Posts Tagged ‘love’

ARCHIBALD THE ANKLE UPDATE NOVEMBER 20, 2025 OF POWER TAKE OFFS AND WHEELCHAIR BRAKES

November 20, 2025

I learned to drive tractors when I was 10 years old, and one of the many lessons Dad taught me was to respect the power take off. The power take off shaft sat below the platform holding the driver’s seat. We connected power take offs to mounted corn pickers, self-unloading wagons, and a host of other implements.

The power take off transmitted power from the tractor to such things as snapping rolls on corn pickers, the rollers that gathered in the corn stalks. Another potential disaster was self-unloading wagons. These wagons had an auger at the base of the wagon that would steadily feed the grain out a spout. In the days when small feedlots were operating, many farmers would drive these wagons along feed bunks, dumping feed for their cattle. Disabling the power take off was not a big deal; however, there were many people who were so impatient that they would stop the tractor but not disengage the power take off. The results of this impatience were disastrous, leading to loss of fingers, hands, arms, feet, legs, and sometimes even life. Anyone foolish enough to be riding on top of a load of feed when the power take off was engaged was simply begging for a horrific injury. Some people have been injured or killed when their clothing has caught in the rotating power take off shaft.

In an effort to keep weight off Archibald, my injured left ankle, I am scooting around our house in a cheapie wheelchair. This morning as I was exiting the bathing room, scooting one of our blue rubber chairs to the door, and then transferring to the wheelchair, I began considering the potential for disaster if the brakes were not properly set on my wheelchair. To set the brakes, I must pull back on two levers, one over each wheel. While those maneuvers only take a few seconds, there’s a real temptation to leave the brakes off in hopes that the wheelchair will not suddenly scoot out from under me, leaving me to crash on the floor. And as I was reminding myself of the absolute need for patience, I remembered the lessons of the power take off.

Isaiah 60:22 tells us, “…At the right time, I, the LORD, will make it happen.” Many times, we want progress and results and we want them immediately. Sadly, most of us are far more likely to pray, “Lord, give me patience NOW!!!”

Somehow, we don’t think that the God who has spoken the universe into existence with a single word, the God who has created us and who knows us better than we do ourselves, that same God doesn’t really know what He is doing and should obey our whimsies and demands. We are so impatient that we are unwilling to take the smallest steps to ensure our own safety, such as disengaging the power take off on a tractor or setting the brakes on a wheelchair. Many of us are so ungrateful that we blame God when disasters strike, even though we have failed to take the necessary steps to prevent them.

This morning, Archibald and I have made it safely through the bathing room and dressing areas and are now ensconced in the sitting room, where we will spend most of the rest of the day. (Chair yoga is becoming a thing!) But I continue to pray for all those who must use wheelchairs-and tractors with power take offs, that we all will have patience so that our foolishness will not result in disasters.

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DON’T GIVE YOUR HEART TO A CAT-REFLECTIONS ON MR. CAT NOVEMBER 2, 2025

November 2, 2025

It’s 2:30 AM. Two weeks ago, I would have heard persistent mewing from our back verandah, where Mr. Cat, the ruler of our household, would have been insisting on being let into the house and fed early. But tonight there is only silence. At 4 PM yesterday, Mr. Cat crossed the rainbow bridge, leaving holes in our hearts bigger than he was. Now our household is haunted by memories of all Mr. Cat’s favorite resting places-the top of my dresser, the top of our microwave in the kitchen, the couches in our sitting room. Somehow, it feels as if he’s still with us, watching over us, protecting us. There’s a phrase describing the circumstances when the veil between heaven and earth is very faint-living in a thin place. When you work where we do, caring for the poor and the sick, that veil becomes extremely thin much of the time.

We think Mr. Cat joined our family as a small grey and white tabby kitten six years ago. We actually tried to give him other names; however, he demanded respect and wound up as Mr. Cat for his entire career with us. There were a few other names, Stink-a-roo-roo, shortened to Roo, and Gyata Ketewa. “Gyata Ketewa” is Twi for “little lion,” and the name fit for he had a lion’s heart in a kitty body. As the cat grew, he developed a distinct personality-there were times when he demanded attention and then there were times when he absolutely did not want it. Although I passionately love kitties, Mr. Cat chose my husband Bob as his person, sometimes driving Bob crazy in his insistence on lying at Bob’s feet, no matter where Bob was sitting or walking. We have huge collections of photos of Mr. Cat on Bob’s lap or stretched out on the bed next to Bob.

