10:09 pm

The Lord sent us a gift tonight, in the form of good news.

Last week, I wrote to the pastor of a church near the nursing home where Mother is residing. I explained the situation in some detail, and asked if he would be willing to visit Mother as a work of mercy.

Tonight, a lady from that church called me. The pastor made an announcement about my letter in the service today, and this lady - we'll call her Mrs. D - approached him after the service and asked for more details. The pastor allowed Mrs. D to read my letter, so she understood the full background of why I was making such a request.

In God's providence, it turns out that Mrs. D's husband is in the same nursing home as Mother. He is elderly and infirm, and Mrs. D visits him every single day. She lives just down the road from the nursing home, in fact.

Mrs. D visited Mother this afternoon, and reported that Mother seems to be healthy and in reasonably good spirits. This report made my heart light, and made me want to weep with relief. Mrs. D explained to Mother who she was, but she said that she wasn't sure whether or not Mother really understood the purpose of the visit.

Mrs. D is planning to visit Mother every day while she's there visiting her husband. She gave me her phone number and said that I can call her anytime I want to talk. She also promised, "If there's anything going on that I think you need to know, I will call you and tell you."

I am humbled and wonderstruck at God's mercy in this matter. Please pray that He will greatly bless Mrs. D for her Christian charity. And please pray for Mr. D in his life at the nursing home.

9:41 pm

The Book of Common Prayer tells us, "In the midst of life, we are in death." This thought has been with me much of the day.

Not only am I watching from a distance as my mother's earthly sojourn winds down, I am also very conscious of the presence of death all around. This morning, while stirring the chunks of burning wood in the firepit, I watched a large grasshopper leap from the dewy blades into the killing white embers. He writhed for a second, and then was still, and then was consumed by the fire. And I stood there and thought about this creature, hopping along in the morning, doing what he was designed by his Creator to do, and then landing in the middle of a literal hell on earth.

Late this afternoon, we were returning to Possum Cough after running some errands and eating Chinese food. As we approached Gate City, I noticed two stray dogs trotting along the shoulder of the road. One of them, a large cream-colored pooch, began veering toward my path. I slowed down and honked my horn to warn him. He trotted in front of me, and I slowed even more to let him get by. "Look, he's limping. He has a hurt leg," I said to MeeMaw.

The man behind me lacked patience, and gunned his green minivan around me. He was doing about 35 or 40 when he hit the poor dog square. The sound of the impact was sickening, and the dog disappeared under the minivan in an explosion of light fur. In a flash, he tumbled out from behind the vehicle, and his entire body began jerking in death spasms. The man in the green minivan slowed very briefly, then continued on his way. MeeMaw was very upset and said, "Don't tell me. Don't tell me what happened to the dog." I kept silent, and didn't mention that the other stray dog was standing on the side of the road, watching his friend's death with a quizzical, hurt expression and cocked head.

All this to say that I am utterly sick of the death that pervades the culture of this so-called nation. I am sick of the pornographic violence that flits across every screen and monitor I see. And I say this as a man who used to enjoy Mafia movies, Tarantino movies, war movies. I am determined, by God's grace, not to set any more of this worthless trash before my eyes. In a deep and masterful movie like The Lord of the Rings triology, the violence and death are truly integral (and not gratuitous) parts of the story. But I refuse to watch any more of the trifling bilge like any of the blockbuster movies currently in theaters, no matter how many "tragic" Heath Ledgers the producers pack the movies with. Death is not amusing. Death is not compelling. Death is ugly, death is dreadful, and death is not "a natural part of life." Death is an enemy, though a conquered one.

I am a 48 year-old man who wishes he could resurrect all wandering grasshoppers and all wandering dogs tonight. But I can't. I can't defeat death, or slow its approach.

"In the midst of life, we are in death..."

11:50 am

Right now, MeeMaw is dressed and scrubbed and pretty. I'm reeking of woodsmoke and have ashes in my hair.

I arose before dawn and went for a walk, first up past the cemetery, and then back down past our place, on down the gravel road to the Kegley place. I was trying to get some photos of our house from the road, but the light wasn't very good just yet.



There were some wild morning glories blooming along the fence by Mr. Davidson's big hay barn. While I was taking photos, a hummingbird bulleted past me. For some reason, I stood and watched him as he cut through the air, down the valley, and out of sight.



When I got back to the house, I built a fire in the pit, brewed a cup of coffee, and took my Bible and Old Farmer's Almanac outside. After reading in Job and meditating on it, I skimmed some seasonal information in the Almanac. Seems that this is the start of hummingbird migration season; the little jeweled miracles will be making their collective way south, starting now. Perhaps that's why I was moved to stand and watch that little one out of sight during my walk.

Speaking of Bibles, Purrl would like to go on the record as being a fan of the King James (Authorised) Version. This would doubtless be due to her superfluity of naughtiness.



Last week, it was Jason and Karen and the twins' turn to wait as a sea storm hovered over them. And now it's Joshi-O and Moo-Moo's turn to endure Gustav. Just remember, kids...no matter what the authorities try to tell you, do not let them evacuate y'all to the Astrodome. Or any other dome, for that matter.

Last night, the church hosted a supper for all Sunday School teachers and their spouses. We had some good food and a very nice time. We love those folks.

