I’ve Been There Before
Major Betzann Carroll
Perhaps you have explored the Rocky Mountains or experienced the view of the great Niagara Falls. You may have watched the sunset over the dancing waves of the Caribbean Sea or climbed the stairs that ascend the Great Wall of China. Some people have gone as far as the corner store and climbed the three or four flights of stairs to a cold cramped apartment. Perhaps you have explored local neighborhoods and experienced the thrill of family reunions and church suppers. Our travels are as varied as our dreams and visions.
However, we have all walked through doors of rejection; climbed mountains of fear, stared at sunsets of doubt and confusion. We have experienced storms of disappointment. The value of our experiences depends on the way we honestly see them. If we can see Christ in the midst of the worse situation, we will find healing and love.
Weeks in advance we start to prepare for Thanksgiving at The Cambridge Salvation Army. With several large dinners to prepare and serve, numerous Thanksgiving food baskets for families to pack and deliver, and services to conduct, we continue our regular weekly programs. One of the dinners is a sit down family style dinner for moms, dads, siblings and children from “Our Place” a homeless center for children. It is a festive event. We decorate, serve and entertain the families. The room was filled with mouthwatering aromas, volunteers excited chatter, and, of course, moms, dads, and children everywhere.
As the turkey and trimmings were being cleared from the table and the squash pie was being loaded with whipped cream, I happened to see a birthday cake on the counter. I asked the cook what the cake was for. There were so many events happening at once I was afraid that I had forgotten someone. She explained earlier in the week one of the moms called and asked if she could serve a cake to surprise her child’s father. She brought in a small cake and the cook frosted it for her. For the mom to bake a cake would be next to impossible. She would first have to find a kitchen stocked with such things as cake pans, a mixer, and an oven. Shelters were equipped with only the basics. The cook said, “She has been calling all week to make sure everything was ready.”
“I will turn out the lights and then would you bring the cake out?” she asked. She was bubbling with excitement.
“Sure, I would be pleased to bring it out,” was my reply to what I thought was a simple request. I looked down at the little round cake covered with chocolate frosting. “Happy Birthday” was written with white chocolate chips and an eight inch lighted candle was stuck in the center. The cake was placed on a foil covered cardboard. It appeared that most of the other mothers were in on the secret, because when the lights went out, they began to sing.
First, the father said nothing. His silence started to make everyone uncomfortable. His face became red. Then he rose to his feet as if he were ready to explode.
He slammed his chair against the wall. Before we had time to even respond he ran out the door. The mother burst into tears, pulling her child out of the highchair, and she too was out the door. The day care director followed them. There I stood with the little cake, as the 8” candle provided a pool of red wax for the white chocolate chips to swim in. Everyone’s face displayed his or her disappointment. At first they, as I, were trying to make sense of this situation. They felt the hurt the young mother experienced and more. It was as if they identified with her. They seemed to know the pain she was feeling. They were left wondering why the loving gesture she had attempted to provide was rejected. And then I heard the piercing words come from the front of the room.
“I have been there before!”
I felt helpless! I had been there before as well! I had stood in the place where what was meant as a kind and loving act was rejected. I looked again around the room as the lights were turned on. For a few minutes the room seemed to be in slow motion. Then gradually the chatter of the children broke the silence. The volunteers passed out the desserts. Soon there was whipped cream everywhere and the dinner continued, but without any birthday celebration. The cake found its way back on the counter in the kitchen.
Perhaps you have been there! Not the Rocky Mountains or the great Niagara Falls, but a place most uncomfortable. The place where your dreams were shattered, your confidence betrayed, your love spurned. It is in those places that Jesus asks us to draw close to him. Walking through the storms of disappointment and rejection we can find a shelter in His comfort and love. It is in the very lonely places of our life that Jesus wants to be. He promises to take us up when we are abandoned, to walk with us when we are alone. We can choose to allow Jesus to heal our wounds and be our source or we can remain broken and abandoned. We can be thankful for his presence while we mourn the hurt or loss. We can choose Christ.
Have you been there before? Look to a new beginning. Find a way to be surrounded by his love. Christ’s love allows us to say,
“I have been there…but I am not there anymore!”
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Call to Worship
I have been avoiding my mom's sketches skits and other dramatic presentations. I realized tonight that that is a mistake. I had been skipping them because while most of my mom's material fit the traditional format of most blogs these sketchs don't. But as i read this over i thought this isn't about 'you' the reader. It my tribute to my mom. and these sketchs are a significant part of her writing ministry.
Growing up i would often be handed on of these scrips fresh of the press on a thursday ocasionally even later. In some appointments it would be me and mom some times it would just be me. One Easter she came to me with a monologue from the perspective of Simon of Cyrene I was around 13 and that monologue became the sermon that easter morning mom got up after and gave the alter call and people came. So feel free to read the scripts use them in your services send me an update on how God worked through them. ~Steve JR~
Call to Worship
Major Betzann
(A Responsive Conversation - taking place between two friends in church)
Reader #1 Hey, I am not sure what they mean by “call to worship.” I know the leader in the front is asking us to be quiet.
Reader #2 Yes, we can’t talk anymore. We have to listen now and ask questions later!
#1 But, I don’t know what he means by “call to worship.” You invited me to come, so can you tell me? What are they calling us to do now?
#2 Be quiet, that’s what.
#1 No, I am serious. Why do they want us to listen?
#2 They say that if you listen, I mean zero in on what is being said, then you are able to get the point of the service now and later.
#1 What is the point?
#2 The point is…the point is…what you need to listen to!
#1 Okay, if now is right now, then when is the later?
#2 That’s why they want you to listen, to get the point. Get the point now and later. I guess the point is when you listen to God…or somehow you listen to the people speaking up in front and you hear God, you get the idea of what the service is about. You get a sort of preview. It helps now. And later is, this afternoon guess.
#1 Preview! A preview like at the movies. A preview, okay it is like an introduction.
#2 Right, I guess?
#1 So, why call us? We are here. Why say, “Call to Worship”?
#2 Because some folks, like you, need help to get zeroed in. So you are called to worship like you are called to dinner. You eat when you are called to dinner, so you worship when you are called to worship. Get it?
#1 How do I get zeroed in? I am hearing the call. Now what?
#2 Let God have your mind. Let Him be your focus. Don’t let anything around you be distracting. And certainly don’t let anyone around you be distracting. Just listen to Him.
#1 I am listening. I am quiet. And, I am not quiet too often!
#2 You’re telling me!
#1 God, are you there? God, do you hear me? Do you actually want to talk to me, help me, and teach me? I know, as I am quiet, my “rushy” spirit, “got-to-go” attitude is settling down. I am here for a while and I am trying to listen.
#2 What are you doing now?
#1 Quiet, I am listening. I am trying to listen.
#2 Listening to what?
#1 I am trying to listen to God. Why don’t you listen and focus in? God will talk to you! He will be there for you.
#2 So, you’re listening?
#1 God is good and His mercies endure forever. He is mighty! Yes, listening!
#2 Wow! I better listen.
Together Come, let us worship and bow down.
Let us give praise to God our maker.
For He is our God
For He is our God!
Growing up i would often be handed on of these scrips fresh of the press on a thursday ocasionally even later. In some appointments it would be me and mom some times it would just be me. One Easter she came to me with a monologue from the perspective of Simon of Cyrene I was around 13 and that monologue became the sermon that easter morning mom got up after and gave the alter call and people came. So feel free to read the scripts use them in your services send me an update on how God worked through them. ~Steve JR~
Call to Worship
Major Betzann
(A Responsive Conversation - taking place between two friends in church)
Reader #1 Hey, I am not sure what they mean by “call to worship.” I know the leader in the front is asking us to be quiet.
Reader #2 Yes, we can’t talk anymore. We have to listen now and ask questions later!
#1 But, I don’t know what he means by “call to worship.” You invited me to come, so can you tell me? What are they calling us to do now?
#2 Be quiet, that’s what.
#1 No, I am serious. Why do they want us to listen?
#2 They say that if you listen, I mean zero in on what is being said, then you are able to get the point of the service now and later.
#1 What is the point?
#2 The point is…the point is…what you need to listen to!
#1 Okay, if now is right now, then when is the later?
#2 That’s why they want you to listen, to get the point. Get the point now and later. I guess the point is when you listen to God…or somehow you listen to the people speaking up in front and you hear God, you get the idea of what the service is about. You get a sort of preview. It helps now. And later is, this afternoon guess.
#1 Preview! A preview like at the movies. A preview, okay it is like an introduction.
#2 Right, I guess?
#1 So, why call us? We are here. Why say, “Call to Worship”?
#2 Because some folks, like you, need help to get zeroed in. So you are called to worship like you are called to dinner. You eat when you are called to dinner, so you worship when you are called to worship. Get it?
#1 How do I get zeroed in? I am hearing the call. Now what?
#2 Let God have your mind. Let Him be your focus. Don’t let anything around you be distracting. And certainly don’t let anyone around you be distracting. Just listen to Him.
#1 I am listening. I am quiet. And, I am not quiet too often!
#2 You’re telling me!
#1 God, are you there? God, do you hear me? Do you actually want to talk to me, help me, and teach me? I know, as I am quiet, my “rushy” spirit, “got-to-go” attitude is settling down. I am here for a while and I am trying to listen.
#2 What are you doing now?
#1 Quiet, I am listening. I am trying to listen.
#2 Listening to what?
#1 I am trying to listen to God. Why don’t you listen and focus in? God will talk to you! He will be there for you.
#2 So, you’re listening?
#1 God is good and His mercies endure forever. He is mighty! Yes, listening!
#2 Wow! I better listen.
Together Come, let us worship and bow down.
Let us give praise to God our maker.
For He is our God
For He is our God!
Labels:
betzann carroll,
christian,
christianity,
drama,
Jesus Christ,
Salvation Army,
shetch,
skit
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I Saw Her…
I Saw Her…
Major Betzann Carroll
I looked into a streaky mirror, which was stuck to a painfully purple wall. I was expecting to see myself…and I saw her!
