by Kathy Brasby | May 6, 2013 | Stories
A cool night breeze floated into the room, giving the candle a little dance. The black summer sky flickered with stars while the glowing moon backfilled the window. Delicate notes from Josh Groban filled the air and we tipped sparkling glasses to each other. He looked deep into my eyes and spoke with a voice like silk, “I smell skunk.”
I did too, actually.
Candles (Photo credit: magnuscanis)
We gave each other an accusing look but moved on. I wondered if the candle had gone bad. He raced to the window to see what the dogs had drug up.
Often we enter marriage expecting a steady flow of candles and sparkling cider when sometimes what we get is skunk.
It’s not the mishaps that define us but the way we respond. In the skunk episode, I got the giggles.
In another absolutely unrelated episode, I was helping my mother move from her wheelchair to the front seat of the car. My job was to stabilize her as she stood and be sure she landed on the seat.
This day, we jigged when we should have leaned and Mom found herself lying across the seat, her back where her bottom should have been.
We looked into each other’s eyes and I could see a clear “Now what?” in hers. Another mishap. And I did it again.
I got the giggles. Both of us laughed until enough strength returned to boost her into the seat.
Once I thought that more than one mishap in a day meant the day was lost to morose self-pity. No more.
Now when things don’t go according to plan, I’m more likely to get the giggles first. I’m not sure that solves anything but it transforms a disappointment into a memory.
by Kathy Brasby | May 3, 2013 | Bible
One of the most common genres in the Bible is poetry. Poetry as an art form allows the writer to create meaning through repetition, comparison and substitution.
Poetry often conveys images, emotions and ideas better than prose.
Although poetry is scattered throughout the Bible, the most-read poems are probably found in Psalms. And perhaps the best-known is Psalm 23.
We won’t begin to plumb the depth of this psalm but let’s take a look at it to learn how meaning comes through form:
The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house
of the Lord forever. Psalm 23 (NIV)
In the first stanza, the psalmist is writing about the Lord. Notice the pronouns: I, he, my, me, his. There is some distance implied here. The psalmist is talking about the Lord’s work.
In the second and third stanza, the distance dissolves. Notice the pronounce now: I, you, me, your. Now we see more intimacy. The psalmist is talking to the Lord, not about him.
The opening stanza centers on pastoral imagery: shepherd, green pastures, quiet waters, paths.
At the center of the Psalm is this statement: “I will fear no evil for you are with me.”
That statement summarizes the meaning of the Psalm and also serves as a hinge. Where the first part of the psalm dealt with the sheep/meadow images, the last part moves to a hospitality imagery.
In the third stanza, the psalmist talks about a table, anointing with oil (an act of hospitality in that day), an overflowing cup which would be another act of hospitality.
And the psalm closes with the image of dwelling in the house of the Lord forever, hospitality at its ultimate: inviting someone to not only come for dinner but to move in permanently. A guest couldn’t ask for more.
The first stanza describes how the needs and wants of a sheep are provided. The last stanza describes how the needs and wants of a guest are provided.
Through form such as repetition, imagery, word choices, the psalmist’s meaning comes through: I’m well taken care of. The Lord protects me. The Lord protects and provides security that endures.
Form created vivid meaning.
We’ll continue next Friday.
by Kathy Brasby | May 1, 2013 | Stories
If you’ve followed my blog, you know that I consider stories central to uncovering meaning in our lives. I ran across this post about the science of storytelling which is fascinating.
Leo Widrich, the co- founder of Buffer, shares insights of marketing using stories.
Storytelling is powerful communication. Here’s more of Widrich’s article, The Science of Storytelling.
by Kathy Brasby | Apr 30, 2013 | Hope
I’ve been following Frank Viola’s books and blog for a little while now. He has a fresh outlook on the nature of the church and our relationship with God.
His new book, God’s Favorite Place on Earth, has just released. If you get the book between May 1st to May 7th, you will also receive 25 FREE books from over 15 different authors.
Click GodsFavoritePlace.com to ordering information and easy instructions on how to get your 25 free books.
