Do not let us mistake necessary evils for good.
–C.S. Lewis
Much of our activity is like the waves of the sea, going always and arriving never.
–Charlotte Mason, A Philosophy of Education
The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.
–G.K. Chesterton
Do not pray for easy lives, but pray to be stronger men. Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers, but pray for power equal to your tasks.
–Phillip Brooks
If you need something, asking is usually a good place to start.
James addresses this a couple times. He reminds his readers that “you do not have because you do not ask.” (There’s more, too, of course, and I talked about the motive/attitude angle not long ago.)
He also reminds us that if we need wisdom (and who doesn’t?), asking is the way to get it.
~ ~ ~
Hee hmm.
All those great and grand thoughts to say my WFMW is to ask about the little things too.
Like milk. I did a whole post once on freezing milk (fascinating reading, of course). It’s the most conscious/active thing I do to save on our grocery bill.
Anyway, this story even happened because we were out of milk and I needed to go shopping (here’s a free take-away: freezing milk will mean fewer trips to the grocery store– which should also help save money).
Rather than spending the time driving around to find out if there was cheap milk on the shelf (my previous discoveries have all been haphazard or through the grapevine), I decided to call around instead.
The first dairy manager seemed almost offended when I asked her if there was any regularity to milk being marked-down. I realized later that question I could sound like, ‘Tell me how often you screw-up ordering.” Oops.
I had my pitch better by the second call. I explained I like to buy and freeze marked-down milk because it reduced my grocery bill, and this manager said he had some older milk he could pull and mark-down for me.
So I went, and while $2/gallon isn’t the best deal I ever got (it’s hard to beat 50-cents a gallon), it’s still good, and I felt blessed by the manager’s flexibility. Another cool thing was that he said to call again when we’ve used up this round.
~
It’s been my experience that there are a lot of nice people in the world. I’ve also noticed that many of these nice people want to help others, and asking for something they can provide lets them do that.
Win-win.
Why look deep within yourself for the answers you seek? You’re the one who’s confused.
An unfortunate chain of events while hunting left a king lost and dependent on a lowly charcoal-maker.
Somewhat overawed by their unexpected guest, the charcoal-maker and his wife served the king as best they could, which was far from what the king was accustomed to.
Amazed that his hosts could seem content in such circumstances, the king ventured to ask the charcoal-maker how much he earned for a day of work. The answer astounded him.
“How do you survive with so little?” the king asked.
Smiling, the charcoal maker said, “I don’t just make enough to survive. On that income I also pay off a debt, invest for the future and still find enough left over to throw out the window.”
The king couldn’t believe this and asked the meaning of the poor man’s riddle.
“Your majesty, my mother brought me up, and now I care for her in her old age. In this way I am paying off a debt. I raise my son with the hope that he will do the same for me. In this way I am investing for the future. I also have a daughter, and put aside an amount for her dowry, which, as you know, is the same as throwing money out the window.”
This answer pleased the king greatly, and he gave the charcoal maker a gold coin for his hospitality.
“Can you keep a secret, charcoal-maker?”
“Until you allow me to speak of it again.”
“Very good. You may speak of it again– when you have seen my face 100 times.”
The charcoal maker agreed, and guided the king back to the road.
As soon as he returned home, the king set the charcoal-maker’s riddle before his entire court, promising the position of royal counselor to the person able to come up with the correct answer.
While others guessed futilely, a crafty courtier rode until he came to the charcoal-maker the king had spoken of.
Even knowing the pride is one of the things God hates most, and knowing that I wrestle with my own measure of that distasteful stuff, I will still talk about what bothers me in the general discussion of pride and humility (the topic seems to rise cyclically in Christian circles).
There are those who seem to fixate on how proud they are, knowing it’s something that’s hard to ever be free of they’re continually “confessing” it. (I’m more of the opinion that confession is to convict us and change things– not just to report the status quo– or to excuse the way you talk about things.)
And then there are those who speak of humility as though it were self-abasement (humiliation).
A more accurate description, really, is that humility is utter honesty– to see things as they truly are.
While I still feel that is a fine description, at church the pastor’s been talking about how humility has everything to do with our relationship to God, and I came across a quote this weekend that brings both these ideas together so well:
The true way to be humble is not to stoop until you are smaller than yourself, but to stand at your real hight against some higher nature that will show you what the real smallness of your greatness is.
Had another lovely Third Saturday with the ladies of our church.
This month’s theme was a Garden Party and Basil. We were all dressed up– hats too– and one of the older women led a small devotional based around the gardening and growing metaphors in the bible.