She was still pushing the same few strands of damp hair out of her eyes. It was not a side-to-side glance, not a piercing face-to-face glare, or even a pathetic penetrating stare, but it was a look. I could have counted her lashes. I could have felt her breath. I could have traced the tracks made from her glasses constantly sliding up and down the slope of her nose from beads of perspiration, which gathered there. I could have counted her wrinkles if she had any. Actually, I was the one with the wrinkles, she would say. We used to laugh about them.
Whether the moment was created by too much medication or too little sleep, or whether it was a moment of a vivid imagination or a misguided memory, I am not sure. I just know that I saw her at a time when I needed her the most. Just like the sudden water God sends to fill the deep dry cracks of the deprived desert lands, so my parched heart reached out for refreshing from a memorized picture God had given to me for refreshing. Seeing her face at such a time was unexplainable.
Everything I was thinking, feeling, grieving, experiencing – she knew. I cannot explain the experience or can I pretend it did not happen. We touched. We never shook hands, kissed, embraced or even exchanged a pat on the back. I never soothed her knotted hands or brushed that strand of hair back, nor did she retrieve the tear, which escaped my eye in spite of my stubborn efforts to hold it back.
There in the middle of the mixed matched, mildewed bathroom area filled with institutional equipment and medical supplies, both used and unused, with sounds of dripping towels and leaky faucets, with the collections of smells of every sort, I saw her.
Maybe it was my prior conversation with the Lord, which was the reason for such a meeting. I was telling Him how I felt about things! I was asking Him why I found in her an extraordinary relationship, a treasure of genuine love in a world of imitations; and then had to lose her. How I longed for her. God knew my thoughts, just as He knows them today. He knew I needed a friend. And as I left my hospital room and entered the humid bathroom searching for…I found her.
What does it all mean? It never happened before and I don’t suppose it will happen again. I just know that at a very difficult time God came close to me, and as I looked into the darkly lit mirror it came alive, if only for a moment. It was a turning point for me. It was a reassurance that I was not alone, that everything was not what it seemed and that I would improve. It would be all right.
Major Betzann Carroll
I looked into a streaky mirror, which was stuck to a painfully purple wall. I was expecting to see myself…and I saw her!
She was still pushing the same few strands of damp hair out of her eyes. It was not a side-to-side glance, not a piercing face-to-face glare, or even a pathetic penetrating stare, but it was a look. I could have counted her lashes. I could have felt her breath. I could have traced the tracks made from her glasses constantly sliding up and down the slope of her nose from beads of perspiration, which gathered there. I could have counted her wrinkles if she had any. Actually, I was the one with the wrinkles, she would say. We used to laugh about them.
Whether the moment was created by too much medication or too little sleep, or whether it was a moment of a vivid imagination or a misguided memory, I am not sure. I just know that I saw her at a time when I needed her the most. Just like the sudden water God sends to fill the deep dry cracks of the deprived desert lands, so my parched heart reached out for refreshing from a memorized picture God had given to me for refreshing. Seeing her face at such a time was unexplainable.
Everything I was thinking, feeling, grieving, experiencing – she knew. I cannot explain the experience or can I pretend it did not happen. We touched. We never shook hands, kissed, embraced or even exchanged a pat on the back. I never soothed her knotted hands or brushed that strand of hair back, nor did she retrieve the tear, which escaped my eye in spite of my stubborn efforts to hold it back.
There in the middle of the mixed matched, mildewed bathroom area filled with institutional equipment and medical supplies, both used and unused, with sounds of dripping towels and leaky faucets, with the collections of smells of every sort, I saw her.
Maybe it was my prior conversation with the Lord, which was the reason for such a meeting. I was telling Him how I felt about things! I was asking Him why I found in her an extraordinary relationship, a treasure of genuine love in a world of imitations; and then had to lose her. How I longed for her. God knew my thoughts, just as He knows them today. He knew I needed a friend. And as I left my hospital room and entered the humid bathroom searching for…I found her.
What does it all mean? It never happened before and I don’t suppose it will happen again. I just know that at a very difficult time God came close to me, and as I looked into the darkly lit mirror it came alive, if only for a moment. It was a turning point for me. It was a reassurance that I was not alone, that everything was not what it seemed and that I would improve. It would be all right.
Not This Time!
Not This Time!
Major Betzann Carroll
I would often complain about the careless way the War Cry, a Salvation Army publication, was handled. After folks read it they would leave it here and there for someone else to pick-up. I would often complain,
But, not this time!
The War Cry cost money. It was poor stewardship to leave it lying around. I must admit I did not read each issue from cover to cover, but I would always find valuable reading within its pages. Why waste it, I would often complain,
But, not this time!
There are times in our life when going without the familiar helps us to realize its value. Our attitudes change. Such was my experience.
I was waiting for a bus or a “blue van” which it actually was, on the busy Daytona Beach Street. The hot sun was beating down and there was nothing cool about the breeze, which tossed litter from corner to corner. Often there was an afternoon thunderstorm, which would bring relief. Relief, which only lasted long enough to realize how very hot it, was. It was not the tropical paradise I had envisioned when I decided to leave New England and move to Daytona Beach. The dust filled the air and clung to whatever was moist enough to hold its residue.
While I waited, I realized that it could be a very long wait. Often the bus would pass without stopping. There was only seating capacity for eight at the most. I was thankful for the wooden bench provided to rest on. As I reached down to adjust my sandal so it would not rub against my blister, I noticed a pamphlet lodged between the sidewalk and the leg of the bench. It was the War Cry. Yes, who would have ever thought a War Cry would be stuck there. Since my time in Florida I had not seen a War Cry. Now, it was in my hands. I would have complained that the War Cry cost money and should not be left to blow in the breeze, but not this time! I said thank you.
I read every word and then searched for familiar faces. I had recently resigned my commission as a Lieutenant to marry. Somehow I confused affection for love and had decided to marry someone, the wrong one! He did not love Christ as he said. He had changed after I arrived. Now, with the reality of my situation, I knew I was really not in love. There would be no marriage. I was in danger of leaving all God had for me. God had not called me to the ministry and then changed His mind. I was empty, worn-out and alone. As I closed the War Cry, I looked at the back cover. Printed on a beautiful scene were the words of Albert Osborn’s song, From A Fount I Know.
“Wash from my hands, the dust of earthly striving.
Take from my mind the stress of secret fear.
Cleanse Thou the wounds, from all but Thee far hidden,
And when the waters come, let my healing appear.”
The bus finally came. The sun continued to beat. The breeze continued to push litter about. I was refreshed. I was washed. The words of the song had encouraged my heart. God had spoken to me through the War Cry. I took it with me. I had never realized how much I appreciated the written word, the War Cry,
But, I did that time!
Major Betzann Carroll
I would often complain about the careless way the War Cry, a Salvation Army publication, was handled. After folks read it they would leave it here and there for someone else to pick-up. I would often complain,
But, not this time!
The War Cry cost money. It was poor stewardship to leave it lying around. I must admit I did not read each issue from cover to cover, but I would always find valuable reading within its pages. Why waste it, I would often complain,
But, not this time!
There are times in our life when going without the familiar helps us to realize its value. Our attitudes change. Such was my experience.
I was waiting for a bus or a “blue van” which it actually was, on the busy Daytona Beach Street. The hot sun was beating down and there was nothing cool about the breeze, which tossed litter from corner to corner. Often there was an afternoon thunderstorm, which would bring relief. Relief, which only lasted long enough to realize how very hot it, was. It was not the tropical paradise I had envisioned when I decided to leave New England and move to Daytona Beach. The dust filled the air and clung to whatever was moist enough to hold its residue.
While I waited, I realized that it could be a very long wait. Often the bus would pass without stopping. There was only seating capacity for eight at the most. I was thankful for the wooden bench provided to rest on. As I reached down to adjust my sandal so it would not rub against my blister, I noticed a pamphlet lodged between the sidewalk and the leg of the bench. It was the War Cry. Yes, who would have ever thought a War Cry would be stuck there. Since my time in Florida I had not seen a War Cry. Now, it was in my hands. I would have complained that the War Cry cost money and should not be left to blow in the breeze, but not this time! I said thank you.
I read every word and then searched for familiar faces. I had recently resigned my commission as a Lieutenant to marry. Somehow I confused affection for love and had decided to marry someone, the wrong one! He did not love Christ as he said. He had changed after I arrived. Now, with the reality of my situation, I knew I was really not in love. There would be no marriage. I was in danger of leaving all God had for me. God had not called me to the ministry and then changed His mind. I was empty, worn-out and alone. As I closed the War Cry, I looked at the back cover. Printed on a beautiful scene were the words of Albert Osborn’s song, From A Fount I Know.
“Wash from my hands, the dust of earthly striving.
Take from my mind the stress of secret fear.
Cleanse Thou the wounds, from all but Thee far hidden,
And when the waters come, let my healing appear.”
The bus finally came. The sun continued to beat. The breeze continued to push litter about. I was refreshed. I was washed. The words of the song had encouraged my heart. God had spoken to me through the War Cry. I took it with me. I had never realized how much I appreciated the written word, the War Cry,
But, I did that time!
Labels:
betzann carroll,
christian,
christianity,
Salvation Army,
War Cry
Monday, April 27, 2009
I Remember …When!
I Remember …When!
December 14, 1996
Major Betzann Carroll
I am never quite sure what prompts a memory. Perhaps we remember because of the season, or because of our age. Perhaps we are drenched by a flood of memories because of a sensitive moment, which opens our eyes to the bridge between the present and the past.
As we prepared for the first “Doll Tea and Teddy Bear Parade” many individuals visited us. For the first time in Arlington, The Salvation Army had bought and distributed to interested persons, dolls and teddy bears to be dressed for needy children. It was an excellent way to share Christmas joy as we entrusted volunteers to be creative. How exciting to watch the dolls and teddy bears returned, arrayed in a kaleidoscope of color. Who could have imagined how “special” each entry would look? Residents of Arlington would look them over before they made their way to new homes, beneath many, many Christmas trees.