Mr. Cat was an intrepid hunter of rats, lizards, and the occasional bird. We fed him mashed up mackerel, and we are now tormenting ourselves with the possibility that we might have accidentally fed our beloved pet some bad mackerel that triggered kidney failure. We truly don’t know what happened; we only know that over the course of about two weeks, Mr. Cat went from being healthy to being unable to eat or drink and dying despite our best efforts.

When talking about cats, it is difficult to say whether you own them or they own you. Generally, cats are the owners, and we are only servants. We fed Mr. Cat his mackerel religiously twice a day and also supplied kulikuli for him. Kulikuli is a local snack food made of groundnut paste mixed with flour and deep fried; it’s crunchy and nutritious. We also kept water bowls in several different places so the cat had plenty of access to clean water.

Watching Mr. Cat was one of our favorite activities. Cats are elegant creatures with enormous numbers of muscles controlling their ears, their tails, and their distinctive gait. In his prime, Mr. Cat could jump at least five feet straight up effortlessly and look incredibly graceful while doing so. As a typical predator, Mr. Cat loved to sit on high places where he could survey the landscape, and the top of my dresser and the top of our microwave were two of his favorites because he could look out the windows in both places.

Mr. Cat had several favorite resting places around our house. As a tiny kitten, Mr. Cat was fond of sneaking inside my tablet when I had it folded because it gave him a den. Another such place was our garage full of tools and odd equipment. Mr. Cat would slither under the garage door to get in, but his favorite means of exit was to jump out of a ventilation hole on the side of the garage. Mr. Cat also loved to sleep in the sunshine on an old hand cart in our back yard. Yet another place was the top of our washing machine on the enclosed back verandah. Mr. Cat slept there so much that we had a special blanket on top of the washing machine just for his comfort. No matter where Mr. Cat was, when we would return home, he would come running, jump through one of the ventilation holes on the back verandah, and then sit in front of the kitchen door, demanding to be let in.

Whether because of genetics or because we didn’t feed large numbers of treats, Mr. Cat probably never weighed more than 3 kg. But his spirit was much bigger than his body, and we loved him dearly. Now we are left with vivid memories, large numbers of photos, and holes in our hearts.

The British writer Rudyard Kipling was a passionate dog lover and once wrote a poem entitled “Don’t Give Your Heart to a Dog.” The poem was written after Kipling lost a treasured pet, and of course, the title was highly ironic, for Kipling had obviously given his heart to a scrap of a mut not much bigger than Mr. Cat. Will we get another cat? Not immediately. We need time to grieve our loss and to deal with our guilt as we relentlessly pummel ourselves with questions: Did we accidentally expose our cat to something harmful? Was it the bad mackerel? Was it distemper? Parvovirus? Feline leukemia? Our local veterinary officers are focused on large animals and fowls; however, cats are not something they deal with frequently. And then there’s the question of cost. We spend significant sums of money each week assisting indigent patients with their expenses. It sounds harsh, but if we had to choose paying for human children to get well over paying for our cat, we would have to trust God to care for the cat.

Through the years, we have been blessed to be owned by many wonderful pets of various kinds. Romans 8:19-22 tells us, “For all creation is waiting eagerly for that future day when God will reveal who his children really are. Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day when it will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. For we know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.”  People sinned and God had to subject all creation to the curse of that sin. But one day, the creation will join God’s children in glorious freedom from death and decay. I firmly believe that all creation will be redeemed and that we will see our beloved pets in heaven, where we will be able to communicate with them as Adam and Eve did with the animals before the Fall.