MeeMaw is making a Texas Sheet Cake right now. PeePaw is going to claim dibs on the batter in the bowl.

7:16 am

MeeMaw jumps at loud noises. Firecrackers, guns, exploding balloons...these all startle her. One other thing makes her jump. The soft "whoomp!" of a can of biscuits being popped open. She always asks me to open a can of biscuits for her, and as I turn to the task, she always puts her fingers in her ears and turns away.

They say that men marry their mothers and that women marry their fathers. Psychology is largely a godless dung-heap, but there are some interesting things I've noticed through the years, things about how we do tend to be attracted to people who share strong characteristics of our different-sex parent. MeeMaw is very much like my mother in many ways.

One of those ways is the fear of the exploding canned biscuits. Every single time Mother has made canned biscuits, she has asked me to open the can, and she has turned away with fingers in ears, or at least made some noise of her own to drown out the report.

But Mother will never again jump at the sound of a biscuit can. I am growing weary with the lists I make in my mind. At three a.m., I am very good at making such lists. Lists of things that Mother will never again do in this life. And lists of things that I enjoy that Mother cannot enjoy because her own daughter dumped her into a hellhole, and because my legal hands are tied to do anything to rescue her at this moment.

If you never pray for me again in your lives, please pray for Mother, for God to intervene and provide a way for us to rescue her. The billows are passing over our heads right now, and all seems dark.

5:55 am

MeeMaw and I are just back from a pre-dawn deer sighting. We crept out with all the house lights off, eased our way up the embankment to the south pasture fenceline...and there they were. We hadn't been there more than a couple of seconds when one of them sounded a very sinus-infectionesque snort and they all took to their heels. The whole experience lasted only a minute, but it was exciting nonetheless. Starting the day with a sense of wonder is wise, I think.

7:07 pm

As promised, MeeMaw fried the apples we picked yesterday for today's breakfast. And they were just sublime. For someone who never fried apples until arriving in the Tennessee/Virginia area, she does a grand job (and she learned the technique from Miss Connie, to whom I owe a debt of gustatorial gratitude).



Speaking of food, we sat out back last night and shelled the precious black-eyed peas. As I type these words, the little gems are galloping around in the boiling broth on the stove. I'm still flummoxed at the absence of these (and purple-hull peas) Southern staples in this geographical area. MeeMaw reports that two of the older gents at the Farmer's Market were speculating about the soil not being hospitable to these two particular legumes. I don't know. What I do know is that come spring, Lord willing and I get my raised beds built, I'm going to plant some (we already bought heirloom seeds from a Christian family who sells them). Maybe someday, there will be a conversation in this area between an old man and his grandson:

"Grandpa, how come there are so many black-eyed pea plants around here?"

"Well, Timmy, a bellicose old cob named Orr brought 'em here back in ought eight, and they just sort of took over. We think of 'em as the kudzu of the food world."

"They do taste good, though, Grandpa."

"They sure do, Timmy. They sure do."

We're having a 100% vegetable supper (or "pulse," as the old King Jimmy renders it), including fried okra. I got a good window shot of MeeMaw doing the prep work.




We took a nice long nap this afternoon, and just before I awoke, I was dreaming of kendo. I can't really remember anything about the dream except that I was getting some good hits on my opponent. There are some pretty good videos floating around out there, including this one of a shiai (match) with some great slo-mo footage. It's also nifty to see someone using the ni-to-ryu (two-sword school) in a match. I've only seen a couple of kendoka pull this off, and they were both well advanced in years. It's not something one can just decide to do; it's very rigorous and risky. But if done right, it's gorgeous to watch. The famous samurai Miyamoto Mushashi, who wrote Go Rin No Sho (Book of Five Rings) was the first proponent of ni-to-ryu. He developed it after seeing a French fencer use a sabre and a rapier simultaneously.

I also found a good video of a keiko (formal practice session) between some senior black belts and a 9th degree black belt (he's the elderly gent in the white keikogi). His subtlety and economy of movement are very pleasant to watch.

And finally, here's a video of some kendo kata (forms). Even though the art itself is archaic and impractical (at least until we begin wearing swords in public again), kendo is one of the most valuable martial arts I ever studied, because it teaches the absolutely crucial concept of maai (pronounced muh-EYE), or distance. When one can learn to properly judge the distance between himself and his opponent, especially at high speeds, one has a considerable advantage.

While MeeMaw was completing supper preparations, I went for a walk up in the woodlot. Here I am, banging and crashing along, because it's daylight and I don't even think about things like deer. At least not until I strolled around the big rock pile (you remember, Josh..the one where the injuns buried Daniel Boone's son?) and this gargantuan four-point buck jumped up from his resting place in the grass and glared at me. My lungs regained their primary function, my heart started beating again, I fumbled for the camera in my pocket, the buck snorted, and I heard crashing off to the north (in the area of Five Pines, I believe). It was clear that he was warning his doe(s) of the bearded intruder. Then he turned and cleared the fence in one fluid and arrogant bound. He disappeared into the corn 200 yard away within about two seconds. I stood, camera at the ready, for a long time, watching the corn to see if old Buck might peek out at me. Never happened.

I did find a newly-dug double den up near the high eastern property corner (near where I plan to install our bee hive next spring, d.v.). The discarded earth was very fresh. It's officially a DDUO: Double Den of Unknown Occupancy.