As one woman entered, she hesitantly handed me her dolls. She said they had kept her company and she would miss them. They were neatly packed in a brown box and covered with tissue paper and string. Most of the dolls had been numbered and tagged by Marion or Chris, but this time I lifted the dolls gently out of the box. When I uncovered the doll with the red dress, my eyes filled with tears and I remembered…
My mind went back almost forty years. I remembered a young six year old girl who also removed the tissue and string from a bundle packed neatly in a brown box.
She started school that year. She was the apple of her daddy’s eye and the baby of the family. September quickly turned to October and her father passed away. Her mother and family were overtaken by grief. Whether or not she understood the reality of the situation, she knew the pain of separation. October turned to November and December. She and her mother moved from the home they lived in, to an apartment in the housing project. It was not the home she was used to, but it was a clean two bedroom apartment. This is where she would celebrate Christmas, or would she? All of her older siblings were married or on their own. Her mother never seemed herself anymore. Learning how to care for a coal furnace, balance a checkbook, and keep up with life, took all the strength she had. Christmas was not her first concern. Her mother was not able to celebrate Christmas.
The six year old dreamed of another life, sometimes pretending she even belonged to another family with a mother and father. Two days before Christmas she heard a knock at the door. Her mother was not home from work and she was not permitted to open the door to strangers. But no one ever said she could not peak out the window. There on the front steps was a package. When the coast was clear, she ran out to get the box. She couldn’t wait for her mother to return so she could open the box. It just had to be for her. Finally, her mother came home. “It’s for you,” Mom said. “I don’t know where it came from, but it’s for you.
You might as well open it.” She opened the box with some struggling and gently pulled out a bundle of tissue and string. Minutes later she was holding the most beautiful doll wearing an exquisite red dress. Her mother was moved to tears as she held both her daughter and the doll tightly in her arms.
I remember this scene so well, because the little girl was “me.” I never found out who gave me that doll or how anyone knew my mother and I were needy. But, I remember when … God provided.
I placed the doll with the red dress on the shelf with the rest of the dolls. I thanked the woman for the time and effort represented in the dolls she returned. And I thanked God for the doll with the red dress that someone dressed for me so many years ago. Memories do help to bridge the present with the past. The time and energy spent in making a doll or teddy will have lasting affects. As time repeats itself over and over, there will be many little girls and boys who will remember when … someone cared and God provided.
Thank you!
December 14, 1996
Major Betzann Carroll
I am never quite sure what prompts a memory. Perhaps we remember because of the season, or because of our age. Perhaps we are drenched by a flood of memories because of a sensitive moment, which opens our eyes to the bridge between the present and the past.
As we prepared for the first “Doll Tea and Teddy Bear Parade” many individuals visited us. For the first time in Arlington, The Salvation Army had bought and distributed to interested persons, dolls and teddy bears to be dressed for needy children. It was an excellent way to share Christmas joy as we entrusted volunteers to be creative. How exciting to watch the dolls and teddy bears returned, arrayed in a kaleidoscope of color. Who could have imagined how “special” each entry would look? Residents of Arlington would look them over before they made their way to new homes, beneath many, many Christmas trees.
As one woman entered, she hesitantly handed me her dolls. She said they had kept her company and she would miss them. They were neatly packed in a brown box and covered with tissue paper and string. Most of the dolls had been numbered and tagged by Marion or Chris, but this time I lifted the dolls gently out of the box. When I uncovered the doll with the red dress, my eyes filled with tears and I remembered…
My mind went back almost forty years. I remembered a young six year old girl who also removed the tissue and string from a bundle packed neatly in a brown box.
She started school that year. She was the apple of her daddy’s eye and the baby of the family. September quickly turned to October and her father passed away. Her mother and family were overtaken by grief. Whether or not she understood the reality of the situation, she knew the pain of separation. October turned to November and December. She and her mother moved from the home they lived in, to an apartment in the housing project. It was not the home she was used to, but it was a clean two bedroom apartment. This is where she would celebrate Christmas, or would she? All of her older siblings were married or on their own. Her mother never seemed herself anymore. Learning how to care for a coal furnace, balance a checkbook, and keep up with life, took all the strength she had. Christmas was not her first concern. Her mother was not able to celebrate Christmas.
The six year old dreamed of another life, sometimes pretending she even belonged to another family with a mother and father. Two days before Christmas she heard a knock at the door. Her mother was not home from work and she was not permitted to open the door to strangers. But no one ever said she could not peak out the window. There on the front steps was a package. When the coast was clear, she ran out to get the box. She couldn’t wait for her mother to return so she could open the box. It just had to be for her. Finally, her mother came home. “It’s for you,” Mom said. “I don’t know where it came from, but it’s for you.
You might as well open it.” She opened the box with some struggling and gently pulled out a bundle of tissue and string. Minutes later she was holding the most beautiful doll wearing an exquisite red dress. Her mother was moved to tears as she held both her daughter and the doll tightly in her arms.
I remember this scene so well, because the little girl was “me.” I never found out who gave me that doll or how anyone knew my mother and I were needy. But, I remember when … God provided.
I placed the doll with the red dress on the shelf with the rest of the dolls. I thanked the woman for the time and effort represented in the dolls she returned. And I thanked God for the doll with the red dress that someone dressed for me so many years ago. Memories do help to bridge the present with the past. The time and energy spent in making a doll or teddy will have lasting affects. As time repeats itself over and over, there will be many little girls and boys who will remember when … someone cared and God provided.
Thank you!
Labels:
betzann carroll,
christian,
christianity,
christmas,
Jesus Christ
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tithing On a Shoestring!
Wow I have heard this story before in various pieces and i have even read this article several time. "Mom" I was just completely struck by how open and vulnerable You make you yourself for the sake of the message thank you
Tithing On a Shoestring!
by Major Betzann Carroll
You can decorate on a budget and travel on “next to nothing”. So, why not tithe on a shoestring? Sounds like it could be done, giving ten percent of the whole.
But…is it possible to give all!
After resigning as a Salvation Army Lieutenant (minister) in Boston, MA, I took my meager savings ($689.00) and a few boxes containing everything I owned in the world and moved to Florida to marry a man I hardly knew. I worked with him right after high school. Although there was no formal engagement, he did say he wanted to marry me. I was sure he had. As I watched my every penny disappear I asked the question, is it? What is left? How do you tithe on nothing? What if I give all?
I arrived at the Daytona Beach Airport for the second time in my life. The first time I visited for a week, now I was going to live here. On the plane my mind scrambled over the details. I would live with his grandmother until I found my own place. I had a job lined up as a teacher at a Christian school. I thought I would be married and live happily ever after. Wrong!
My husband-to-be was at the airport but there was something about his welcome that made me uneasy. We recovered my belongings and after his complaining, we were on our way. Funny, but a few boxes representing twenty-four years of my life didn’t seem excessive to me. He dropped my boxes off in front of the house, introduced me to his grandmother, and was on his way to work. After lugging the boxes into the garage, I had supper and was shown to my room. This was my first night and the beginning of a series of events, which would deplete every penny I had.
First, a place to live!
I paid an agency to help me find an apartment. The agency simply dropped “the book”, a collection of current listings in front of me. Somehow I thought there would be an interview, personal advice or someone to show me apartments. The listing, meant nothing to me without a car or knowledge of the area. The listings were just addresses. I started looking myself. I found a rooming house and rented a room with kitchen and bathroom privileges. The room was fair. I moved in. The first night I slept with the lights on to keep the roaches away. The second, third, and fourth nights I slept with the lights on for a very different reason. All night long I heard men coming and going. Funny, there weren't any men living in the house when I moved in. On the fifth night I heard more than voices, and I was out the next day. Again I walked the streets until I found a garage apartment. It was small but mine. I lost the rent on the first room and paid a security deposit and rent on the new apartment. The money I paid the agency was gone as well.
Second, a job!
The teaching position I was promised was no longer available. The school said they did not have the funds, but I also knew they had other reservations. After my first interview I realized they felt very different about women in ministry and the types of ministry The Salvation Army practiced.
I looked in the newspapers and then paid an employment agency to help me. Since age eleven or twelve I had never been without some kind of job. There went more of my savings!
I guess I should have learned but the agency merely offered me “a list and a promise to do better next week”. I finally asked my “husband-to-be” to hire me since he managed three Burger Kings. His reply was that it would not be good for our relationship. What relationship! I barely saw him. He was working or with his friends. He had not mentioned the word marriage since I arrived. He asked me to join him once and said, “If my friend offers you a drink just take it. Don’t embarrass me.” Yet, when the drink was offered, I simply said no thank you. I guess he was embarrassed because he never asked me again. Working for him may not have been good for our relationship, but it would have been healthy for me, since I needed to eat. There had to be a job somewhere. I walked the full length of the beach stopping at every business, store and stand. At the city limit I turned and continued on the other side of the street. When I stopped to look at the ocean I saw the motel sign “Inn On The Beach” hotel. The billboard in front said “Why Go Further, Stop Here!” So I did. I went in and was hired on the spot. Management reminded us all the time that maids were a “dime a dozen”, but it was a job. Another woman, Marilyn, was hired the same day. She was my first and only friend in town. She lived in a camper with her daughter.
Third, the doctor bills!
The combination of the blazing Florida sun, my stressful quest to get settled, and my diet, or should I say lack of “one” made me weak. Finally, I could not keep going and passed out a few times. Forced to go to the doctor, he said I had anemia and a few other “little” things, but the cost was not “little”. I could not afford the medication and I would not ask “my husband-to-be” or anyone else for help. The realization of a zero balance set in. Even my job held a week’s pay back.
I had Sunday off. That Saturday night I had ten dollars to my name and a handful of change I found in my pockets and boxes. I called The Salvation Army. There was a church by the hotel. I could take the bus with the coins. That morning the minister spoke about tithing and the conflict began. The church also took the offering after the sermon. How could I tithe? How could I give? All I had was a ten dollar bill.
“Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house…and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it.”
Malachi 3:10
“When you hold back on God you are stealing from Him.” I knew that.
“When you give to God and trust Him, He will care for you.” I knew that.
“God knows your situation.” I knew that too. .Everything I had planned for was gone, along with my savings. How could I have thought this was God’s leading? I was lonely, bewildered, and confused. All I had was a ten dollar bill. That’s it! If I gave the ten I would have to walk home and walk to work. I guess I didn’t have to eat. Sometimes vacationers would leave food in the rooms and the maids could have it or throw it away. I would find something. Listen to me! There wasn’t much difference between the” ketchup sandwiches” I was eating and the cornhusks that the prodigal son ate. “God, I know I am not where I am supposed to be but here I am.” The music played and the offering plates moved from row to row. How convenient to take up the offering after the sermon. What would I do? Should I put the ten-dollar bill in? “Lord, if I put this bill in I have nothing. It is all I have in the world,” then I dropped it in the plate. I had nothing! I walked home, I walked the beach all afternoon alone and afraid, cried myself to sleep and walked to work the next day.
In the morning as I opened the door to the hotel Marilyn greeted me. I was worn out. Frizzy hair, scarlet cheeks and a film of mud and sweat dripping down my face made it obvious that I had walked a distance. “Hey, listen I heard the office staff talking”, she said. “They said some customer checked out this morning talking about the spelling of your name. They left an envelope for you and if you don’t ask for it, you won’t get it.” So she gave me a push and said, “So, go ask for it!” There was an envelope with my name on it. The envelope I signed and left in the room I cleaned. . I was almost afraid to open it. My last ten-dollar bill was now in a church treasurer’s hands or on the way to the bank. I ripped the envelope open and then slowing, reached in. Marilyn watched as I pulled out the contents. Inside the envelope was…not a ten-dollar bill! Inside the envelope was a twenty-dollar bill and a note “God Bless you.” Can you believe it? I gave God my last ten; my only ten and He gave me a twenty! He doubled my gift. I gave Marilyn ten dollars for helping me and we went to work.
God answered my question. You can tithe on nothing. Later I received my first check. At the end of the summer I had earned enough to return to the Boston area and leave what I think of now as “my training ground”. I went back to the very place where I resigned. Today after thirty years of ministry as a Salvation Army officer with my husband and family, I will always remember this valuable lesson. However, I will never question tithing again. My husband and I practice the Biblical teaching of tithing and teach our soldiers as well. Thank you, Lord, for your personal answer at a very difficult time in my life.
Tithing On a Shoestring!
by Major Betzann Carroll
You can decorate on a budget and travel on “next to nothing”. So, why not tithe on a shoestring? Sounds like it could be done, giving ten percent of the whole.
But…is it possible to give all!
After resigning as a Salvation Army Lieutenant (minister) in Boston, MA, I took my meager savings ($689.00) and a few boxes containing everything I owned in the world and moved to Florida to marry a man I hardly knew. I worked with him right after high school. Although there was no formal engagement, he did say he wanted to marry me. I was sure he had. As I watched my every penny disappear I asked the question, is it? What is left? How do you tithe on nothing? What if I give all?
I arrived at the Daytona Beach Airport for the second time in my life. The first time I visited for a week, now I was going to live here. On the plane my mind scrambled over the details. I would live with his grandmother until I found my own place. I had a job lined up as a teacher at a Christian school. I thought I would be married and live happily ever after. Wrong!
My husband-to-be was at the airport but there was something about his welcome that made me uneasy. We recovered my belongings and after his complaining, we were on our way. Funny, but a few boxes representing twenty-four years of my life didn’t seem excessive to me. He dropped my boxes off in front of the house, introduced me to his grandmother, and was on his way to work. After lugging the boxes into the garage, I had supper and was shown to my room. This was my first night and the beginning of a series of events, which would deplete every penny I had.
First, a place to live!
I paid an agency to help me find an apartment. The agency simply dropped “the book”, a collection of current listings in front of me. Somehow I thought there would be an interview, personal advice or someone to show me apartments. The listing, meant nothing to me without a car or knowledge of the area. The listings were just addresses. I started looking myself. I found a rooming house and rented a room with kitchen and bathroom privileges. The room was fair. I moved in. The first night I slept with the lights on to keep the roaches away. The second, third, and fourth nights I slept with the lights on for a very different reason. All night long I heard men coming and going. Funny, there weren't any men living in the house when I moved in. On the fifth night I heard more than voices, and I was out the next day. Again I walked the streets until I found a garage apartment. It was small but mine. I lost the rent on the first room and paid a security deposit and rent on the new apartment. The money I paid the agency was gone as well.
Second, a job!
The teaching position I was promised was no longer available. The school said they did not have the funds, but I also knew they had other reservations. After my first interview I realized they felt very different about women in ministry and the types of ministry The Salvation Army practiced.
I looked in the newspapers and then paid an employment agency to help me. Since age eleven or twelve I had never been without some kind of job. There went more of my savings!
I guess I should have learned but the agency merely offered me “a list and a promise to do better next week”. I finally asked my “husband-to-be” to hire me since he managed three Burger Kings. His reply was that it would not be good for our relationship. What relationship! I barely saw him. He was working or with his friends. He had not mentioned the word marriage since I arrived. He asked me to join him once and said, “If my friend offers you a drink just take it. Don’t embarrass me.” Yet, when the drink was offered, I simply said no thank you. I guess he was embarrassed because he never asked me again. Working for him may not have been good for our relationship, but it would have been healthy for me, since I needed to eat. There had to be a job somewhere. I walked the full length of the beach stopping at every business, store and stand. At the city limit I turned and continued on the other side of the street. When I stopped to look at the ocean I saw the motel sign “Inn On The Beach” hotel. The billboard in front said “Why Go Further, Stop Here!” So I did. I went in and was hired on the spot. Management reminded us all the time that maids were a “dime a dozen”, but it was a job. Another woman, Marilyn, was hired the same day. She was my first and only friend in town. She lived in a camper with her daughter.
Third, the doctor bills!
The combination of the blazing Florida sun, my stressful quest to get settled, and my diet, or should I say lack of “one” made me weak. Finally, I could not keep going and passed out a few times. Forced to go to the doctor, he said I had anemia and a few other “little” things, but the cost was not “little”. I could not afford the medication and I would not ask “my husband-to-be” or anyone else for help. The realization of a zero balance set in. Even my job held a week’s pay back.
I had Sunday off. That Saturday night I had ten dollars to my name and a handful of change I found in my pockets and boxes. I called The Salvation Army. There was a church by the hotel. I could take the bus with the coins. That morning the minister spoke about tithing and the conflict began. The church also took the offering after the sermon. How could I tithe? How could I give? All I had was a ten dollar bill.
“Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house…and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it.”
Malachi 3:10
“When you hold back on God you are stealing from Him.” I knew that.
“When you give to God and trust Him, He will care for you.” I knew that.
“God knows your situation.” I knew that too. .Everything I had planned for was gone, along with my savings. How could I have thought this was God’s leading? I was lonely, bewildered, and confused. All I had was a ten dollar bill. That’s it! If I gave the ten I would have to walk home and walk to work. I guess I didn’t have to eat. Sometimes vacationers would leave food in the rooms and the maids could have it or throw it away. I would find something. Listen to me! There wasn’t much difference between the” ketchup sandwiches” I was eating and the cornhusks that the prodigal son ate. “God, I know I am not where I am supposed to be but here I am.” The music played and the offering plates moved from row to row. How convenient to take up the offering after the sermon. What would I do? Should I put the ten-dollar bill in? “Lord, if I put this bill in I have nothing. It is all I have in the world,” then I dropped it in the plate. I had nothing! I walked home, I walked the beach all afternoon alone and afraid, cried myself to sleep and walked to work the next day.
In the morning as I opened the door to the hotel Marilyn greeted me. I was worn out. Frizzy hair, scarlet cheeks and a film of mud and sweat dripping down my face made it obvious that I had walked a distance. “Hey, listen I heard the office staff talking”, she said. “They said some customer checked out this morning talking about the spelling of your name. They left an envelope for you and if you don’t ask for it, you won’t get it.” So she gave me a push and said, “So, go ask for it!” There was an envelope with my name on it. The envelope I signed and left in the room I cleaned. . I was almost afraid to open it. My last ten-dollar bill was now in a church treasurer’s hands or on the way to the bank. I ripped the envelope open and then slowing, reached in. Marilyn watched as I pulled out the contents. Inside the envelope was…not a ten-dollar bill! Inside the envelope was a twenty-dollar bill and a note “God Bless you.” Can you believe it? I gave God my last ten; my only ten and He gave me a twenty! He doubled my gift. I gave Marilyn ten dollars for helping me and we went to work.
God answered my question. You can tithe on nothing. Later I received my first check. At the end of the summer I had earned enough to return to the Boston area and leave what I think of now as “my training ground”. I went back to the very place where I resigned. Today after thirty years of ministry as a Salvation Army officer with my husband and family, I will always remember this valuable lesson. However, I will never question tithing again. My husband and I practice the Biblical teaching of tithing and teach our soldiers as well. Thank you, Lord, for your personal answer at a very difficult time in my life.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Who Holds My Treasure?
Who Holds My Treasure?
Our daughter was packing to leave the country as a research scholar with Suffolk University at age twenty, first for a semester in Nepal followed by a semester in Spain. Her venture would be an independent study and she would stay with host families. Everything she took would be carried on her back and would sustain her for seven months. Now…to pack her treasures.
I was anticipating our son’s decision to apply for The Salvation Army’s Summer Service Team and would be leaving for India. He too would pack his treasures and move on.