By now, you must realize that the title of this piece is every bit as ironic as the title of Kipling’s poem. We love our pets and give our hearts to them, even though we know that our time with them might be short. But love is never wasted, nor does it decay. We are grieving the loss of our beloved pet, but we will treasure forever the memories of his life with us. And we do believe we will see him in heaven when all creation will be redeemed. For now, we have given Mr. Cat to Jesus, and we hope our little lion is playing among the stars. And in the words Ashantis say to their departed loved ones: Damirifa due, due, due! Gyata Ketewa! Sleep well, little lion! Sleep well, Mr. Cat!

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IN MEMORIAM BILLY GENE PROCTOR SEPTEMBER 22, 2025 PART 2 PRECIOUS MEMORIES

September 23, 2025
  1. Precious mem’ries, unseen angels,
    Sent from somewhere to my soul;
    How they linger, ever near me,
    And the sacred past unfold.
    1. Refrain:
      Precious mem’ries, how they linger,
      How they ever flood my soul;
      In the stillness of the midnight,
      Precious, sacred scenes unfold.
  2. Precious father, loving mother,
    Fly across the lonely years;
    And old home scenes of my childhood,
    In fond memory appear.
  3. As I travel on life’s pathway,
    Know not what the years may hold;
    As I ponder, hope grows fonder,
    Precious mem’ries flood my soul.

As the movie “Driving Miss Daisy” ends, the theme music continues to play, and scenes from Hoke and Miss Daisy’s relationship flash across the screen. That’s how I feel remembering Billy Proctor. The sweet pictures just keep coming. The music in the background is country Gospel with fiddles, banjoes, and guitars.

Billy loved to travel. After spending three years working in Mexico at the beginning of his career and traveling throughout the United States for Terminix, Billy was a travel specialist who had more practical tips than the average web site. Billy could tell you the best times to travel, when to catch the red-eye specials, when to use your frequent flier miles, and when to hold on to them. Back when travel agents were still available, we used Billy’s friend Harriet on many occasions. In his work, Billy also traveled extensively through the South and was an expert on the best local restaurants. We fondly remember one place near Morgan City, Louisiana, housed in an old airplane hanger that had outstanding Cajun food.

Eventually Billy became the head of the IRS Division of Terminix and it was a tremendous shock when he went in to work one morning at the age of 63, only to face a horrible choice: move to Chicago with his division or take early retirement with a retirement bonus. Billy chose to remain in Olive Branch, preferring to practice as a CPA with a select clientele. While that choice was difficult, it gave Billy the freedom to cherish children and grandchildren and to travel more extensively. Meanwhile, Carla continued to work as a social worker facilitating adoptions for several more years, creating many happy families.

Billy, and Carla became globe trotters. Israel, Scotland with the Edinburgh Tattoo, leaf tours in the fall-Billy and Carla did it all. It was no surprise when I learned that Billy and Carla were two of the few wedding guests who made it to a destination wedding in the Florida Keys, for that was typical for the Proctors.

Billy was a passionate follower of Jesus Christ. Living close to Getwell Church allowed Billy the chance to attend men’s breakfasts and Bible studies as well as small group meetings with Miss Carla. For many years, Billy was involved in the financial affairs of the churches he attended-first at Faith United Methodist and later at Getwell.

One of Billy’s most endearing characteristics was his enormous fund of common sense. As a Mississippi farm boy, Billy never “got beyond his raising” but always remembered the practicalities of situations. We frequently used Billy as a sounding board for a variety of decisions and always found his advice to be sound and helpful.

As the days go on, there will be more visions. For now, we can label these glimpses as more precious memories.

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IN MEMORIAM BILLY GENE PROCTOR SEPTEMBER 22, 2025

September 23, 2025

He was a bright farm boy from North Mississippi when he went off to Mississippi State to see what life had to offer apart from driving a tractor. Somewhere during those four years, he found his passion was accounting, a passion that would define the rest of his life even into so-called retirement. While at Mississippi State, he also met a shy coed a bit younger than he, and they fell in love. That second passion would also define the rest of his life. Throughout the years, he grew professionally to become a CPA’s CPA, someone who simply had to ensure that things lined up-columns of figures, family life, and faith.

We first met Billy Proctor in 1983 shortly after we moved to the Memphis area. We were searching for a church home. At that time, Billy and Carla were moving out of their home on the south side of Memphis into a house in Southaven; however, they were in the process of building a home in Olive Branch. We attended church with them and then went to lunch with them. Billy and Carla introduced us to Faith United Methodist. Little did we know that that lunch would only be the first of hundreds of meals that we would share with the Proctors through the years.