I also noted that Mr. D put up a new corner brace assembly on the fenceline where the bull had broken it down last month (and all the cows decided to take a two-day tour of Possum Cough). Lots of deer sign up there, too. MeeMaw and I have to get up by 0530 tomorrow, so we'll probably take a quick walk up by the south pasture to see if we can see any deer among the apple trees. The moon will be high and half-full, so we'll have to step lightly.


Today's Sunday School class was one of the best ever. There are at least three of us in the class who are dealing with very difficult eldercare issues right now, and the class members have become very close-knit and transparent to one another. I would venture to say that our little group (nine of us) is one of the most intimate groups in the congregation. We have one more Sunday together, and then I start teaching the new series the first Sunday in September. This Friday, we've been invited to a supper of appreciation for the SS teachers and their spouses.

Rest well, loved ones. MeeMaw and PeePaw love y'all.

7:11 pm

After MeeMaw got home from work this afternoon, she ate a quick snack and then we headed north to parts heretofore undiscovered. Our destination was a small town called Clintwood, where my friend Mr. Y lives.

Mr. Y is a patient at our clinic, and I have become very fond of him in the eleven months I have known him. His wife and at least one adult child accompanies him for every appointment (Mrs. Y is, in fact, a patient, too). The family, a warm and engaging pack of Christians, are some of the nicest people I've met in a long season. But Mr. Y himself is the standout.

He's in his eighties, painfully frail and thin. He walks with a considerable stoop, using an aluminum walker to ambulate. He wears jeans and snap-button shirts, and when he leaves the house, a baseball cap is perched on his almost-hairless head. The most impressive thing about Mr. Y is his understated acceptance of the very severe physical trials through which he has been passing for some years now. I work around women who act as if their lives are ending if they have a headache or a hangnail or a sore toe. Mr. Y endures constant pain, nausea, fatigue, dizziness, along with the regular ravages of age...and all without complaint. If asked how he's doing, he'll smile and whisper, "Oh, 'bout the same as always." His little arms are perpetually bruised from all the shots and infusions and transfusions he has to have, and his voice is paper-thin and weak. But he always manages to be cheerful, to speak a word of grace to others.



Some months ago, not long after I had made his acquaintance, Mr. Y was in the clinic for a checkup. As he was piloting his walker past me on his way out, he stopped, patted me on the shoulder, and peered deep into my eyes. "I sure do think a lot of you," he said in that low voice.

I know the generation that produced Mr. Y, and I am very aware that to men of that generation, a phrase like "I sure do think a lot of you" is very close to "I love you." It got my attention. So I told him that I wanted to come and see him sometime at his home. He said, "You come on." I mentioned this to his sweet-natured daughter, Teresa, who told me, "Oh, he'd love it if you came to see him." So today, after many delays and rain checks, we headed up to see him.

It took us an hour and a half to drive the almost 70 miles to his house (Mr. Y himself gave me directions on the phone yesterday afternoon). We noticed the coal mining operations in the nearby country, and when we pulled into the driveway of Mr. Y's little house, we saw a pile of coal in a shed adjacent to the garage. It looked shaggy and ancient, a relic of the once-wealthy hills. Mr. Y came out onto the porch and waved. "Are y'all lost?" he joked. It was the first time I'd ever seen him hatless.

Once in the house, I introduced MeeMaw all around, and got hugs from both Mr. and Mrs. Y. Daughter Teresa was there, along with her husband Gary and their children. "We just got up from the table; y'all want something to eat?" asked Mrs. Y. We declined, but for the next hour, we feasted on good conversation. We got to see photos of the Y's 60th anniversary (five years past), and also a very interesting photo of a swarm of bees on an oak tree. The photo had been taken in a church cemetery. Then the conversation got really riveting. Seems that Mr. Y has quite a bit of experience with beekeeping, including harvesting swarms for his own hives. He's very knowledgeable, and is a bracing storyteller, so I picked his brain a bit about the apiary art. I mentioned that we have tulip poplars on our land and were hoping to get honey from them when/if I install a hive this spring. Mr. Y said, "The tulip poplar honey is give out [reputed] to be the most nutritious of all honeys. Lots more vitamins and, what do you call 'em? Minerals? Than other honeys."

After an hour of visiting, we decided to head on back to Possum Cough. Mr. Y hugged MeeMaw's neck, beaming up at her as he embraced her. He called her by name and asked us to come back and see him again.

To return home, we took a different route, recommended by son-in-law Gary. The route was winding and beautiful. It took about an hour, and was actually about 20 miles shorter than the route we took going up there. On the way, we were in the middle of a dense kudzu jungle when we spotted a pair of old abandoned foot bridges. We stopped and took photos of the bridge and the stream bed, as you can see here.





When we got home, MeeMaw was starving (I had promised to take her somewhere to eat, but the new route home didn't include a restaurant, so I owe her...and don't think she'll allow me to forget it, either), so we made slaw dogs and wolfed them down. We also made plans for the things she bought early this morning at the farmer's market. She got some good-lookin' okra and tomatoes, and the big find was some black-eyed peas! So common in Texas, these things are harder to find in this area than Bigfoot. So we'll be shelling them tonight. I can already taste them, along with a pan of cornbread and some sweet tea. MeeMaw also got me a jar of homemade orange marmalade. But not just any marmalade. This stuff won the blue ribbon at the Greene County Fair, and it was the last jar the little lady selling it had on hand. So tomorrow morning, there will be hot buttered toast and something orange and piquant to spread on it.


