God in Control

  80+3 Buys a New MacBook (on a day     when our most exciting activity is buying a computer): Some time ago Don and I took my computer to a tech because it was not working well. A fortyish, kind-a heavyset young man took care of us.     Looked at my old Mac, asked why we were there, and a few more questions.     Then he says, “how old is this?”     I replied quickly, “Oh, I don’t know.     It’s old.     Five years, perhaps.”     He went to the settings and typed some.     Looking up at me with a kind smile says, “how ‘bout 8 years old!” a statement that sounded akin to “oh, you were there when Noah built his ark?”     So, I don’t know if this embarrassed Don, but for my birthday gift this year he decided I should get a new computer.   As we walked into the Apple store, Dominique, a young man of about 30, came smilingly to us. He asked, “What can I help you with today?”  Don nud...

  When you’re 80+3 (and I made this milestone just yesterday) there are indelible memories that stand still in time.     You want to keep them there.     One of mine was the rebuke from a 9-year-old missionary kid I met, oh, possibly 64 years ago. Here’s the poem I wrote about this.   Coffee Break   Mrs. B’s home is above the King’s College Vocational shop where old vehicles sit, The smell of grease and occasionally, gas fumes greeted us. Men with wrenches in their hands, And red rags in the back pockets of their coveralls, moved about making repairs, clanging metal.   Ludy, a mechanic, would slide under the blue Chevy pickup That has certainly seen better days. It was not easy to do, as he was a bit corpulent. But he worked magic with vehicles.   An old, rusty harvesting combine imported from Kansas many years ago, Sat by the shop, against the wire fence, Looking like a monster of a machine. During the rice or corn harvest season, Faithfully...

  I am a  woman originally  from the Philippines but has lived in America for almost 54 years. I was not forced or coerced by the American government to come and live here.     I wanted to come.     My father who had spent a lot of time in this country and with her people told us many stories about the United States, the home of the free and land of the brave.     He told us about how the freedom of the individual was valued here, about how one’s success in life is limited only by how much he wanted to work for it.     He told us about the system of laws it had that was far superior to what other countries had.     Most of all, he told us about Americans, God’s people, and how they honored Him.     Though he talked about how rich America was, that wasn’t his main thing.     He mostly talked about the people, how kind and generous they were.     Oh, yes, he mentioned some racism.     ...

Circumstances in my recent years have kept me from faithfully blogging, but I'm back now and hopefully  will be more consistently writing.  Though I've been away from rambling here, I've done much of it on  Facebook, so every now and then I'll reprint here some of these.  Here's one dated sometime in December  2023.                 Three nights ago, we went to the Rwandan City of Joy mission school fundraising auction. When Don and I checked the auction items, No.5, a collection of Rwandan woven baskets caught my attention. I wanted to win these.             We took our seats at a table, took out our paddles from the plastic bags. Don went to put our balls #092 and 094 in the raffle thing-a-ma-gig from which the winning balls would be drawn. The drill was to put a dollar into a basket on our table every time one bids. There must have been ...

  At noontime today, Good Friday, Don and I worshipped in church in remembrance of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.     As I sat next to Don, we sang about the cross and Calvary, prayed as Pastor Bjork led and listened with some 600 churchgoers.     As we participated in the Holy Communion, my thoughts led me to an experience I had in the now distant past when I was a young 22-year-old teacher.     I reprint it from the   Christian Standard , published January 28, 2001, Standard Publishing, Cincinnati, OH.   MEDITATION   Many years ago, one of my students in the Christian high school where I taught in southern Philippines almost gave his life for me.  One night two men, attempting to harm me, schemed to use my young student to lure me out of the teachers’ dormitory where I stayed.  They were unsuccessful in their plot, however.  Frustrated, they assaulted the young man, beating him up until he passed out....

  As we moved out of San Francisco where we have lived for more than 40 years, we were sad to lose our friends there and worried about making new friends in Arizona.     Little did we know that God had planned this for us, along with the house He picked for us, the Church we should go to, the nursing home for my older sister that we were caring for and other issues that come with such moves.     Three years later, we share our story.  Our snowbird neighbors to the left and right of us readily accepted us and have become good friends.  So did the couple across the street. Bob, our snowbird neighbor who spends the summer in their Flagstaff ranch, came within an hour of our arrival.  He warned us about the coyotes that frequent the golf course behind our house.  Suzie, who spends the hot months in Nebraska, gave us a diagram of our street with the names of the neighbors.  Charlotte, from across the street, gave us t...