We all wound up at Faith United Methodist Church together. At Faith, Billy and his son Michael handled the sound equipment. Billy was always fascinated by machines-farm machines, sound equipment, computers, and cameras. Billy supplemented his income as an accountant by shooting wedding photographs, and he had an artist’s eye for composition. Billy was also a main stay of the MOFIA, Men of Faith In Action, the men’s group at Faith United Methodist.

Those were the halcyon years for Faith. The Holy Spirit was moving powerfully every Sunday, and people were getting saved, baptized, re-dedicated, and called into ministry.

In the fall of 1985 Billy and Carla were preparing to move into their new home in Olive Branch; however, there was a problem. Faith had scheduled an event for the same night the Proctors were supposed to be moving. I reached the Proctor home late in the afternoon to find that the water heater had overflowed, flooding the garage. Somehow, I was able to get the water heater turned off safely without getting electrocuted, and then Bob and I helped the Proctors move. (Bob is a wizard at packing moving trucks!) Little did we realize that the Proctors’ new home would also become one of our “homes away from home” when we left for the mission field.

Sometime in 1987, we asked Billy to help us manage our finances while we were on the mission field. Billy agreed, and that commitment continued up to the day he died. Only God knows how much Billy helped us over the years. Billy handled investments and taxes and a host of other smaller problems.

The only thing in life that is constant is change, and eventually, Faith underwent a series of transformations, including changing the name to Lifespring. Somewhere along in there, the Proctors changed from Faith to Getwell Road United Methodist Church, now Getwell Church. Eventually, we followed the Proctors to Getwell, and in October 2005, Getwell sent a short term mission team to work with us in Saboba. That might have been the first short term mission team Getwell had sent out; since then, they’ve regularly sent teams to a number of places, including Honduras and Ghana. We suspect that Billy had a great deal to do with the team coming to Saboba. The Getwell group bonded with our local pastors, eventually building the Local Council of Churches meeting hall and guest house, a facility that continues to bless our entire community. The Sunday School class Billy attended also donated small refrigerators to our wards, something we desperately needed.

We laughingly refer to our location in Saboba as “Domeabra,” a phrase in Twi that means “if you love me, you will come.” Only dedicated people will journey all the way to Saboba! Billy traveled to Saboba twice, and the first time he came, he told us, “Now I know why I must continue to help you.”

There are no words to describe all the help Billy has given us through the years. Billy and his wife have hosted us numerous times and have shared their passions with us. Billy has handled our taxes, our funds, and other miscellaneous things such as social security and driver’s license renewals. The Proctors have allowed us to use their address as an accommodation address, a big thing when you spend most of your life overseas.

Billy Proctor was one of the bravest people we knew. Sometimes bravery consists of lying there in bed knowing everything hurts and getting up and working anyway. For the last twenty or thirty years, Billy struggled with a host of chronic health problems, any one of which might have incapacitated a lessor individual. Billy rarely complained and persisted in doing as much as he could.

Billy shared friendships with us. Billy was part of a group of men who got together for lunch once a week-most of those men preceded Billy into heaven. Billy faithfully attended the men’s groups and the Wednesday night meetings at Getwell, as well as Sunday morning services and Sunday School.

Billy’s story would be incomplete without telling some of the story of his beloved wife Carla. Born into an upper-class family in the Mississippi Delta, Miss Carla is a stickler for doing things properly, and a delight to all of us who know her. In an earlier age, Miss Carla would have donned white gloves before leaving the house. Were it not for Miss Carla’s devoted care, Mister Billy’s life might have been several years shorter, simply because Miss Carla refused to let him give up. Carla has been a wife, a mother, and a social worker passionate about placing the right children with the right homes.

When we returned from a shattering first missionary term in 1990, Miss Carla was the one who connected me with a Christian psychologist just in time to save me from having to enter a mental hospital with severe depression. For that help alone, my husband and I owe the Proctors a debt we can never adequately repay. Thanks to Carla’s timely help, I made the connection, saw Dr. Philip Gentry as an emergency, and got started on the necessary treatment. That treatment allowed me to work part-time while recovering and healing from long-time emotional hurts. My ability to later upgrade a health center to a small hospital in the middle of a tribal war is directly due to that healing.