I almost forgot. When we left Mr. Y's house, he hobbled out onto the porch and watched us until we were out of sight. His little arm never stopped waving the entire time.

11:45 am

We had a visitor - a sizeable praying mantis who was relaxing on the side of the heat pump outside. You can see from comparing him to my hand how stout he was.

This morning, I was climbing around in the woodlot and was struck by how pretty the sun looked as it filtered through the wild grape vines festooning some of the trees.

Some of the deer have been bedding down at night up at Five Pines, my favorite vantage point in all of Possum Cough. Here's the sleeping house as seen from there this morning.

In the high south pasture, the mountains are underlined by the field of corn Mr. D. planted there. Note the large pokeweed in the foreground. I was saying last night how it makes my heart ache to realize how many things Mother will never again do in this life. Fixing me a mess of poke salet is one of those things. Thanks be to God for clear memories.

Our apple tree is heavy with fruit (and don't the deer know it!). They're ripening up real good (Grammar Police, your services are not required here).

Here's one of the apples I picked this morning. If I could convince MeeMaw to fry some up, I'd rest better. I always rest better when I know what the day's meals will be.

6:20 am

Two splendid (and massive) deer up in the south pasture this morning, no doubt munching on windfall apples. MeeMaw was about to wash her hair, and I told her, "I'm going to ease on up to the pasture to see if there are any deer." I crept up to the fence line, and sure enough, there they were. The wind must have been right, because it didn't take any time at all until one of them snorted; they broke and ran for the woodlot, and it was a fine thing to watch them streak for cover, illuminated by the high half-moon.



I see that Joe Biden is to be Barack Hussein Obama's running mate. Hardly earth-shattering news, but the mainstream media (MSM) tried very hard to turn the announcement into some sort of momentous vigil, like the naming of a new pope or the unveiling of a new soft drink. What was it that The Who sang? "Meet the new boss...same as the old boss..."?



MeeMaw has to work today. I'll be finishing up my Sunday School lesson (next week will conclude this semester, and then I'll be teaching on An Overview of the Gospels) and puttering around the house. This afternoon, after MeeMaw gets home and rests for a bit, we're heading up into Clintwood, Virginia to visit one of my elderly patients. He's a dear man and a precious brother in Christ. More on him tonight.



We haven't had any rain for quite some time, so we finally had to break out the garden hose last night and hook it up to the well pump. We gave everything a good drink, so the flora at Possum Cough should look pretty perky today. It was nice to see the crape myrtle tree that we planted finally blooming - a deep, red-velvet-cake color. I also walked down the driveway and watered our rogue pumpkin plant. It's all about husbanding one's resources, you see.



Before I start working on my lesson, Purrl wanted to make sure everyone starts the day with a big smile:

We love all of y'all...

8:43 pm

Hello from Meemaw! I thought it was about time I took a shot at this and I'm even going to include a couple of pictures that I took today.

I enjoyed my day off very much here at Possum Cough. It was quiet and still all day and as often happens, I had the house completely quiet while I went about my day. I get so much more done when I don't have music or background noise going on but I do slow down every time I pass a window to see what might be outside. I think I expect to see a bear waving at me or a groundhog dancing. See, there was this huge groundhog that we passed on the way home from work when Peepaw and I carpool. He was sort of hidden just inside of a drive coming out of Gate City and Peepaw always saw him and I didn't. So I craned my head around every day to see if he was standing there and in my mind's eye, he was standing up on hind legs and dancing. Sadly, we think we saw him laying dead in the road some days later. No more dancing for that little guy.

I think about all of you every day and pray for your safety and health. For Jason, Karen, and baby girls, I know y'all might be having some nasty weather. As long as it's not too severe, I'm sure you are enjoying the rain. Maybe Texas will get a taste of it and give relief to Joshua and Mollie as you travel this weekend.

I'll close with a picture I took this afternoon of the 21 cows resting under the pine tree. We miss them when they aren't there every day. The white one is Flossie and the little calf with a white face is her baby, Flower.

I love you all.

6:53 am

The things you see when you don't have a camera...



I was up in the south pasture this morning before first light. As I turned to descend to the front yard, I heard a snort. Several deer had been standing under our apple tree (probably munching on windfalls) and I hadn't even seen them. They streaked across the fence line, silhouetted against the rose of the sky, and - like Jody's deer in The Yearling - were gone forever. I don't believe I will ever lose the sense of wonder that I feel when I see a deer out in the open.

The situation with Mother continues to be a mess. We need so much wisdom, so much patience, so much grace. I feel unequal to the task, and am fighting discouragement. Please pray for all of us, loved ones.

As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So pants my soul for You, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God...

~Psalm 42:1-2

9:00 pm

The night is dropping down now, and both MeeMaw and I are exhausted. This was a day of talking to social workers and nursing home people, and also a day of receiving vicious, venomous emails from the sister with whom I have dealt very gently thus far. I am spent, and need some rest.