What of my treasures? For twenty-one years I had mothered our children. Often in their infant years I wondered if they would see adulthood. At one point the doctors told us that Helen would not live longer that the age of fourteen. Every officer mother works out a schedule to balance her role as a mother, wife and minister. Still there were times when the decisions I had to make were complicated with hospitalizations, surgeries, and the constant need of attention for our children. I was always hearing the doctor’s words in the back of my mind that our children may not survive their infant years or see adulthood.
There were always well-meaning advice givers who offered solutions. “You belong at home with your children; you belong at the corps community center with your husband, you are an officer first and foremost; or you need to give these difficult times to God,” were just some of their urges. I remember hearing once at an officers’ council (which is a meeting for the clergy in The Salvation Army), “I take parenting seriously and so should you.” I seriously wondered if parenting would be a continued reality for me! Who thought of it as a game anyway? Having someone competent, care for our children and ministering at The Salvation Army helped me to cope. Was it wrong? Our children needed to be treated as normal as possible. What is normal anyway?
As the years progressed, our children became part of our ministry team. Christmas was always a family affair: on the kettles, in the nursing homes, and always Christmas Eve in a shelter or somewhere we could love those in need. Corps life, however difficult at times, was what brought us together in Christ and in service. Evangelism was our goal.
As Helen packed her treasures to take with her, I felt as if I were losing mine. How would I minister without her or how could I even focus on others wondering how she was? What if she were sick, lost or even worse; what if she needed me?
Then we sang the words of Ann Warnings’ song in Officer’s Councils 2000. I realized that God was well aware of my treasures and me. I committed my treasures, my two children, again to the living God who would hold my treasures when I could not…
“My Savior has my treasures, and He will walk with me!”
Thank you, Lord!
Our daughter was packing to leave the country as a research scholar with Suffolk University at age twenty, first for a semester in Nepal followed by a semester in Spain. Her venture would be an independent study and she would stay with host families. Everything she took would be carried on her back and would sustain her for seven months. Now…to pack her treasures.
I was anticipating our son’s decision to apply for The Salvation Army’s Summer Service Team and would be leaving for India. He too would pack his treasures and move on.
What of my treasures? For twenty-one years I had mothered our children. Often in their infant years I wondered if they would see adulthood. At one point the doctors told us that Helen would not live longer that the age of fourteen. Every officer mother works out a schedule to balance her role as a mother, wife and minister. Still there were times when the decisions I had to make were complicated with hospitalizations, surgeries, and the constant need of attention for our children. I was always hearing the doctor’s words in the back of my mind that our children may not survive their infant years or see adulthood.
There were always well-meaning advice givers who offered solutions. “You belong at home with your children; you belong at the corps community center with your husband, you are an officer first and foremost; or you need to give these difficult times to God,” were just some of their urges. I remember hearing once at an officers’ council (which is a meeting for the clergy in The Salvation Army), “I take parenting seriously and so should you.” I seriously wondered if parenting would be a continued reality for me! Who thought of it as a game anyway? Having someone competent, care for our children and ministering at The Salvation Army helped me to cope. Was it wrong? Our children needed to be treated as normal as possible. What is normal anyway?
As the years progressed, our children became part of our ministry team. Christmas was always a family affair: on the kettles, in the nursing homes, and always Christmas Eve in a shelter or somewhere we could love those in need. Corps life, however difficult at times, was what brought us together in Christ and in service. Evangelism was our goal.
As Helen packed her treasures to take with her, I felt as if I were losing mine. How would I minister without her or how could I even focus on others wondering how she was? What if she were sick, lost or even worse; what if she needed me?
Then we sang the words of Ann Warnings’ song in Officer’s Councils 2000. I realized that God was well aware of my treasures and me. I committed my treasures, my two children, again to the living God who would hold my treasures when I could not…
“My Savior has my treasures, and He will walk with me!”
Thank you, Lord!
Friday, April 24, 2009
I Love You, Dad
I Love You, Dad
Betzann Carroll
I took one last look at my husband’s picture as I prepared to take our daughter Helen to the doctor for her physical. She was going to be a part of The Salvation Army Camp Staff. It was actually the note beneath the picture, which caught my attention. It was a note in Helen’s handwriting. It was a note she wrote to her dad two years ago. It simply said, “I love you, Dad. You are the best dad in the world. P. S. I am trying to be good.”
She wrote the note after a very difficult summer. Now, at the age of seventeen she was about to graduate high school, fifth in her class. She had overcome so much in her seventeen years: heart defects, lung disease, dyslexia, and other obstacles. Learning sometimes took Helen longer, but when she knew it, she knew it.
And she knew her dad loved her.
My dad died when I was six years old. He loved me and I knew it. He taught me a valuable lesson. This one I tried to remember when I was dealing with my children.
Once more my dad said, “Watch me.” He took both ribbons from the waist of my dress to the front (still attached) in his hands. First, he tied a knot and then he slowly tied a bow. He explained every step and said, “When you tie your shoe you do it the very same way. Now, you try it.” For weeks I had been trying to tie my shoe. I just could not do it. I could tie a knot, but… Over and over he would show me with patience and interest. I am not sure whether I wanted to learn because I really wanted to tie my shoe, or because I wanted to make my dad proud. It was time for school and my mother rushed me out the door. All day long I would reach down for the ribbons on my dress. I would tie the knot and then try to tie the bow. I just could not do it. The bell rang and I ran out of the door with the ribbons in my hands. I slipped and fell. When I stood up I realized that both ribbons were still in my hands. However, they were no longer attached to my dress. I ripped the ribbons right off when I fell. I walked slowly, still fumbling with the ribbons. Tie a knot, and then tie the bow. Over and over I tried and then I conquered the task. I ran home to tell my dad the news.
When I reached the house my parents were sitting on the porch waiting for me. My dad was home from work for a few weeks, recovering from a heart attack. “I can do it. I can do it, Dad.
“I can tie a bow,” I yelled as I ran down the street. When I held the ribbons up in the air, it was not the bow my mother was focused on.
“You ripped your dress! Look what you have done to your new dress,” my mother scolded. “Give me those ribbons.”
What a conflict. It was true that my new dress was ruined. At least my mother thought so. I could never figure out why a dress needed ribbons in the back anyway.
It really didn’t make a difference. My accomplishment seemed unimportant now. It was also true that I fell and never meant to rip the dress. I simply wanted to make dad proud of me. I had succeeded in making my mother angry.
Then Dad reached down and untied his shoe. He said, “Show me how you did it.” I carefully tied the knot. Then nervously I began to tie the bow. And, I did it. He was proud of me. His huge hands then picked me up and held me tight. Even my mom seemed to smile. He said, “Now that you have learned to tie a bow, you will have to learn to sew and fix your dress.” We all laughed. He knew I wanted to please him, even if I did ruin my dress in the process.
Helen, your dad understood your difficulties at fifteen and he understands them at seventeen. He knows you are trying. He is thrilled with your desire to overcome and do the best you can at everything you attempt. Most of all he knows you love him and He loves you.
God knows the desires of our hearts. He knows whether we love him above all else. He understands when we attempt to please him. And he understands when every now and then we don’t always succeed at what we attempt. He knows when we have tried our best and our best was not what we had hoped for. He simply allows us to start again. He is the God of new beginnings. He knows our intentions, desires, and attitudes. He knows when we are sincere. He loves us!
Betzann Carroll
I took one last look at my husband’s picture as I prepared to take our daughter Helen to the doctor for her physical. She was going to be a part of The Salvation Army Camp Staff. It was actually the note beneath the picture, which caught my attention. It was a note in Helen’s handwriting. It was a note she wrote to her dad two years ago. It simply said, “I love you, Dad. You are the best dad in the world. P. S. I am trying to be good.”
She wrote the note after a very difficult summer. Now, at the age of seventeen she was about to graduate high school, fifth in her class. She had overcome so much in her seventeen years: heart defects, lung disease, dyslexia, and other obstacles. Learning sometimes took Helen longer, but when she knew it, she knew it.
And she knew her dad loved her.
My dad died when I was six years old. He loved me and I knew it. He taught me a valuable lesson. This one I tried to remember when I was dealing with my children.
Once more my dad said, “Watch me.” He took both ribbons from the waist of my dress to the front (still attached) in his hands. First, he tied a knot and then he slowly tied a bow. He explained every step and said, “When you tie your shoe you do it the very same way. Now, you try it.” For weeks I had been trying to tie my shoe. I just could not do it. I could tie a knot, but… Over and over he would show me with patience and interest. I am not sure whether I wanted to learn because I really wanted to tie my shoe, or because I wanted to make my dad proud. It was time for school and my mother rushed me out the door. All day long I would reach down for the ribbons on my dress. I would tie the knot and then try to tie the bow. I just could not do it. The bell rang and I ran out of the door with the ribbons in my hands. I slipped and fell. When I stood up I realized that both ribbons were still in my hands. However, they were no longer attached to my dress. I ripped the ribbons right off when I fell. I walked slowly, still fumbling with the ribbons. Tie a knot, and then tie the bow. Over and over I tried and then I conquered the task. I ran home to tell my dad the news.
When I reached the house my parents were sitting on the porch waiting for me. My dad was home from work for a few weeks, recovering from a heart attack. “I can do it. I can do it, Dad.
“I can tie a bow,” I yelled as I ran down the street. When I held the ribbons up in the air, it was not the bow my mother was focused on.
“You ripped your dress! Look what you have done to your new dress,” my mother scolded. “Give me those ribbons.”
What a conflict. It was true that my new dress was ruined. At least my mother thought so. I could never figure out why a dress needed ribbons in the back anyway.
It really didn’t make a difference. My accomplishment seemed unimportant now. It was also true that I fell and never meant to rip the dress. I simply wanted to make dad proud of me. I had succeeded in making my mother angry.
Then Dad reached down and untied his shoe. He said, “Show me how you did it.” I carefully tied the knot. Then nervously I began to tie the bow. And, I did it. He was proud of me. His huge hands then picked me up and held me tight. Even my mom seemed to smile. He said, “Now that you have learned to tie a bow, you will have to learn to sew and fix your dress.” We all laughed. He knew I wanted to please him, even if I did ruin my dress in the process.