When we think of Billy’s entry into heaven yesterday, we think of all the friends with whom he has re-connected-Pastor Curtis Petrey, Dr. Jack, Cecil Williamson, his parents. We can almost hear Curtis greeting Billy in that distinctive LA–Lower Alabama-accent.

For Billy, the words of Saint Paul in 2 Timothy 4:7-8 have come true: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”

To Billy, we say, “We have always loved you and continue to love you. We will see you in the morning when Jesus comes to free all of us.” To Billy’s family and many friends, we say, “We grieve with you. We pray for you. May God help us all to be as faithful as Billy has been!” And we also say, “Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!”

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REFLECTIONS ON TIME AND HOW THERE’S NEVER ENOUGH OF IT

September 18, 2025

September 18, 2025

Today would have been my sister-in-law Roxanne’s 75th birthday. Sadly, Roxanne died two days ago. We knew Roxanne was in failing health and we desperately wanted to be with her one more time, but events in the mission hospital where we work in northeastern Ghana precluded our leaving, and time caught up with us. We comfort ourselves with the fact that my husband Bob called his sister every night, asking about her day, praying for her, and exchanging corny jokes from old TV programs. Roxanne’s death underscores a point: We can never spend too much time with those we love, for one day time runs out and we are left to mourn by ourselves.

We first left America for Ghana in 1988. Through the years, we have lost parents, step-parents, and siblings. We were blessed to be in the U.S. and spend time with my two brothers-in-law before they died. On the other hand, we left America in November 2021, knowing that my beloved brother Russell was dying with COVID pneumonia. If that statement sounds harsh, you must realize that Christmas was approaching and at Christmas time our small hospital is one of the few facilities along the Eastern Corridor of Ghana where people can get emergency operations. While others celebrate, my colleagues and I work long hours under less-than-optimal conditions. (Recently, when we ran short of knife blades, we were making skin incisions with the tips of hypodermic needles.)

Even living in the same town with friends has not prevented us from taking them for granted until it was too late. Charles Talan was one of the finest theater (OR) nurses with whom I have ever worked-an absolute genius and a wizard linguist who spoke perhaps twelve tribal languages fluently. Sadly, Charles battled several health problems during his last few years, and when he collapsed at home one morning, all I could do was to pronounce him dead from a brain hemorrhage once he had been rushed to the hospital. Joshua Beso was one of Charles’ contemporaries, a hard-working man who headed our public health program for years. Again, Joshua suffered a heart attack and died while we were out of town.

I could go on to mention many others. Live long enough and your deposits in heaven far outweigh the number of friends and relatives you have left on earth. What is my point?

I’ve told the story many times, but it’s still worth a re-telling. My small home town in northwestern Illinois is graced by two sets of railroad tracks that have served the major rail network for more than a century. At one point, the sensor for one of the crossing gates developed a problem, resulting in several fatal accidents as unsuspecting motorists attempted to cross in the paths of speeding trains. One morning, it was raining when an elderly farmer living southeast of town tromped into the kitchen, leaving muddy tracks on his wife’s freshly mopped floor. Fuming, the wife fussed at her husband and he gave some smart aleck reply and then left for town. Sadly, that exchange was the last time that lady saw her beloved spouse of more than fifty years. As the husband was crossing the tracks, a speeding train totaled his vehicle, killing him instantly.

After hearing that story, my husband and I have made it a practice to tell each other “I love you” and kiss whenever we are parting for any reason. I’m sure we entertain the staff on the Kids Ward at our hospital, for my husband brings biscuits (cookies) to the kids in the mornings and then kisses me good-bye before returning to the house.

My late mother always said that it was a waste to send flowers to a funeral and that she would rather have people send her the flowers while she was alive to appreciate them. I heartily agree! Write that letter! Send that e-mail or text message or WhatsApp! Make that phone call! My husband called his sister every night, and now he wishes for just one more conversation, one more opportunity to tell her he loves her. The Ashantis say “Nkwa hia,” life is precious. Appreciate those around you while you have them and tell them you love them, tell them they are valuable people whom God loves.