But I am encouraged after reading a typically rousing article (transcribed from a sermon) by the great Welsh preacher Geoff Thomas. The link to the article is here. I'll include a small section below to whet y'all's appetite.

Rest well and may our good Father bless you all the day tomorrow.

[Excerpt from Geoff Thomas' article]

I was reading this week from a book which I enjoy very much. It was written by a Dutchman, J. Fraanje in a place called Barneveld in 1936 but it was translated about thirty years ago. He was writing about his pastoral visits and he said,

I was visiting a man on his death bed. He was 75 years old. It was very evident that death was approaching and he realized it too. In his fading voice he said to the family gathered around his bed, 'Don’t wait until you become old. O, don’t delay because it will fare poorly with you. When I was a boy nearly twenty years old my soul was exercised in heavy convictions of guilt. I remember the places in church very well where I silently wept about my lost condition. I often sought out solitary places to pray. But I overruled my conscience and wouldn’t listen to its warnings. Now I lay here, an old man, without hope for eternity and I know where I shall go. O, people, don’t trample over the warnings of your conscience.' That is the admonition this old man gave in broken and hesitant speech with long intervals between words just before he passed away.
(J. Fraanje, Striving Together in the Divine Truths of Scripture, USA, 1979, pp.206-7.)

Do you understand? If God is giving you a yearning, a desire to trust in Christ, then do not be casual about it! Do not harden your heart. Such a desire for God is not something that naturally waxes and wanes. It is a supernatural mark of God’s favour to you. It is the prompting of the Holy Ghost. You cannot guarantee it will come again or last for ever. Today, when you hear his voice, do not harden your heart!

Where then are these 'bombs' I’ve spoken about, these ten 'cannots'? May they come to my assistance now! First our text:

1. Luke 6:43-45 'No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit. Each tree is recognised by its own fruit. People do not pick figs from thorn-bushes, or grapes from briers. The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks.' When Matthew records these words he phrases it like this: 'A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit' (Matt. 7:18). What have you produced all your life? What’s come out of your lips? Doubts . . . questions . . . unbelief . . .procrastination. Bad fruit. What reason do we have for believing that it will be any different in fifty years’ time when you’re lying on your death bed . . . or that may be in fifty days?
   
   
2. John 3:3,5: 'Unless a man is born from above, he cannot see the kingdom of God . . . unless a man is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.' You are utterly incapable of seeing the kingdom of God without the new birth.
   
   
3. John 6:44, 65: 'No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him . . . no one can come to me unless the Father has enabled him.' You cannot even take the first step towards Christ without God drawing you.
   
   
4. John 14:17: 'The world cannot accept [the Spirit of truth], because it neither sees him nor knows him.' You talk of receiving the life-giving Spirit into your life one day, but you cannot do that because you do not see him or know him.
   
   
5. John 15:4-5: 'No [branch] can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. I am the vine . . . apart from me you can do nothing.'” Nothing means nothing and you have nothing to offer to God because you have been out of the vine and without Christ all your life.
   
   
6. Romans 8:7-8: 'The sinful mind . . . does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so. Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God.”
   
   
7. 1 Corinthians 2:14: 'The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned.' So there are two devastating words from Christ’s apostle, that you cannot please God and you cannot understand his gospel. You are totally lacking in ability to do this
   
   
8. 1 Corinthians 12:3: 'No one can say, "Jesus is Lord" except by the Holy Spirit.' You can mouth those words, like you sing the great hymns of ardour and love for the Lord, but to say them from your heart and to God’s glory you need the Spirit.
   
   
9. James 3:8: 'No man can tame the tongue.' It is making excuses for unbelief now and will go on making excuses and you cannot tame it. What a plight to be in!
   
   
10. Revelation 14:3: 'No one could learn the song except [those] who had been redeemed from the earth.' Grace must teach you to sing the song of the redeemed before you reach heaven.

What are we left with after those ten bombs have destroyed our pride? We are left with the indispensable necessity of efficacious grace, something that comes into us from outside us, from heaven, and it changes our hearts and natures, and makes everything new. Even the most elementary demands of the gospel, of coming to Christ or saying that Jesus is Lord, we are incapable of doing without redeeming grace. It is a moral impossibility; it is a spiritual impossibility; it is a religious impossibility apart from the work of God in our lives. Is there in all the Bible any other so rudimentary and radical indictment that can be brought against human nature? How foolish is the evangelist who says that God can do nothing until man first does something. Those ten 'cannots' blow such fancies to the four winds.

We are so set against God that when the offer of the gospel is presented to us we don’t receive it, not because in a natural sense we cannot receive it but because the motives that operate in us are hostile to God. When Jesus says, 'Come unto me,' we remain rooted to our sin. Why is that? Is there a better god than Jesus? Are we better than him?

As we judge the matter, coming to a God like the one presented in the Bible is the very thing natural unconverted men don’t want to do. That God is a sovereign God; if we come to him, we must acknowledge his sovereignty over our lives. We don’t want to do that. Coming to a God like the one presented in the Bible means coming to one who is holy; if we come to a holy God, we must acknowledge his holiness and confess our sin. We don’t want to do that either. Again, if we come to God, we must admit his omniscience – that he knows every single thing about us, and we don’t want to do that. If we would come to God, we must acknowledge his immutability, because any God worthy of the name doesn’t change in any of his attributes. God is sovereign, and he will always be sovereign. God is holy, and he will always be holy. God is omniscient, and he will always be omniscient. That is the very God the natural man doesn’t want. So we won’t come. Indeed, we can’t come until God by grace does what can only properly be described as a miracle in our sinful lives.