Helen, your dad understood your difficulties at fifteen and he understands them at seventeen. He knows you are trying. He is thrilled with your desire to overcome and do the best you can at everything you attempt. Most of all he knows you love him and He loves you.
God knows the desires of our hearts. He knows whether we love him above all else. He understands when we attempt to please him. And he understands when every now and then we don’t always succeed at what we attempt. He knows when we have tried our best and our best was not what we had hoped for. He simply allows us to start again. He is the God of new beginnings. He knows our intentions, desires, and attitudes. He knows when we are sincere. He loves us!
Labels:
betzann carroll,
christian,
christianity,
Jesus Christ
Do it Again, Daddy!
I was hanging on to this one trying to decide if it would be my Mother's Day post. But, I have another.
Do it Again, Daddy!
January 21, 2004
Dedicated to Stephen M. Carroll Jr. – January 21, 2004
“Do it again, daddy!” was a phrase, which first came alive for me during a commercial of a father and a son. Both were overlooking the ocean as the sun was going down. The raging ball of fiery orange, red and gold blazed the sky, sending dancing flames across the waters. Then slowly dropping lower and lower, and lower, it was nearly gone. Just as the last flicker of light seemed to disappear below the horizon, the complete silence is broken by the whisper of the child to his father, “Do it again daddy!”
Now the phrase consumed my mind and heart. It was not a familiar portion of scripture, or a quote from some great author, or even a friend’s voice of reassurance that gave me strength. It was this simple phrase. “Do it again, daddy?”
Throughout the Christmas season with its grueling schedule, stresses, and joys, I knew that soon our son and his wife “great with child” would arrive. They were not coming to celebrate the holidays with us. They were coming from The Salvation Army Seminary, so he could have immediate surgery. Now sitting in the hospital family room provided for those waiting for surgical results, the future became present. We had been here before. Both of our children called “Boston Children’s’ Hospital” home. We had walked these halls, frequented the coffee shop and occupied this waiting room. It was different, yet it was the same. This time we sat with his wife, his grown sister and his mother-in-law. Yet, as I looked at him in ICU, for a few moments that twenty-five year old body seemed to be the two-year-old baby, twenty-three years prior. I could remember our only son struggling for his life, buried in tubes, and surrounded by nurses and doctors.
God was so faithful then.
All I could pray, all I could even think was, “Do It Again, Daddy!” You can do it! You did it before! The God of the universe could hang the world in space and paint glorious sunsets. The God who created the world and gave His very own Son to save it. The God who was intimately involved with our son, and had saved him before, He could do it again.
I also realized that He would do what He willed; He was God. His will was ultimately best. I knew what my will was. I knew the will of an anxious, loving wife. All I could think, feel or pray was, “Do It Again Daddy!” as I seemingly drew close to Him. Just as the son in the commercial believed his father could do anything, I knew it to be true.
“Do It Again, Daddy!”… And He did.
Thank You!
Do it Again, Daddy!
January 21, 2004
Dedicated to Stephen M. Carroll Jr. – January 21, 2004
“Do it again, daddy!” was a phrase, which first came alive for me during a commercial of a father and a son. Both were overlooking the ocean as the sun was going down. The raging ball of fiery orange, red and gold blazed the sky, sending dancing flames across the waters. Then slowly dropping lower and lower, and lower, it was nearly gone. Just as the last flicker of light seemed to disappear below the horizon, the complete silence is broken by the whisper of the child to his father, “Do it again daddy!”
Now the phrase consumed my mind and heart. It was not a familiar portion of scripture, or a quote from some great author, or even a friend’s voice of reassurance that gave me strength. It was this simple phrase. “Do it again, daddy?”
Throughout the Christmas season with its grueling schedule, stresses, and joys, I knew that soon our son and his wife “great with child” would arrive. They were not coming to celebrate the holidays with us. They were coming from The Salvation Army Seminary, so he could have immediate surgery. Now sitting in the hospital family room provided for those waiting for surgical results, the future became present. We had been here before. Both of our children called “Boston Children’s’ Hospital” home. We had walked these halls, frequented the coffee shop and occupied this waiting room. It was different, yet it was the same. This time we sat with his wife, his grown sister and his mother-in-law. Yet, as I looked at him in ICU, for a few moments that twenty-five year old body seemed to be the two-year-old baby, twenty-three years prior. I could remember our only son struggling for his life, buried in tubes, and surrounded by nurses and doctors.
God was so faithful then.
All I could pray, all I could even think was, “Do It Again, Daddy!” You can do it! You did it before! The God of the universe could hang the world in space and paint glorious sunsets. The God who created the world and gave His very own Son to save it. The God who was intimately involved with our son, and had saved him before, He could do it again.
I also realized that He would do what He willed; He was God. His will was ultimately best. I knew what my will was. I knew the will of an anxious, loving wife. All I could think, feel or pray was, “Do It Again Daddy!” as I seemingly drew close to Him. Just as the son in the commercial believed his father could do anything, I knew it to be true.
“Do It Again, Daddy!”… And He did.
Thank You!
Labels:
betzann carroll,
christian,
christianity,
healing,
heart surgery,
Jesus Christ
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Button
The Button
I am intrigued by words. We can strip them down to their roots or expand them on each end. We can dress them in exciting, enchanting adjectives or energize them with fast moving adverbs. We can customize them to fit our own needs or create brand new words, being careful, of course, that no one else has put a different meaning to the word. You can give them rhythm and rhyme and even make them dance to music. They can be compound, complex, or as simple as one word standing alone. Sometimes the speaker uses a sentence with a clear meaning: however, the listener hears a totally different message. Sometimes a sentence that is used to give a particular direction can actually be used to direct so much more. Could God take a simple direction from the lips and voice of an unknowing person and reach the listener (me) with a far more transforming message? Yes! The button…just push the button!
I was lying on my side on a cot wired for everything but sound. Wires, pads, machinery and other instruments all in place and it was time to flip the switch, push the button. “We are ready for the E-Stem treatment now, she said. A young therapist was beginning a procedure on me to relieve the pain I was experiencing, and I, the patient, patiently waiting. So the we – was really I! Just before the therapist started the procedure, she had one more message for me, one more direction, and a direction with two meanings. “Wait just one minute!”
“I forgot!” she said. “You need the Stop Button. I never want to leave you feeling trapped and unable to get freedom from the procedure if it becomes more than you can bear. If the treatment is painful or uncomfortable and you need help, just push the Stop Button.” Then she flipped the switch and walked out of the room. My leg danced uncontrollably. It resembled some sort of 50’s movement. Then came the pulsating pushes and pinches, which were uncomfortable. The treatment paused for a few moments and started again. Although it was uncomfortable, it was not unbearable. When the treatment was finished, my leg was still even though it felt like it was still moving. The therapist entered the room shortly after everything was still. There was no need for a button, a bell, or an alarm. I was fine. Mission accomplished! However, if there had been a reason to feel trapped or pain or danger, I had the button. At any time in the procedure I could have pushed the button, the emergency button. I was not alone.
I Corinthian 10:13 NIV “No temptation has seized what is common to man. And God is faithful. He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted (trapped), He will also provide a way out, so that you can stand up under it.”
The E-stem treatment was quite helpful. But, if I felt threatened, I had the button. Yes, the button would stop the procedure. However, life gets threatening and we sometimes feel trapped. There are times when we feel overwhelmed with problems, decisions, and on and on. What happens then? How do we get through the procedure called life and how do we escape when we feel we are trapped, unable to cope. The button, push the button. We have faith in Christ.
Yet, there are situations, which call for allowing Him to stop everything and reassure us of His presences. The Christian life calls for living and walking in places that are frightening and sometimes down right uncomfortable, and even painful. In every situation we have a power button, an escape. Paul reminds us that if we stand up in the face of trouble and perplexity, we do not stand alone. Face the challenge, stand in his strength, and if you get too frightened push the power button. Find the escape in Him. When we get to the point that we feel shaky, trapped, or pushed to the limit beyond what we can bear, He will make a way of escape.
The button…push the button! What God said to me came from the heart of God and was spoken by the therapist. .
During an E-Stem procedure came an eternal lesson.
I am intrigued by words. We can strip them down to their roots or expand them on each end. We can dress them in exciting, enchanting adjectives or energize them with fast moving adverbs. We can customize them to fit our own needs or create brand new words, being careful, of course, that no one else has put a different meaning to the word. You can give them rhythm and rhyme and even make them dance to music. They can be compound, complex, or as simple as one word standing alone. Sometimes the speaker uses a sentence with a clear meaning: however, the listener hears a totally different message. Sometimes a sentence that is used to give a particular direction can actually be used to direct so much more. Could God take a simple direction from the lips and voice of an unknowing person and reach the listener (me) with a far more transforming message? Yes! The button…just push the button!
I was lying on my side on a cot wired for everything but sound. Wires, pads, machinery and other instruments all in place and it was time to flip the switch, push the button. “We are ready for the E-Stem treatment now, she said. A young therapist was beginning a procedure on me to relieve the pain I was experiencing, and I, the patient, patiently waiting. So the we – was really I! Just before the therapist started the procedure, she had one more message for me, one more direction, and a direction with two meanings. “Wait just one minute!”
“I forgot!” she said. “You need the Stop Button. I never want to leave you feeling trapped and unable to get freedom from the procedure if it becomes more than you can bear. If the treatment is painful or uncomfortable and you need help, just push the Stop Button.” Then she flipped the switch and walked out of the room. My leg danced uncontrollably. It resembled some sort of 50’s movement. Then came the pulsating pushes and pinches, which were uncomfortable. The treatment paused for a few moments and started again. Although it was uncomfortable, it was not unbearable. When the treatment was finished, my leg was still even though it felt like it was still moving. The therapist entered the room shortly after everything was still. There was no need for a button, a bell, or an alarm. I was fine. Mission accomplished! However, if there had been a reason to feel trapped or pain or danger, I had the button. At any time in the procedure I could have pushed the button, the emergency button. I was not alone.