If you are so blessed as to be able to spend birthdays or holidays with loved ones, do it! One of the hardest things we must face is all the family celebrations we have missed because of our work in Ghana. The unfortunate result is that even when we are back in America, family members forget to invite us to events because we have dropped off their radar.

When you spend time with people, you are investing in them. Turn off your cell phone or leave it somewhere and concentrate on the people around you. Don’t lie to yourself that Facetiming is the same thing as being physically present with someone; it’s not. People need physical contact-touching, patting, hugging-and no electronic media can offer that.

This Adinkra symbol is the Sankofa bird, a symbol of forgiveness and also the idea that you can go back to right a wrong or to find something you have lost. Sadly, when someone dies, the idea of Sankofa no longer applies. Death means it’s too late to repair that relationship or to say those loving words or to give that gift.

In closing, I would also like to encourage those of you with relatives serving overseas for any reason to keep those relatives in the loop. Missionaries go because God orders them to, not because they hate their families. Those serving in the military are equally under orders and must obey. We have not left you because we hate you but because we are under assignment from a higher power. Remember us, for we remember you and long to be with you. And treasure those around you, for one day, you will look but they will be gone.

Nkwa hia!

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TRIAL BY WEDDING – JUNE 27, 2025

June 27, 2025

As friends announce their children’s or grandchildren’s weddings or their wedding anniversaries on Facebook, I think back to some of the weddings I have endured. Two weddings stand out.

WHO’S THE DONKEY, OR HOW DO YOU KEEP FROM HAVING HYSTERICS IN CHURCH?

The first wedding took place on a hot summer day in my small Midwestern town. Two of my friends were getting married on the same day, and Mom and I should have attended the wedding for one friend and the reception for the other. Mom chose for us to just attend the wedding that was closer. Mom had grown up during the Depression, and those Depression-era kids didn’t waste money; spending the gas money to attend a second wedding was beyond Mom’s comprehension.

We were happily ensconced in a local church, listening to the organist, also a family friend and an accomplished musician, play a thirty-minute prelude. Unfortunately, one of the selections the organist chose was a medley of old songs, one of which was “Donkey Serenade.” Imagine Mom’s and my surprise when we suddenly heard the organist begin playing a song with these words, “There’s a song in the air
But the fair senorita doesn’t seem to care
For the song in the air
Oh, I’ll sing to the mule
If you’re sure she won’t think that I am just a fool
Serenading a mule…”

Call us weird, but at that point, Mom and I both lost it! Was this unfortunate choice of music an editorial remark on the bride, the groom, or the entire wedding? And who was the donkey? I looked at Mom; Mom looked at me, and both of us grabbed our white lace handkerchiefs to smother our giggles. We would have left the church; however, just then, the bride appeared and the organist began playing the wedding march. Hopefully, those around us thought we were weeping tears of joy….

SWEATING ON THE RIVER-AN ORGANIST TAKES ON PURCELL AND PURCELL LOSES!

It was a breathless August night in Burlington, Iowa, a factory town on the Mississippi River. My boyfriend and I had accompanied his parents to the wedding of one of his cousins. The church was not air conditioned, and the heat and humidity were so high that we were all sweating heavily before the wedding even began. A beloved aunt from Indiana had been asked to play for the wedding; unfortunately, Auntie was NOT an accomplished musician. After fumbling through the standard wedding music (likely the big notes versions), Auntie chose to close the program by playing an organ version of Purcell’s Trumpet Voluntary while the congregation filed down to the church basement to congratulate the happy couple.

There were several problems with that basement. Only one room in the basement was air conditioned, and one had to pass through that room to reach the un-air-conditioned fellowship hall where the main reception was to take place. Being no fools, the wedding couple chose to stand in the air-conditioned room to receive their guests, assuming the guests would then pass on to the fellowship hall. But once the first guests realized that this room was the only one that was comfortable, they were in no hurry to go back to suffering in the heat and humidity. This reluctance created a foot traffic bottle neck in the air-conditioned room.