Alternating with her was our master-gardener/hostess, talking about the physicality and uses of the basil she’d collected (at least six different types).
These were passed around and I marveled at how they were each so unique (Yes, I know “So unique” is redundant, but like “Learning by osmosis,” incorrect has become better understood than the correct. *sigh*)
We each planted some basil to take home, than came back inside for salad (garnished with our choice of the basils) and two different basil pizzas. (Desert was melon chunks, and, in keeping with the theme, someone had put a branch of basil on the mound of fruit in the serving dish. That collected several laughs.)
The morning was good time of conversation and encouragement (Somebody actually called me “perfect” today. Poor dear. I think she was a little over-eager to soothe some assumed hurt. But it was nice to hear anyway ;-) )
I was away until nearly 1p.m., and came home wondering how much Jay would have been able to do with the kids.
Coming in to a peaceful living room and catching his eye before the children noticed I was home, I must have been too eager to shut the front door, because I didn’t realize my finger was still there.
Jay saw what happened and was by me in a moment, looking at the mangled skin. I have never been a screamer, so he asked me (while lifting my hand above my head), “Childbirth being ten, where is this on the scale?”
He was mostly serious, and I wanted to laugh, but I was too busy slowing my breathing and trying to look at the damage (skin torn, mostly, and bruising). “I’m feeling light-headed,” I said, feeling a bit surprised.
“Yeah,” said Jay, swallowing and trying to keep my hand out of both our sights. “Me too.”
Jay: How do you smash your own finger in the door?
Me: I was looking at the man I love and not thinking about what I was doing.
~
It’s a bit startling to be suddenly aware of the vast array of tasks the right index-finger may facilitate (or impede).
I love finding a poem that pairs just perfectly with a story I’m attached to.
It doesn’t happen a lot, but twice it has happened magically. Here are those two. (I still need to memorize the second one).
~
To preface Half a Blanket (It took some practice to say this one with a clear voice. My Grandfather was very dear to me).
The Little Boy and the Old Man— by Shel Silverstein
Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the little old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the touch of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.
From the book Poetry Speaks to Children, a poem by an anonymous Inuit poet and translated by Edward Field. It is the perfect companion to Raven and the Whale’s Burning Heart. It would also make a good transition piece between traditional Alaskan tales.
Magic Words
In the very earliest time,
when both people and animals lived on earth,
a person could become an animal if he wanted to
and an animal could become a human being.
Sometimes they were people
and sometimes they were animals
and there was no difference.
All spoke the same language.
That was the time when words were like magic.
The human mind had mysterious powers.
A word spoken by chance
might have strange consequences.
It would suddenly come alive
and what people wanted to happen could happen–
all you had to do was say it.
Nobody could explain this:
that’s the way it was.
Tele-fundraisers– you know, like telemarketers, only they’re just asking for money, instead of trying to sell something.
I’ve nearly stopped receiving calls selling something, and we’re in between elections, so no more political pitches, but I still occasionally get calls asking for money for this or that organization.
These organizations have varying degrees of value or interest to me, but I now have a standard line for all of them:
“We have a house policy of never giving donations over the phone, as it encourages calling to solicit money.”
The last time this happened (Thursday evening), the caller tried to assure me it wasn’t over the phone because they would be mailing me a recipit. (Hmmm.)
As he seemed to want it, I (seriously!) gave him the whole schpeal:
Anyone who wants us to support them must send the request in the mail, along with a record of how they spend their money, including how much goes to fund-raising. With those materials in front of us my husband and I will decide if this is something we’re willing to support.
This type of a policy does several things to promote healthy patterns of giving.
I’m all for supporting the ministry of trustworthy organizations: they have the connections and usually the experience to see the money is well managed.
The strike against telephone solicitors is the same as that against the people asking for money on the street: The need may be genuine, and the money may be well-spent, but the decision would be rushed either way, and not be subject to any closer scrutiny.
Money you give to a question-mark is money you can’t give elsewhere, so I urge you to use wisdom and discernment as you decide where to give.
Visit more of Works for me Wednesday.
A malcontent was sitting under a tree looking at a neighbor’s pumpkin patch.
“You sure got that one wrong, God,” the complainer said. “Here’s this great, beautiful tree bearing tiny nuts, while a mere vine yields pumpkins.”
At that moment a nut broke loose and bounced off the malcontent’s head.
“Never mind, God. You knew what you were doing. I could have been dead if you followed my advice.”