Someone who does not hold to this teaching might protest, 'But surely the Bible teaches that anyone who will come to Christ may come to him? Jesus himself said that if we come he will not cast us out' The answer is that that, of course, is true. But that is not the point. Certainly, anyone who wills may come and it is that that makes our refusal to come so unreasonable and increases our guilt. Who wills to come? The answer is no one, except those in whom the Holy Spirit has already performed the entirely irresistible work of the new birth so that, as the result of this miracle, the spiritually blind eyes of the natural man are opened to see God's truth and the totally depraved mind of the sinner is renewed to embrace Jesus Christ as Saviour
(James Montgomery Boice, Foundations of the Christian Faith, IVP, 1986, pp. 214-5).

9:38 pm

One of the most important elements of my daily life here at Possum Cough is my time of morning prayer. Arising before the sun and walking up the hill to the pasture or the cemetery (or even standing on the back deck and lifting my hands to the Creator of all farms) has become a sweet ritual, one to which I look with great and eager anticipation.

On days like today, when fatigue causes me to sleep longer than usual, when I am so pressed for time that my prayers are rushed and mechanical, I can tell the difference. If I missed a meal or forgot to brush my teeth or neglected to dress in clean clothes, the effect would be no more dramatic than the missed appointment in the great throne room of grace.

So today, I felt in my soul's bones the want of spiritual intimacy, the vital presence that has come to be more precious to me than oxygen. Not only was I spiritually cold, I was spiritually unarmed. And unarmed is no way to be when one faces a day like today.

I met with a nursing home admissions director today at lunch. He generously allowed me to pick his brain for a long time, answered my questions, gave me good advice, and offered counsel if I need it in the future. But his words, his advice, his information...they were heavy, burdensome, worrisome, ominous. We have much work to do in order to help Mother, and time is of the essence, and there are many obstacles before us. Even with the firsthand knowledge of how faithful the Father is, I felt myself become overwhelmed this afternoon. I was low and dark, and my heart was sick within me.

When I left for work, the girls all said, "Goodnight, PeePaw. See you in the morning." I waved and said, "See y'all tomorrow."

When I got home, I cleaned up a few things, then sat down to study for my upcoming Sunday School class on the four gospels. I went pretty quickly into a little private place, lost in the words of scripture and commentators. And then there was a knock at the door. But the knock sounded funny. It was coming from the front door. I went to the door and opened it, and there were...five of the ladies from work. Lisa, Sally, Sandy, Jamie, and Holly. I stared at them for a long time, and then they all shouted, "Hi, PeePaw!"

Butternut hissed at them, naturally.

I finally invited them into the house and in they came, each carrying something in her arms. When all were inside, they went to the kitchen and placed an entire feast on the counters. Fried chicken, home-canned green beans, home grown creamed corn, yeast rolls, four kinds of fresh sliced fruit, brownies, coffee cake, and some sort of ambrosia-like dessert made of CoolWhip, oranges, pineapples, and coconut. They even brought styrofoam plates and plastic cutlery and napkins so we wouldn't have to do dishes.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because we love you. Because we wanted to."

I pressed for a better reason, but all I got was, "You're going through a bad time now. We love you and MeeMaw and didn't want you to have to worry about cooking, at least for a night or two."

God uses means to accomplish His methods, and the means He used in sending the girls to our home tonight have left us humbled, grateful, and full of love for Him Who has loved us before He brought us into being.

The girls wanted to get home to their own families (they drove a half-hour one-way just to come out and deliver the food), but they wanted a tour first. So we collectively toured the house, and then the yard, and most of the rest of us toured the south pasture while MeeMaw and Lisa sat in the house and visited. The girls picked ripe apples from our tree and declared them very tasty and fit for human consumption. Jamie asked if she can come back and pick some more for frying and for pies. I gave her our blessing, since we probably won't have the time to devote to a lot of apple picking in the coming days and weeks. Old Gus the Bassett hound came over and got lots of lovin' from the girls, too.

By 7:15, the girls were leaving, but we insisted on a photo. MeeMaw took one of us, and then I set the timer and got one of all of us together. Then each of the girls hugged both of us and told us that they loved us, and they drove away under the tulip poplars, waving back at us. We came inside and had a banquet.

We both feel refreshed. Blessed and refreshed. I started the day unarmed, and God ended it by encouraging and energizing me. Later, MeeMaw and I stood outside in the dark, staring up into the diamond-studded sky, and MeeMaw prayed that God would provide for our needs in the coming battle with my sister, the nursing home industry, and insurance companies. On such a night, how can we doubt that He will lead and provide? How can we ever doubt His faithfulness, seeing that He has never been anything but faithful?

And now MeeMaw is handing me a dish (one of the ones Mother gave us years ago) loaded with the ambrosia dessert and a slab of brownie. I must go and take victuals.

Oh, and by the way...MeeMaw was in on the whole thing. Conspiratorial women.

