker or we can be clandestinely observed sharing Christ. (or more importantly NOT).

Our daily walk is constantly being scrutinized even when we don't actually sense the observational powers of those living in the world burning holes through our souls, waiting to find a chink in our armor and being able to thrust a sword into our soft flesh.

Our actions as Christians should be laid out for all to see and judge. We strive daily to live and show the love of Christ that lives inside us so that others can see Him through us.

One of my past Sunday School teaches used to tell the kids that "you may be the only "Bible" that someone ever reads", always be an example of what a Christian should be.

This brings up the title of my post...................

What if a fellow Christian, a stranger, a lost person, sees us in a situation that is not what it appears to be? How do we defend our actions when we have done nothing wrong, only being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Case in point! A few weeks ago, a friend ( I'll call him Joe) in my prayer group shared a story of just this.

He is in his late 70's and care's for his older brother that still tries to live as independently as he can. Joe takes his brother out to pay bills, eat and buy groceries. On this day he was at the store and as his brother tries to be independent, he was giving him space so as not to appear as he was helping him. As the brother was picking out an item from the freezer case, Joe was watching him from about fifty feet away while shopping for himself. Joe kept his brother in his sight without him thinking he was being watched. Joe's eyes were focused solely upon his brother and his concern for him.

Then......as Joe was watching his brother, a young lady stepped in about halfway between them to pick out an item. Joe was still focusing on his brother and peering around the lady to make sure he was OK. The lady quickly picked her item and was gone. Just as quick, a friend of Joe leaned in from behind and said " you might as well follow her to the car and go home with her." and he just as quickly slipped away before Joe had a chance to explain that his brother was fifty feet away. All that friend saw was Joe in a situation that was very unbecoming to a Christian family man.

Joe has of yet to be able to explain his actions and is even wondering if it would help. He was moved to tears, concerned that his motive of love for his brother was misconceived as an image of lust in the eyes of another.

If only Joe had used his X-RAY Specs!

Keeping our eyes focused on the important things in life is what it is all about. There will always be detractors of our motives and witness, and most importantly we need to uplift one another constantly in prayer.