I Corinthian 10:13 NIV “No temptation has seized what is common to man. And God is faithful. He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted (trapped), He will also provide a way out, so that you can stand up under it.”
The E-stem treatment was quite helpful. But, if I felt threatened, I had the button. Yes, the button would stop the procedure. However, life gets threatening and we sometimes feel trapped. There are times when we feel overwhelmed with problems, decisions, and on and on. What happens then? How do we get through the procedure called life and how do we escape when we feel we are trapped, unable to cope. The button, push the button. We have faith in Christ.
Yet, there are situations, which call for allowing Him to stop everything and reassure us of His presences. The Christian life calls for living and walking in places that are frightening and sometimes down right uncomfortable, and even painful. In every situation we have a power button, an escape. Paul reminds us that if we stand up in the face of trouble and perplexity, we do not stand alone. Face the challenge, stand in his strength, and if you get too frightened push the power button. Find the escape in Him. When we get to the point that we feel shaky, trapped, or pushed to the limit beyond what we can bear, He will make a way of escape.
The button…push the button! What God said to me came from the heart of God and was spoken by the therapist. .
During an E-Stem procedure came an eternal lesson.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Where Do Feelings Come From Anyway?
“Feelings, Nothing More Than feelings!” was a popular song in the seventies, which seemed to reduce love to mere feeling. “Nothing more!”
We arrived Easter Sunday morning ready to celebrate, encourage, and up-lift the congregation. Prior to the service a car drove into the parking lot. A mother got out, obviously in torment and pain as she made her plea. In the car was her twenty-six year old son sprawled out on the seat and having difficulty even speaking. “Please help me with my son? He’s been here in the recovery program before. I don’t know what to do. I am his mother and I love him. I have done everything I know, I am at a loss.” She had been picking up the pieces for him time after time, taking on his responsibilities and caring for her son. We told her to leave her son here. We would try to find him a detox. We told her to get in her car and go home to her eight year old grandson.. This love took a lot more than feelings…could she do it?
An email arrived from a woman whose feelings were raging on Easter afternoon. “I am not sure I can go on. I get so anxious and I am afraid I am going to explode. How can I even give value to my feelings? It is my husband who is dying. I love him. What can I do?” They had raised their children together, paid their bills together, and spent every night together. Feelings, there were many. Good marriages take more than feelings, much more. Now she found herself facing the impending grief and loss of the one she loved and feelings would not change that. She had shared feelings, laughter, but now felt she must go through this experience assisting her husband. Love took more than feelings…could she do it?
Another conversation with a young woman took place. She had two little babies and her husband was in trouble again. Again! How many times was this, she wasn’t counting. She only knew that again she would struggle while he practiced his favorite habit. “I love my husband, but as much as I feel for him, I need help. How can I care for these babies and deal with him. This seemed to be an impossible situation. Love takes more than feelings…could she do it?
Over and over hearts are broken, lives are shattered and hopelessly men, women and children go on wishing for more. “All You Need Is Love” is another song title. We are misled by the notion that the warm, fuzzy feelings are love. We get frustrated when the feelings we seek are just feelings and love. Love is more!
Love is letting your son go even when your heart says no. Love is overcoming the feelings of failure, abandonment and neglect. Love is more!
Love is allowing yourself to acknowledge your feelings, while dealing with your dying loved one. Love is dealing with everyday life and making decisions and plans, when you feel as if your world is falling apart. Love is more.
Love is not allowing your husband to abuse you. Love is caring for your family.
It is saying I cannot allow you to be a husband or a father to our children until you are not just sorry, but sorry enough to STOP. It is because I love you that I will not allow you to destroy yourself and your family in the process. Love is more.
“Love protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails.”
Over and over, hearts are broken and lives are shattered. They go on hopelessly captured by their feelings. Love is more than feelings. Love is hard work. It is perseverance. It is tough. Love is doing what has to be done regardless of how it makes you feel.
Love is much more than feelings.
We arrived Easter Sunday morning ready to celebrate, encourage, and up-lift the congregation. Prior to the service a car drove into the parking lot. A mother got out, obviously in torment and pain as she made her plea. In the car was her twenty-six year old son sprawled out on the seat and having difficulty even speaking. “Please help me with my son? He’s been here in the recovery program before. I don’t know what to do. I am his mother and I love him. I have done everything I know, I am at a loss.” She had been picking up the pieces for him time after time, taking on his responsibilities and caring for her son. We told her to leave her son here. We would try to find him a detox. We told her to get in her car and go home to her eight year old grandson.. This love took a lot more than feelings…could she do it?
An email arrived from a woman whose feelings were raging on Easter afternoon. “I am not sure I can go on. I get so anxious and I am afraid I am going to explode. How can I even give value to my feelings? It is my husband who is dying. I love him. What can I do?” They had raised their children together, paid their bills together, and spent every night together. Feelings, there were many. Good marriages take more than feelings, much more. Now she found herself facing the impending grief and loss of the one she loved and feelings would not change that. She had shared feelings, laughter, but now felt she must go through this experience assisting her husband. Love took more than feelings…could she do it?
Another conversation with a young woman took place. She had two little babies and her husband was in trouble again. Again! How many times was this, she wasn’t counting. She only knew that again she would struggle while he practiced his favorite habit. “I love my husband, but as much as I feel for him, I need help. How can I care for these babies and deal with him. This seemed to be an impossible situation. Love takes more than feelings…could she do it?
Over and over hearts are broken, lives are shattered and hopelessly men, women and children go on wishing for more. “All You Need Is Love” is another song title. We are misled by the notion that the warm, fuzzy feelings are love. We get frustrated when the feelings we seek are just feelings and love. Love is more!
Love is letting your son go even when your heart says no. Love is overcoming the feelings of failure, abandonment and neglect. Love is more!
Love is allowing yourself to acknowledge your feelings, while dealing with your dying loved one. Love is dealing with everyday life and making decisions and plans, when you feel as if your world is falling apart. Love is more.
Love is not allowing your husband to abuse you. Love is caring for your family.
It is saying I cannot allow you to be a husband or a father to our children until you are not just sorry, but sorry enough to STOP. It is because I love you that I will not allow you to destroy yourself and your family in the process. Love is more.
“Love protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails.”
Over and over, hearts are broken and lives are shattered. They go on hopelessly captured by their feelings. Love is more than feelings. Love is hard work. It is perseverance. It is tough. Love is doing what has to be done regardless of how it makes you feel.
Love is much more than feelings.
Labels:
christianity,
Jesus Christ,
Love,
Salvation Army,
tough love
"Locked Out"
Mom doesn't say a lot about her childhood. When i ask she tells me. But, when she offers her child experiences without being asked it is always meaningful and usually powerful this is one of those cases
It is a terrible thing to be “locked out.” How many times we have misplaced our keys and find ourselves “locked out.” There are doors that do not lock with keys.
“You are too young for a key. I don’t want you inside alone. You stay outside and wait for me,” was my mother’s rule. I wanted a key. I could never understand why it was all right to be outside alone, but not to be inside. So…out of necessity I found a way to get in without a key.
I never said it was easy. Our house was heated by coal in the winter. The large wooden box attached to the back of the house held a ton of coal. We never had a ton of coal, at least not all at one time. We would order a ½ ton of coal in the winter but only when we could not get a ½ cord of wood. The box was called the “coal bin”. The wooden box had a large opening outside, so it could be filled easily by the truckload. Inside, however, the door was much smaller. It was designed this way, so you could open the smaller door and shovel the coal into the furnace without having the whole ton empty into the furnace room. Our coal bin was never full. And…now you know my secret!
When I came home from school I would open the coal bin door from the outside. I would jump in and push the wood aside. Then holding the smaller door open, I would crawl through to the other side. It took real talent not to get covered with dirt and coal dust. I would shut the door behind me and I was home free.
Inside I would head for the refrigerator and all the delicacies it held (which sometimes was not much). If I watched out the front window I could see my mother’s bus pull up. When I saw her step off the bus I had just enough time to run out the back door, pulling the door closed behind me. I was nervous at first, but I became very good at what I did. .
Then one day I just did not fit. The small door was the same size, but I was not. I could not go forwards or backwards. I was not in or out. I was stuck. I promised myself if I ever got out I would confess. I was as stuck as could be. I heard the bus. It was all over. I knew my mother would be stepping off the curb any minute. This was my cue to run, but I could not even move. If only she had given me a key. It was all her fault, wasn’t it? It was a terrible feeling to be locked out. However, I was neither locked out nor locked in.
Poverty, education, age, race, sex and many other labels can lock us out from where we would like to be. There are plenty of ways to refuse us entrance.
Jesus said, “I am the door, by me if any man enter in he shalt be save.”
We need not be alone, “Locked Out” inside or outside. To enter the door that really counts…we do not need a key. Nor do we need any secret entrance. Jesus is the door. The struggle is over. The door is open. Jesus has placed the welcome mat at the door of life.
I was eventually given a key. And yes, somehow with help I wiggled my way out of that small door. Since then I have lost my keys a few times and been locked out. But never will I be locked out from the door that counts.
It is a terrible thing to be “locked out.” How many times we have misplaced our keys and find ourselves “locked out.” There are doors that do not lock with keys.
“You are too young for a key. I don’t want you inside alone. You stay outside and wait for me,” was my mother’s rule. I wanted a key. I could never understand why it was all right to be outside alone, but not to be inside. So…out of necessity I found a way to get in without a key.
I never said it was easy. Our house was heated by coal in the winter. The large wooden box attached to the back of the house held a ton of coal. We never had a ton of coal, at least not all at one time. We would order a ½ ton of coal in the winter but only when we could not get a ½ cord of wood. The box was called the “coal bin”. The wooden box had a large opening outside, so it could be filled easily by the truckload. Inside, however, the door was much smaller. It was designed this way, so you could open the smaller door and shovel the coal into the furnace without having the whole ton empty into the furnace room. Our coal bin was never full. And…now you know my secret!