Meanwhile, back in the main body of the church, the congregation was exiting VERY slowly. Having had to drive for nearly two hours to reach the church, we had the misfortune to be sitting at the very back of the church, and the congregation was exiting from front to back. As time crept onward, our ears continued to be assailed by Auntie’s wrestling match with Purcell. In that match, Auntie won and Purcell emphatically lost! “Dah, dah, dah de dah, dah, dah de dah, dah dah dah, !#*&!,  !#* &! ,!#*&! Yes ! You guessed it! Those last three notes in the main theme of the piece? Auntie couldn’t find them, but she succeeded in hitting the SAME WRONG NOTES over and over and over and over and over and over! Auntie was nothing if not consistent. Think of the most irritating sounds you have heard-fingernails on a chalk board, the neighbors’ cats having a fight, someone with a ginormous bass speaker in their vehicle circling your block ad infinitum, microphones screeching in a huge meeting space-none of those sounds could compare with the cacophony of Auntie murdering poor Mr. Purcell’s previously beloved music. Even though we were at the back of the sanctuary, we left other unfortunates to continue to suffer, and Auntie did not disappoint, persisting in repeating her fingering mistakes.

By the time we finally made it down to the basement, the happy couple had already cut the wedding cake; in fact, all we got for our suffering was a few crumbs, plus some nuts and some mints. We didn’t even get any of the punch made with lime sherbert, pineapple juice and ginger ale. The bride’s sisters who were responsible for the reception had obviously underestimated the number of people who would attend as well as their thirst. While we were waiting to exit the sanctuary, those fortunate enough to make it to the basement earlier had drained every bit of liquid available. The only thing left for us to do was to congratulate the couple and leave on our two-hour return journey, hot, tired, hungry, and thirsty. I think we hit a root beer stand on the way home.

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TRIBUTE TO UNCLE BOB YOUNG ON HIS 83RD BIRTHDAY-February 11, 2025

February 11, 2025

THIS PHOTO SHOWS MY HUSBAND BOB FEEDING CHICKEN TO A LITTLE PATIENT WITH BURNS.

I am sitting here in our living room writing this tribute. Next to me on the coffee table is a freshly-made mug of my favorite tea. That mug appears each morning in time for me to sip tea as I write Bible studies. And that mug of tea bears a silent witness to my beloved husband, Bob Young.

For some men, their love language is flowers or gifts or candy. But Bob’s love language is loyal service. In nearly 43 years of marriage, Bob has made countless mugs of tea for me. But Bob has also carried my supper to ICU conference rooms in children’s hospitals while I was a resident, has brought cross country skis for me so I might ski home when Memphis, TN, got hit by an 18-inch blizzard, has faithfully done our laundry, and has supervised our chaotic household in Ghana while I have served as the only doctor in bush hospitals. Through the years, Bob has repaired countless pieces of hospital equipment and has even assisted in surgery on occasion.

Bob is a kid magnet! Bob LOVES little kids and they love him right back! Here in our mission hospital, Bob brings biscuits and lollies to the kids and extra food and toys to children with burns so they will begin thinking about living and heal rather than giving up hope.

One of my recent treasured photos is of Bob feeding a little girl with burns small pieces of chicken. I have a short video of Bob dancing with the little girl’s brothers, who also were burned.

Bob has never met a stranger and can strike up conversations with anybody. My standing joke is that Jesus will return and we will be ascending to heaven and Bob will say, “Wait a minute, Lord! I have one more person to talk to.”

Bob excels at maintaining long-term friendships with all sorts of people. I have learned to be a friend from watching Bob. Thanks to social media, Bob keeps in contact with high school friends, church friends, and even people with whom he served in the U.S. Navy.

Bob passionately loves his family, particularly his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. One of the sacrifices we have made by being overseas is our inability to be “real” grandparents, to attend all the school programs, the musical performances, the graduations and weddings, and the birthday and holiday celebrations.

When I met Bob in 1981, I was entranced by his curly blond hair, his handle bar moustache, and twinkling blue eyes. Now that blond hair has become white, but the twinkle in the eyes is still the same and he still puts an Hercule Poirot curl on the ends of his moustache. We share a goofy sense of humor, and Bob can still convulse me with his animal imitations. Bob’s imitation of a gerbil is not to be missed.