8:16 pm

On the drive home tonight (we carpool on Mondays and Tuesdays), MeeMaw and I replaced our usual conversation with yawns. When we arrived home, we yawned our way through cooking and eating (and watching the Jeopardy Teen Tournament Semi-Finals) and warshing dishes. Now, we're both sitting here in front of keyboards and monitors, and we're yawning some more. For some reason, the day just slap-dab wore us both out. So we'll be heading for slumber sooner rather than later.

Our dear neighbors Ernie and Helen are grieving a loss right now. Their hilarious, spooky cat named Puddy died, and the folks are taking it hard. Puddy had a very bad infestation of ear mites, to the point where he developed a nasty infection and some necrosis. Helen took him to the vet (the one you pass on your right when you're leaving Gate City and heading up into the mountains to Possum Cough) to have Puddy examined. They needed to do some extensive debriding, so they gave him general anesthesia. The poor little fellow never was able to wake up from the drugs, and so they lost him. Ernie said he will miss "fishing" with Puddy. He had a rubber fish on an old fishing pole, and when the afternoons would stretch out into quiet hours, Ernie would "cast" the fish from the front porch. Puddy would lose his little feline mind and chase the rubber fish as it bounced in the grass. Old Gus will certainly miss his little pal. Even though Puddy tormented the old dawg without mercy, I'm sure Gus would like to once again feel that little golden body clamoring over his large one. I can still hear Gus baying at Puddy when the cat would wrap himself up in one of Gus's pendulous ears and start a-gnawin'. Like Ernie said, "They're family. Plain and simple. Anyone who doesn't believe that, well, I feel sorry for 'em."

Mother was in low spirits again tonight. When I called, they had to wake her from a nap to give her the phone. She constantly admonishes me to take care of myself. "If something happens to you, I'll be all alone here, and I won't ever be able to get out of here." I try to comfort her as best I can. The other day, she broke my heart when she asked, "You reckon if something was to happen to you, if Susan would help me get out of here?" I assured her that MeeMaw would indeed do so, and I let her tell Mother this for herself. I believe it comforted her greatly.

At church yesterday, one of the elders (who is very elderly and somewhat frail himself) offered to accompany me to see Mother if I so desired. I think he wants to provide moral support. And one of the other elders made an incredible offer. This particular elder is a retired fireman, a station commander. He is still active in the firestation activities, and he said, in the middle of Sunday School class, "If you can get your mother transferred up here, when it comes time to go get her, if she can't travel by car and needs an ambulance, I can take care of that for you. We can have an ambulance for free. All we'd have to pay for is gas." It was very difficult for me to maintain my composure at that point. We are blessed beyond all telling.

Loving Lord, watch over us all as this day slips forever into history.

7:53 pm

The sun is below the cemetery horizon now, and the birds are finally beginning to settle down. Earlier this afternoon, we had quite the crowd at the bird bath. A half-dozen bluebirds, a couple of finches, and the odd Carolina wren or two were all vying for a prime spot in the water. We watched them for a while (Purrl did too, maddened in her screen door limitations) as they dived and gamboled and swooped. When one was ousted from the bath, he would fly up to perch on the roof of the yardbarn and watch for a while, and then zip back down to oust someone else from the party. They went at it hard, and when they were done, I had to replenish the water in the bath. There was perhaps a quarter inch left, and it was murky and feather-clogged. I wanted to get a photo while our avian friends were at it, but it wasn't practical to do so without spoiling their party. I did, however, manage a snapshot of this bird. Lovely plumage, the Texas Sadie:



Church today was a blessing, in the literal sense of that too-often-misused word. Our church family circled the wagons around us in our time of emotional upheaval and made many incredibly generous offers and gestures of support. I kept thinking, "We're a rough little bunch, but what a collection of servants." The Lord's Supper was particularly freighted with emotion and meaning for me today, and I can say that I feel strengthened. In fact, this has been one of those days in which my spiritual joy has been so keen and clear, and in which the sense of Christ's nearness has been so palpable, that I could easily be mistaken for a charismatic. I feel like shouting. Maybe dancing.

Well, not dancing. No need to incite riots.

We truly rested for much of the day. Got a lot of reading done, as well. Late in the afternoon, we took a windows-rolled-down-and-hair-a-flappin' jaunt to the Scott County park in the mountain gap we drive every day (we've seen the sign many times but never explored it). A lovely little park with a golf course and picnic tables, etc. They even have a horseshoe pit (something I plan to install here at Possum Cough in the future, d.v.). The view of the mountains from the top of the park is very special.

When we returned home, MeeMaw stretched out with The Yellow Peril and took about 40 winks. I managed to stay fully awake until almost 7 pm, a fact of which I am immensely proud at this moment.

And now, at this eventide, it is time to go and call a frail, frightened little woman who is waiting for her son and daughter-in-law to rescue her from strangers. Pray for her tonight, if you would.

7:48 am

This morning when I arose, I opened the front and back doors, put on the coffee, and stepped out onto the back deck to pray for a minute. I went back into the house, fixed my coffee, retrieved my Bible, and headed out back again. Butternut was sitting at the back door, watching something with great interest. I scooted her out of the way and pushed open the screen door (which answered with a satisfying screech) just as I heard a noise up in the woodlot. A large doe was in front of the blackberry bushes just on the other side of the fence, and when I startled her, she cleared the brush in one bound and disappeared up into the woods. Her tail was a tremendous white flag, about a foot tall, and was the last I saw of her.