Here are what a few people have to say about the book:
“In Frank Viola’s hands, the story of Lazarus—like Lazarus himself—once again comes to life. In a world where hope is battered and life can so easily beat down the human spirit, we are reminded once more of the possibility of becoming a host of Life.”
John Ortberg, pastor and author of Who Is This Man?
“God’s Favorite Place on Earth realigned my heart toward Jesus and His mysterious, confounding, surprising, beautiful ways. It’s not often I learn something new when reading a book, but Frank Viola’s sharp storytelling and insightful interpretation made me hunger for more of the real Jesus.”
Mary DeMuth, author of Everything: What You Give
“God’s Favorite Place on Earth is the kind of book I’ve discovered I need to periodically find and read. Frank Viola’s pen and voice are consistently both penetrating and trustworthy. Beyond his invitingly beautiful writing skill—which makes reading a joy and a sight-seeing tour that brings God’s Word into 3-D when he relates narrative passages, I’m grateful for the depth of his themes.”
Pastor Jack Hayford, Chancellor of The King’s University, Los Angeles
“This is a masterfully engaging book that distills the vision of the Christian life into one focused quest: To be God’s favorite place on earth today. I recommend this little volume to all Christians and Christian leaders.”
Mark Batterson, New York Times bestselling author of The Circle Maker
by Kathy Brasby | Apr 29, 2013 | Family, Stories
In my father’s last morning on this earth, I was privileged to sit alone with him for over an hour.
The night before, I realized that the family had come to tell Dad goodbye and assure him of their love. But Dad wasn’t able to speak at that point and I went to his bedside that last morning with one idea in mind: to speak what I thought he’d like to say to us.
I assured him that we knew he loved us. We knew he’d worked hard for us and that he had provided very well for our mother. I told him that we knew many practical things because of his teachings.
And then I launched into stories that I knew he’d remember.
“Remember our neighbors up north? Remember when they had a sick horse and called the vet but by the time he arrived, the horse had died. So the neighbor met the vet at the driveway. ‘The horse died. Do you want to see it?’ The vet shifted his pickup in reverse. ‘Naw, I’ve seen plenty of dead horses.'”
My dad loved a story and had told this one to the family many times.
I took his hand that morning and searched my memory for another story.
“Remember when you were tired of buying fly swatters for Mom? She was murder on those flies but the swatters splintered under her stern hand.” I swabbed some water in Dad’s mouth before going on. “You decided to cut a fly swatter from an inner tube and punched holes in it. That fly swatter could take on Flyzilla. The only problem was the black marks left on the walls when Mom went fly hunting.”
Once Dad would have snorted with laughter. Now he blinked and swished drops of water in his mouth.
“You’ll remember this one better than me,” I went on. “But I hear that when I was two, I could escape the fence around our yard and go exploring. When a guy doing groundwork with grader found me watching at the edge of his field, you decided to fortify that fence. I could shinny under the gate and I could climb up the wire fence. So you jammed railroad ties under the gate and put barbed wire at the top of the fence. It was that way until we moved. I was 13 by then, Dad!”
No chuckle. Once he would have leaned his head to the side and told me that he couldn’t be sure about me at 13, either. Not this time.
I gripped his hand like it might slip away at any moment. “You were always a little slow to talk about your World War II days, Dad. Being an orderly kept you away from the front lines. Maybe that was a failure to you but it was great to me because it meant you came home in one piece.”
No one drifted down the hallway past our room. Even the horse in the painting on the far wall seemed to hold its breath this morning.
“I remember the story you told about the young soldier who arrived in a body cast. The nurse insisted on pulling the bedsheets tight and clamped that young man’s feet flat to the bed. When he cried in pain, she called him a baby. But you came behind her and jerked the sheets off his feet. I still remember you bobbing your head as you said, ‘And he said “thank you” after I did that.'”
As Dad’s health had declined over the years, so had his ability to fix things. Whether inventing a better fly swatter or freeing a soldier’s painful feet, Dad responded to problems with a solution.
In his final years, Dad had not been able to solve what he had once easily fixed. He needed his children, whom he’d taught.
On that last morning, I wanted him to know that his gifts were remembered. And that his family, who had watched him for many years, could carry on what he had begun.