...Wisdom Listens

Two years ago I had my truck detailed. The artist decided to get really creative so in addition to eagles in flight on the sides I also have a proverb on the back next to the right brake light. It says, "Knowledge Speaks, Wisdom Listens." Many times we clutter the air with the clatter of many words. Banalities, gossip, meanness, etc. as if afraid of the sound of silence. Silent contemplation of the God of creation can do more to lift us than a hundred "how's the weather" exchanges. Quiet observation of the actions of people around us lead to more accurate character assessments than asking questions. Besides, we are protected from the very appearance of backstabbing. In listening we talk about ourselves less and are better able to show genuine interest and concern when others engage us in conversation. Listening we fully grasp the meaning of resting in the Presence of the One who commands, "Be still and Know that I am God."

In Everything Give Thanks

It's Monday morning you walk into the office and your computer does not recognize you and you have to wait for IT. The person who decides not to talk to you because you would not join with their viewpoint meets you in the hallway and doesn't see you. Yeah I'm invisible! And two other coworkers have a severe case of high speed, high volume talkitis. Wait, it is only 8am. Why would the first thought as I decide to catch up on my blog be, "in everything give thanks?" Oh, nothing says I..only the rest of the verse. "For this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you," so here goes. Father I thank you for a job firstof all, thank you my days don't always start in the key of absolutely flat, thank you I can choose my attitude, thank you for being forever faithful, thank you for friends, family and the fellowship of the saints, thank you that trials produce patientce (lots, and lots of it)! Thank you for your Word in my heart as a buffer against every upset...hey you get the picture.

Bulgur by Choice

I knew bulgur before it became trendy and yuppified . From back in the days when long grain white rice was good and represented a sweet midweek treat or elaborate Sunday dinner. Still, the shock of memories evoked by seeing the gritty, brown mass on my plate came totally by surprise. It suddenly dawned on me the last time I looked at bulgur it came in a soupy brown glob on a shiny aluminum plate, with a stigma attached. It marked me as one who "took lunch" at school and left me naked to speculation whether the few cents required were paid or if I was so poor I ate "free-lunch." Over forty years ago, that brown stuff isolated me from the clique who crowded the vendors at the school gate and returned with fritters dripping oil (that my grandmother said was rancid). Since she trusted no one's standards but her own, I had strict orders not to eat anyones "flaw-flaw." The upper crust bypassed both cafeteria and vendors alike. They went to the grocers to feast on delicacies like cheese and crackers and soda and light cake. My mind insisted on turning to Joseph. With no hint of how famous he would become, he was simply my adored brother who showed up unannounced on his bicycle at recess or lunchtime. He always brought me whatever happened to be in season and a coin. Most times it would be a thick twenty-five cents piece. For at least two days I had extra money, status (because of my big brother) and of course, extra friends. Today, I "buy" my own bulgur rice or wheat, depends on your choice of words. And I raise a thank offering for how far I've come. Talk about God doing exceedingly. Abundantly, above, all I could have ever asked or imagined!