Bob is a man of tremendous faith and reads large portions of Scripture each morning, including 5 Psalms daily. He also is kind enough to read my Bible studies out loud in addition to his other devotional readings. We love to share in worship services and listen to gifted preachers.

We are each other’s best friends. We must be, for we have lived in relatively isolated environments for much of our married lives. When girlfriends mention shopping together, manicures/pedicures, or eating out together, I simply say, “Good for you!” Such activities are simply impossible in our situation, and the money involved is far better spent feeding burned kids or settling medical bills for indigent patients.  

We share several passions. We both love to be outdoors and enjoy nothing more than being back in Bob’s beloved home area and hiking trails he has taken with his father. We love to travel and see new things and enjoy new kinds of foods. We both love to dance, although an old back injury is beginning to limit Bob’s dancing career.

So, I come back to that humble mug of tea and Bob’s Bible, both of which are currently sitting next to my computer. Service and faith-these are the things I love most about Bob.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY LOVE! MAY GOD RICHLY BLESS YOU, BOTH NOW AND FOREVER!

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JUNE 21, 2024 JESUS IS TELLING STORIES-COME LISTEN! #7 HOW RIGHTEOUS DO YOU NEED TO GET INTO HEAVEN?

June 21, 2024

Well, Jesus’ audience is now scratching their heads! After several pungent illustrations drawn from daily village life, suddenly Jesus starts talking about the Law. Why is Jesus making these statements? It’s easy for us to forget that Jesus is actually an obedient and observant Jew, wearing a simple tunic with fringes on the hem, perhaps tying small scrolls on his arms as he prays, attending synagogue regularly and discussing the Law with the teachers. Jesus observes the Jewish feasts and Jewish dietary laws. Jesus wants his audience to realize that he is not bringing in a subversive teaching that will undermine the Law but he is teaching how the Kingdom of God should operate and that when the Kingdom of God fully arrives, the Law will be fulfilled completely.

But what does Jesus mean when he says, “unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Is Jesus demanding that his audience struggle to observe all the minutiae that have become part of the Law during the centuries since Moses? No. In the Law of Moses, God repeatedly expresses His concern for widows, orphans, and aged parents; however, the Pharisees have perfected a whole system of observing small edicts while neglecting the fundamental spirit of the Law. Later Jesus will criticize the Pharisees for tithing spices such as dill and mint and cumin while refusing to care for their parents because they have dedicated the resources that would sustain them to the temple.

One of the keys to Jesus’ life is his continued and persistent obedience to his Heavenly Father. When Jesus speaks of the Law, he is describing the will of his Heavenly Father, not just some words on a scroll. Jesus has such love and respect for that will that he reminds his listeners that even the smallest pen strokes, the jot and the tittle, must commend respect until the Kingdom of God arrives in its completeness.

What are we missing? No matter how carefully Matthew and Luke have recorded Jesus’ teachings, what we are missing is the presence of Jesus himself. We can only imagine Jesus’ smiles, his quick wit, and the love pouring forth from his eyes as he teaches. For that experience, we must ask Jesus to reveal himself to us as we study his words.

There are some people who are so loving and good that they literally radiate God’s presence. To be in the presence of one of these people is to feel completely safe. When I was a child, I knew three exemplary men who taught Sunday School to wiggly kids and teens. Each of these men genuinely loved children and deeply loved Jesus. Each of these men faithfully taught for years, encouraging their charges to trust God and to love His Word. Proverbs 10:7 says “The memory of the righteous is blessed.”

By ourselves, there is no way that we can earn our way into heaven. But praise God, Jesus has done what we cannot do. Jesus has given himself as the ultimate blood sacrifice for our sins. If we will confess our sins and believe in Jesus, we can rest assured that our sin debt has been paid.

PRAYER: Father God, thank You for loving us and for caring for us. Lord, we confess that we are sinners and that nothing we do is good enough to earn our way into heaven. Thank You for sending Jesus to pay our sin debt for us. In the mighty and precious Name of King Jesus. Amen.

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