Manna

"Steph, I'm taking a calligraphy course, would you like me to show you what I'm learning so you can do it too?," asked my friend, Becky.

"That I would be great," I answered enthusiastically.

My friend gave me lined practice sheets and showed me at what angle I should hold the chiseled calligraphy pen.  The two of us threw ourselves into our newest artistic endeavor.  We made signs for church and beautiful gift tags. We lettered verses and sayings and then framed the pieces to give away as gifts.  Knowing the basics of the pretty penmanship opened up all kinds creative worlds.

When Jim and I were preparing to move from Ohio to New York, Becky took me out to lunch.  Part way through our meal, she handed me a small package.  "Here is a little something for you as you and Jim head off to seminary."

I open the wrapped gift to find a blond wooden frame surrounding the calligraphed saying (in Becky's style), "God has not lost his recipe for manna."

"I thought you might need that reminder," said my dear friend.

That little picture has hung in every home we've lived in since.  And we have needed the reminder that just like God sent daily bread (manna) to his Hebrew people as they left Egypt for the promise land, He will do the same for us.  When God sent food for each day with the morning dew, he told his people to take only what they needed for that day (there was no going to Costco to stock up on manna).  "Give us this day our daily bread."

I am learning that my healing journey has been receiving enough "manna" for one day at a time.  There has been no stocking up.  Jesus says he is the bread of life.  So each day I ask him for his provision and grace to carry me through one more day--manna.

Sun Light

This morning I wheeled myself into the kitchen to cook a "hearty" breakfast to carry us through our busy day.

"It's so beautiful today.  I wonder if it's cold," I said to Jim as he was on his way out for his morning walk wearing his hooded sweatshirt and his ever-so-attractive green fluorescent safety vest.

"I think it's chilly.  I'll be back in a bit," he said as he gave me a quick kiss and went out the door.

I rolled my wheelchair over to the stove and tugged at the bottom pot drawer until I got it open.  I pulled out a non-stick frying pan to cook bacon and eggs.  By now the sun had risen high in the blue sky and there were rays of light streaming through our multi-paned windows into the kitchen.

 

As I fried the strips of bacon, the house began to fill with a wonderful aroma and a foggy bacon "haze" caught in the sun rays.

I rolled back and forth across our wide-planked floors setting the table, getting eggs, toasting bagels and pouring cranberry and orange juice.  And as I did, the bright light of the the sun caught my eyes and suddenly our supposedly clean Shaker cabinets and floors showed every imperfection and every speck of dirt.  "Wow,  everything needs a good scrubbing," I thought.

In the past six years, I have rolled back and forth through my life feeling that in spite of all my physical challenges I have lived a pretty clean life.  It is only when the light of God shines in me that the subtle negative heart attitudes, impatient thoughts, and occasional sulking are exposed.  God my Father is not trying to point out my failures to show me up.  Rather He is shining His light in the dark places so that loving cleansing and forgiveness can take place--a good scrubbing.

The New Testament book of 1 John says:  "If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.  If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness."

Step into the Son light.

The Tattoo

Years ago when we began to recognize that our young daughters were wonderfully artistic, we decided to take a scenic ride up through the Berkshire Mountains to the Norman Rockwell museum.   We took the girls through each of the displays:  the story of Rockwell's life,  his early paintings, and eventually into the room with his Saturday Evening Post covers.  "Look at this one," were the delighted words as we looked at the walls of paintings.  We couldn't take in what we were seeing fast enough.

The Post covers, famous to this day, told the life of war-time and small town America.  I love "The Gossips," "Triple Self Portrait,"  "The Problem We All Live With (Ruby Bridges)," "Girl with Black Eye," "The Marriage License" to name a few.  One of our daughters was attracted to "Girl at the Mirror."

I think one of my favorite Norman Rockwell paintings is, "The Tattoo Artist."  It is the whimsical record of a sailor's love life.   Each of the lady's names was tattooed on the sailor's muscular arm and when a new girlfriend came into his life the name of the former girl was crossed out by the tattoo artist.

Recently a niece of mine posted a picture of a tattoo she got.  She has two daughters who she calls her "princesses."  She had each of their names and birthdates tattooed over her heart.  She will carry them with her always.  They will be forever in her mind.

In the Old Testament book of Isaiah, God says, "See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;  your walls are ever before me."  The same hands that bear the love scars of the cross, bear your name.  He will never forget you or abandon you.  Your name will never be crossed out.

Hot Cross Buns

"Grammie, tell me the story of the hot cross buns again," I said to my ninety plus year old grandmother.

Sitting in her favorite recliner, the tiny woman had on a flowered dress, a handmade apron, support hose and sensible dove gray tied shoes.  On the side table next to her lay her beautiful golden embroidery scissors, a spool of thread and a needle, a silver-colored thimble and her well-worn Bible. Her short gray, permed hair was pinned back with a bobby pin behind each ear.

"Well, when I was a young girl my father owned a horse-drawn delivery service.  He would pick up bread, pastries and rolls from the large bakery in our city and take them to his customers."

"On the Thursday before Good Friday, we set up great big trays on saw horses in our dining room and my father would fill the trays with hot cross buns from the bakery. Chrissy [her sister], Mama, Pop, Auntie Gert and I would count out the customer orders and put the buns in bags to get them ready for delivery in the middle of the night."

 

"Soon after midnight on Good Friday, we loaded up the wagon and saddled our horse, Don.  Chrissy and I road in the back of the wagon and it was our job to jump out with the orders.   Our customers' homes were all up and down the streets by the beach in Milford."

"We knew where all our customers lived.  And we knew all their dogs so we would slip past them and leave the Good Friday buns on the kitchen tables.  As long as Grampie owned a bakery delivery route, that was our tradition."

Ever since my grandmother told me that story, I have tried to make her hot cross buns for Good Friday as often as possible.  I love the idea of keeping the family story alive with something so tangible.  All senses are involved when I bake the buns--the sight of all the buns lined up on the pan;  the wonderful smell that fills the house;  the sound of the oven door opening and closing;  the sticky touch of the frosted cross;  the sweet taste of the soft bread bun.

Anticipating Passover and Easter it occurs to me that God cares deeply about food traditions for the purpose of keeping the stories of His people alive.  He knows how frail our memories are so He gave us meals to illustrate freeing His people from Egypt and sending His Son as Savior to free His people from the bondage of sin.  Today when we eat those meals God says, "do this in memory of Me."

So as you celebrate your holidays, enjoy your family traditions and remember to enjoy God's family traditions as well.