Afterwards, I took a full watering can out and watered MeeMaw's Rose of Sharon bush at the south side of the house. Then I walked down to give a drink to what our neighbor Ernie calls our "garden."

Some of the people who owned this house before us made some sort of Thanksgiving/harvest display up front of the driveway, under the big pine tree. Apparently, they put a couple of bales of hay there, propped a scarecrow on them, and placed some pumpkins and shocks of Indian corn all around.

And now, years later, a squash plant and a stalk of corn have "come up volunteer," as mountain folks say. Ernie's right: it is our garden. It ain't much, but it's all we have this year.




Quote of the day:

"It is the weakness of small minds to strive after a clear-cut system in which there are no mysteries that refuse to be reduced to harmony."

~ J.C. Carlile, writing in his biography of C.H. Spurgeon

7:32 pm

Right now, MeeMaw is in the kitchen frying pork chops and mashing potatoes. We are taking advantage of the remarkable cool balminess of the evening by way of our front and back screen doors, and every window in the house being thrown open, save one. Butternut and Purrl are laboring under the delusion that the doors are open expressly for their pleasure; they are staked out (read: sprawled) at the front and back doors, respectively.

Speaking of the two cats, we had an incident the other night…an incident that gave me some much-needed and much-appreciated laughter. Seems that MeeMaw accidentally stepped on Purrl’s paw, causing the little white one to squall out in pain. MeeMaw went over and picked her up to comfort her, but Purrl was apparently still agitated from the paw-squashing. She yowled a couple of times as MeeMaw held her. Butternut approached from the six o’clock position, strolled calmly up to her mistress, and sank her three little fangs into MeeMaw’s calf. Then she sat back on her haunches and looked calmly up at MeeMaw, as if to say, “Why are you hurting my sissy?” MeeMaw was so surprised, all she could do was laugh. After I arose from the floor, I checked my beloved’s leg – no damage done. MeeMaw laughed, too. But she was looking at my nose as she did so, and her laughter was a bit more restrained than mine, for some reason.

I awoke before dawn today, rose and dressed as quietly as I could, and padded out to the kitchen for a sip of juice. I went out onto the back deck and listened to a solitary rooster down the hill; his was the only noise disturbing the pinking sky. Shoes on and stick in hand, I walked down the driveway and up to the cemetery. At the top of the knoll, I decided to check and see if the single strand of wire bordering the high pasture was electrified. I can report with authority that it is indeed fully juiced. I stood there thinking, “I could actually step over that low wire, and I could climb that hill, and perhaps see down the valley to our house. A new perspective for a photo.” About that time, a snort caused me to go very still. And that’s when an enormous bull stepped up out of a little dip in the pasture and stared at me. I was very grateful that he warned me before I fence-hopped and went traipsing up his hill. And I was reminded that God holds a high view of borders and boundaries.

After this near-miss, I came back and walked up in our south pasture, facing the Clinch mountains. This is what it looked like in the early morning light.

After MeeMaw cooked me a spectacular pancake & sausage breakfast, we decided to drive to Cumberland Gap, which is where VA, TN, and KY come together in a point. It’s also one of the places that was organized and set up by Daniel Boone. On the way there, we spotted some buffalo grazing in a pasture by the road. The Hob Nob awaits, my brown friends…

Quaint little town, Cumberland Gap. A nice downtown area with one of the best antique shops we’ve ever seen. The only low point was when MeeMaw discovered a salt and pepper set for HALF the price she paid for the identical set in Gate City.

We ate lunch at the same place we ate last time we were in Cumberland Gap: Webb’s Family Kitchen. We panicked for a moment, thinking the place had closed, but it turned out that the place had moved across the street into bigger digs. We got a booth right away and a glass each of tooth-shrieking sweet tea. We each got the vegetable plate (MeeMaw got pinto beans, green beans, mashed potatoes, corn bread, and a salad; I got pinto beans, turnip greens, corn bread, fried okra, and fried potatoes), and the whole meal was considerably cheaper than a meal for two from the wretched Golden Arches. And none of the waitresses called us “guys.”

We also finally achieved another long-pursued goal: we visited the Gate City Library and got a li-berry card. The librarian was a pleasant country woman who took the time to remind us that today is the anniversary of Elvis’s death. And here we were thinking it was Karen Elise’s birthday. Anyway, we selected a few volumes to check out, including Pollan’s sequel to his interesting The Omnivore’s Dilemma, and a few books on local farmers.

After we got home and rested (and were so pleased to hear from both Jason and Josh), we strolled up to the cemetery and enjoyed the breeze and the deepening shadows. I suppose some might say that it’s somewhat gauche to use a headstone as a tripod for a timed photo, but I did the best I could with what I had, and meant no disrespect.

We also talked quite a bit about how grateful we are for Jason and Josh, for Karen (and her years of life, celebrated today), for our beautiful, healthy grandbabies, and for Mollie and her important place in our family (and her upcoming birthday). More and more, we are deeply impressed with the value of family and the fragility and transience of this life. We love you all.

And now it’s time to wind down, prepare for the Lord’s Day, and be quiet. But first…

Pork chops!