The Discarded, but Clean Milk Jug

This Week I Was Glad Mother Recycles

            When teaching third graders, I used my mother frequently as Exhibit #1 for the proverb, “Waste not, want not.” Since her childhood days in the Great Depression, she honed the art of repurposing. I recalled introducing Mother to Phyllis Rottmann Murphy, a former Woodland School administrator. The two discovered quickly their shared habit and laughed as they related the numerous ways they recycled and enjoyed  frugal living.

            This week after the little ice storm and the subsequent, bitterly cold days, Mother’s recycling habit was a boon to me. I exited the house to feed the farm cats only to find every gate frozen, vehicle doors frozen shut, and frost-free hydrant handles encased in ice. Thankfully, even though my boots crunched loudly on the ice-and snow-covered ground, my footing kept me upright – most of the time.

            Thankfully, even though Mother is making a concerted effort to "repurpose" less frequently, she had washed and saved a half-gallon plastic milk container with its lid. It was perfect for filling with hot water for thawing the ice-enclosed gate latches and the hydrant handles.

Notice how Mother stores the lid -on
the side - she masking taped it. 
In her experience, tightening the lid 
on the recently washed jug will cause
 the air in the jug to smell stale.

            The light weight plastic container held the amount of hot water I needed and was easy to transport. The handle and light-weight plastic made it easy to tote.

            Soon the slow pouring of the hot water from the recycled container achieved its desired results. All gates and hydrant handles were operable. God’s glorious sun rays warmed the frozen vehicle doors.  Almost imperceptibly, the once immovable doors could swing freely open.

            As I walked toward the house, I realized the little plastic half-gallon container illustrated an important Biblical truth. The paraphrase from the 1970s of the Bible, The Living Bible, conveyed clearly what I thought as I carried the empty, repurposed container. Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 4:7 –

But this precious treasure – this light and power that now shine within us – is held in a perishable container, that is, in our weak bodies. Everyone can see that the glorious power within must be from God and is not our own.

What a powerful word picture of a “perishable container” encasing something incredibly precious! Based on our faith in Jesus to redeem us from the darkness of sin, in His gracious lavish forgiveness, the God of the universe places in our weak, fallible bodies His Spirit to daily empower us to live lives that bring glory to Him. No wonder Paul emphasizes “everyone can see” it “must be”… God’s power and “not our own.”
             In our 21st century, the physical appearance of a person is celebrated. To retain that perfect appearance, in our country, literally, billions of dollars are spent each year to maintain flawless, youthful Americans faces and bodies. (According to www.plasticsurgery.org, in 2016, Americans spent $16 billion on elective plastic surgery.) To some extent, many of us fight aging (and rightly so), but with truthful hearts, as believers, we must agree with God that our souls are really housed in perishable containers. 

When trying to shut a gate,the
recycled milk jug sustained a
puncture from a frozen wire.
Since Mother had only saved
ONE jug, I had to used extra
strength duct tape to make it
serviceable again. So often in
 aging, perishable bodies incur
scars and flaws. Ironically,
sometimes, in spite of one's
marred, imperfect condition,
the Spirit of God shines
resplendently, astonishing all
who see, especially the skeptic 
and unbeliever.

           How like the discardable, recycled plastic milk jug we are! In the sub-freezing weather, its only value to me was its containment of the hot water for thawing. God has graciously privileged us to have His gentle, ever-present spirit within our unreliable, weak frame (Psalm 103:14 ESV). Though unfathomable, He daily guides us to join the work He desires to do in and through us. 

            God, thank You for calling us into a relationship with You, imbuing the Holy Spirit in our frail, mortal bodies. Enable us to respond with hearts committed to obedience so that Your glorious power overwhelmingly illuminates our feeble humanity and magnifies the beauty of the loving Savior to those we encounter.

A Dear Friend Remembered

          Banetha Buchanan and I discovered we had a lot in common during our first conversation when we first met in block classes at Oklahoma State University. This was our "student teaching" semester during the fall of 1977. We both designed our custom-made outfits, usually from double knit, one of the most wearable fabrics. Our love of the rural life immediately formed a bond. But one connection loomed larger than our other shared “likes.” We discovered we had both made life-altering commitments to follow Jesus in our early years.

    Oklahoma State College of Education officials photographed Dr. Troxel, Banetha,
    and me. Banetha and I were in our early 20s. This photograph appeared in the 
    Pawnee Chief on November 3, 1977, to announce our upcoming student teaching
    assignments. Sadly, Dr. Troxel passed away a couple of years ago, too.

Anyone who knows “my collegiate story,” knows I honed my frugality during my years at Stillwater. Yet by the time I met Banetha, I could visualize graduation in May of 1978 as achievable, so spending money for unnecessary expenses was allowable. Most days, if our schedules provided a lunch break, Banetha and I walked to the Student Union, hiked up to 5^th floor, ordered chef salads, and solved the educational problems of the state of Oklahoma. We laughed a bunch, shared hopes and dreams, anticipated our student teaching stint and encouraged each other in our walk with the Lord. 

As I reflected tonight on her death, I suddenly realized at the time we forged a friendship over forty years ago, none of her much-loved children had been born!  It was just she and Calvin. Over the years, we faithfully exchanged Christmas cards. I came to anticipate her “Christmas Letter” each December.

My heart broke for her when Cole was killed. I recall learning of Will’s fatal accident and remember vividly verbalizing my sorrow, concern, and questionings to my mother as we drove home from church on January 1, 2012. My empathy with Banetha’s sorrow so permeated my thoughts, I didn’t even notice the black smoke pouring from Dad's destructive barn fire until I was within a quarter of a mile of my parents’ place.

When my father had his stroke and I assumed the care of Dad’s small herd, my sister encouraged me to become a member of the Oklahoma Cattlemen’s Association. Dad had chosen to align with the Pawnee County Chapter for a couple of reasons. Pawnee was much closer than Pawhuska, even though Pawhuska was his county seat. Also, Dad had built many homes for cattle producers in Pawnee County. The bottom line, he had more friends in the Pawnee Cattlemen’s Association Chapter. Dad was all about his friends. 

Prior to Dad’s stroke, Banetha and I saw each other only at Vacation Bible School trainings annually. Thankfully at Angie’s insistence, I attended each Cattlemen’s event held at Pawnee. Angie would come specifically to care for Dad so I could attend. At the banquet or other event, Banetha and I would pick up just as though we were back on campus in Stillwater preparing to student teach. We always laughed, shared how the Lord had blessed our families and encouraged each other to keep strong in serving Him.

The final few times we visited, even though I tried to downplay it, I realized Banetha’s health had become a challenge. She had a valve replacement surgery that was miraculously cancelled due to the Lord’s divine intervention.

But on November 8, 2018, the last time we spoke, laughed and encouraged each other, it was different. She told me of the impending surgery in January of 2019. Then she looked across the table at me and with her unique, winsome demeanor indicated that she was “fine” with whatever happened. She had those she dearly loved in heaven – her boys, but she had her girls, grandchildren, and Calvin she cherished here on earth. Even though I told her we wanted her to stay here longer, she had reminded of a truth we don’t often face. None of us are promised tomorrow.

In our high-tech world, where we have answers for just about everything, we still do not have the answer for facing death. The scripture says Prepare to meet your God. In John 14, Jesus related to His disciples that His father’s house had many mansions and He was going to prepare a place and explained, “I will come again and receive you…so you may be there, also.”

 When Thomas heard this, the apostle, asked Jesus, “Lord, we do not now where You are going, and how can we know the way?” Jesus gave the most succinct, unequivocal answer when He stated, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.”

Banetha made that preparation when she was a young girl. She had come to Jesus, trusting His blood sacrifice He gave for her on the cross to forgive her sin. For that reason, I knew when I first read of her death, exactly where she was. Just as Jesus promised, where He is, she is there also. My dear friend would insist every family member, every friend, and every neighbor be assured of that for themselves.

Banetha wrote a beautiful card when Dad died, but the verse she placed in the card stood out. I remember as I turned to the verse in my Bible, I thought, If anyone could give a verse of comfort, it would be Banetha. The verse was Isaiah 41:10:

Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God.

I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you,

 I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.

            May those of us who loved her and greatly miss her find comfort in being held in the right hand of a loving God who promises to strengthen and uphold all through this deep valley of grief.

Like a Full Moon

Driving to Bible study on Sunday night,  I witnessed the stunning beauty of the past week's full moon prior to its eclipse, I recalled this devotional I wrote after I witnessed a stunning full moon early one Friday morning during the time I was driving Mother each week day to radiation treatments. (This blog posting has been edited from an online devotional published in 2015.)

This photo, courtesy of the NASA public domain
files, is so reminiscent of the full moon I saw. It
was purported to be one of the full moons that was
closest in proximity to our world in the year of 2007.

            One cool morning in the predawn of the day as I drove to the school where I was teaching, the brilliance of the full moon loomed high in the northwestern sky. The lunar body gleamed strikingly luminous with its craters distinctly visible to the naked eye. 

            As a young child, I recalled my parents pointing out full moons. Dad delighted in telling me the moon was made of cheese. My little mind’s gears ground vigorously to process whether that was true or not. We always viewed those brilliantly bright orbs in a night sky.

            Interestingly, until that school term, I seldom left for school during the darkness of early morning. Yet the fall of 2007 found my mother requiring radiation for a large basal cell skin cancer on her face. With the permission and blessing of my principal, Bobby Simma, I left each afternoon, literally on the heels of my students’ departure, for the Bend to pick up my parents, and travel to Ponca City for Mother’s radiation treatment each weekday for over six weeks. Each morning, I arrived at my classroom well before dawn to prepare for the school day. Maybe the full moon remained indelible in my memory because I had seen so few full moons in the morning.

            As I drove slowly to the school trying to absorb the breath-taking beauty of the full moon, I began to draw comparisons between humans and the moon. People in  their  raw humanity are cold, dark, and scarred. However, when the light of the Son shines on us even our scars have an appearance of splendor for His glory. His light reflects so completely in our darkened, sinful lives transforming us into objects of worth and beauty. In turn, we can radiantly shine into the lives of those we encounter and brighten their paths as well.

           Just as the sun is the only reason for the moon’s illumination, Jesus clearly taught that He was the light, not a light but the only source for bringing light and forgiveness into the darkness of sin that is present in each person. He emphatically declared Himself in John 8:12, “I am the light of the world.  He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.”

            After His light invades our beings, He challenges us to let our light shine so that those we meet will see the Holy Spirit’s works of goodness in our lives. Ultimately, the Heavenly Father will get glory for Himself.

            That leads to the question, “Are our actions and words so full of His light that those we encounter clearly see Him?” Or do we respond with negative, critical words and rude or unpleasant behavior that mirrors the darkness of the world around us or even worse alienates our unbelieving coworkers, relatives, or acquaintances from the Lord?

Lord, I seek to have a life, like the full moon, illuminated by the loving light of the Son reflecting the warmth of Your brilliance to those I encounter. Guard me from a deceptive drift to become as the dark side of the moon so cavernously bleak, permeated with gloom.  Whenever I inch toward that destructive chasm, pull me with Your loving-kindness back into the radiance of Your love and grace.