When I came home from school I would open the coal bin door from the outside. I would jump in and push the wood aside. Then holding the smaller door open, I would crawl through to the other side. It took real talent not to get covered with dirt and coal dust. I would shut the door behind me and I was home free.
Inside I would head for the refrigerator and all the delicacies it held (which sometimes was not much). If I watched out the front window I could see my mother’s bus pull up. When I saw her step off the bus I had just enough time to run out the back door, pulling the door closed behind me. I was nervous at first, but I became very good at what I did. .
Then one day I just did not fit. The small door was the same size, but I was not. I could not go forwards or backwards. I was not in or out. I was stuck. I promised myself if I ever got out I would confess. I was as stuck as could be. I heard the bus. It was all over. I knew my mother would be stepping off the curb any minute. This was my cue to run, but I could not even move. If only she had given me a key. It was all her fault, wasn’t it? It was a terrible feeling to be locked out. However, I was neither locked out nor locked in.
Poverty, education, age, race, sex and many other labels can lock us out from where we would like to be. There are plenty of ways to refuse us entrance.
Jesus said, “I am the door, by me if any man enter in he shalt be save.”
We need not be alone, “Locked Out” inside or outside. To enter the door that really counts…we do not need a key. Nor do we need any secret entrance. Jesus is the door. The struggle is over. The door is open. Jesus has placed the welcome mat at the door of life.
I was eventually given a key. And yes, somehow with help I wiggled my way out of that small door. Since then I have lost my keys a few times and been locked out. But never will I be locked out from the door that counts.
Labels:
christian,
christianity,
Jesus Christ,
Salvation Army
Monday, April 20, 2009
I’d Rather Have…
“There is a young girl coming by with her parents. She is going to attend Boston University in the fall as a voice major. Since I am the Songster Leader, I would like to show her around our corps. There are many corps around and I just know God would Rather have her here.” These were my words of introduction to Annalise. Shari, who was on her way to training, was prayerfully looking for her replacement. She had begun a small group and put her heart and soul into her vision. Now, she was desirious that it continued.
Annalise came to Cambridge. At first she came just on Sundays. You would know what time it was by her entrance. She would quietly slip into her seat and was gone after the service. There were so many other places she could have been. The first year of college is always busy, yet God would Rather have her attending.
One Sunday I asked if she would sing. A voice major must have a song to sing. She said she would practice and let me know. The next week she said, “I can sing four weeks from now.” She needed no accompaniment or amplification, and from her small stature came a voice, which reached to the depths of each heart listening. A beautiful song! Now I know she could have sung any song, but God would Rather have this particular song.
Soon she began to give herself to those in the corps. She began to love without counting the cost; just the way God would Rather have it. Shari’s prayers were answered, and as she went off to training, Annalise took the leadership of the newly formed group of singers. She also was part of the nucleus who started The Cambridge Worship Team. She encouraged other talent in our corps. Cambridge is a corps where talented men and women commence their service and then move on to their God appointed tasks. And that’s the way God would Rather have it. Mark Hood, Billy Francis, Ken Lau and so many others. Then one summer she wasn’t there. She was off to Africa, because God would Rather have her broaden her vision. She was graduating and when she came back, what then? I couldn’t think of a better place for her to use her abilities than here – Cambridge. She became the Music Director and Administrative Assistant. She endeared herself to us and became an intricate part of The Cambridge Corps. She became part of the ministry team leading men and women to new life in Christ. She became part of our family, part of us.
We were planning a Corps Retreat. Our focus was “Spiritual Gifts.” She had lots of dreams and plans. What did God want for her? Would it be a master’s education in voice, a career in the spotlight, a young man? God would Rather have her give back her talents to Him. He would Rather have her totally for His service. That is what she declared at the conclusion of the retreat.
Now she has the right young man, the warmth of God’s spotlight, with a diploma from The Salvation Army School for Officers’ Training. What was that song she sang? What was the message she proclaimed to the congregation that morning and many times hence? What is God’s message from Annalise?
“I’d Rather Have Jesus, Than Anything this World Affords to Own!”
Annalise came to Cambridge. At first she came just on Sundays. You would know what time it was by her entrance. She would quietly slip into her seat and was gone after the service. There were so many other places she could have been. The first year of college is always busy, yet God would Rather have her attending.
One Sunday I asked if she would sing. A voice major must have a song to sing. She said she would practice and let me know. The next week she said, “I can sing four weeks from now.” She needed no accompaniment or amplification, and from her small stature came a voice, which reached to the depths of each heart listening. A beautiful song! Now I know she could have sung any song, but God would Rather have this particular song.
Soon she began to give herself to those in the corps. She began to love without counting the cost; just the way God would Rather have it. Shari’s prayers were answered, and as she went off to training, Annalise took the leadership of the newly formed group of singers. She also was part of the nucleus who started The Cambridge Worship Team. She encouraged other talent in our corps. Cambridge is a corps where talented men and women commence their service and then move on to their God appointed tasks. And that’s the way God would Rather have it. Mark Hood, Billy Francis, Ken Lau and so many others. Then one summer she wasn’t there. She was off to Africa, because God would Rather have her broaden her vision. She was graduating and when she came back, what then? I couldn’t think of a better place for her to use her abilities than here – Cambridge. She became the Music Director and Administrative Assistant. She endeared herself to us and became an intricate part of The Cambridge Corps. She became part of the ministry team leading men and women to new life in Christ. She became part of our family, part of us.
We were planning a Corps Retreat. Our focus was “Spiritual Gifts.” She had lots of dreams and plans. What did God want for her? Would it be a master’s education in voice, a career in the spotlight, a young man? God would Rather have her give back her talents to Him. He would Rather have her totally for His service. That is what she declared at the conclusion of the retreat.
Now she has the right young man, the warmth of God’s spotlight, with a diploma from The Salvation Army School for Officers’ Training. What was that song she sang? What was the message she proclaimed to the congregation that morning and many times hence? What is God’s message from Annalise?
“I’d Rather Have Jesus, Than Anything this World Affords to Own!”
Labels:
calling,
christianity,
Salvation Army,
spiritual gifts
Sunday, April 19, 2009
The Easter Beating
Today i had an old friend throw an apple at my head in the middle of our morning service to help me "get people's attention" when i discussed the Fruit of the Spirit and living for Christ in a world that doesn't care. "The Easter Beating" is a hard message. That speaks out to a real world full of brokeness.
Holidays are a time when the Cambridge Corps family works together and that’s what we were doing. It was time to prepare our chapel for Easter. For many who would worship with us on Easter Sunday, it would be a first. Easter Sunday would be the time for lilies, shining white cloths, and a crown. We were in the process of draping the three wooden crosses on the platform with purple. The flowers soon would be scattered about with an array of darken shades of cloth. It was to help us visualize Good Friday. We would remember Christ’s intense pain, extreme loneliness and physical death. Death! Many were familiar with beatings, for many different reasons. But this was Christ’s death.
There was activity everywhere. The kitchen was busy arranging platters, creating salads of every kind, designing desserts and checking off the menu items as they went along. The dining room was filled with volunteers who were setting tables and arranging chairs. There were those who were outside washing windows and gathering trash. And in the chapel men were gathering who would sing in the men’s hours. The chorus was made up of men from our homeless shelter, from our staff, from our soldiery and those associated with the corps. They would sing, “The Old Rugged Cross”. For many of them, words like despised, shame and suffering were familiar. I was in the office making sure I had enough copies of the music.
As I continued to count out each sheet of music, Sam entered the office. He was the shelter director. During the day he ran a drop-in center for anyone who wanted to enter. They could wash their clothes, take a shower, see the clinic or use a number of other services available. At noon there was a meal which had anywhere from 150 – 200 in attendance. After 4:00 PM only the men who slept in the shelter stayed. Sam was very distressed. Now it was not unusual to see Sam distressed, but this was different. It was also just about noon, which would be his busiest time, so what was he doing in the office?
Then he spoke. As he began to describe the tragic event, the whole office was quiet. There had been a beating, such a vicious beating that there was a man dead. Sam continued. A handicapped man who could barely walk was beaten.
At the age of 46 years old, Ed was dead. He had received a brutal beating, which punctured his lung and caused other serious damage. Now, Ed was dead. Sam said, “Ed was a part of our program, our family. He was one of us.”
Ed was well known around our community. He stayed at many shelters. He was well known at The Salvation Army. He stayed in our shelter. It was at The Salvation Army Shelter where Ed rested his cane against the wall and pulled the covers up tight on a cold winter’s night. He was crippled. It was at The Salvation Army where Ed sought medical attention. He was seen at the clinic staffed by the Cambridge Hospital and was housed at The Salvation Army. It was at The Salvation Army where Ed would attend church, although not regularly. It was not uncommon to see him sitting in the back of the chapel participating. He would even go to the altar on occasion.
In fact, Ed even sang in the men’s chorus once or twice. The Salvation Army became the place where Ed found fellowship, clothing, food and where we attempted to introduce him to Christ.
Now, there was one more thing we would do for Ed. We would provide him yet another service. We would now perform Ed’s funeral service.
The funeral was made up of Ed’s friends, those men who spent time with him in the shelter and on the street. The men who often took their meals and washed their clothes at the “Army” would be there. There were family members who attended as well. Although they did not share his life style, they loved him. There were also those who tried to help Ed: counselors, clinic staff, and soldiers. There were reporters, investigators, and even a photographer. At the conclusion of the funeral service there were many who were kneeling at The Salvation Army altar.
Ed died from a senseless death. This beating had no meaning. What was the meaning of beating a crippled, handicapped man to death? Ed was not able to fight back. It was a cruel act. His death was a terrible waste and brought only pain. Ed had no choice he was murdered.
Yet, Jesus’ death brings life. The Bible says, “He was wounded for our transgression, he was bruised for our iniquity.” Jesus was beaten and died so that we might live. Jesus laid down his life it was not taken from him. He was God and yet He allowed himself to be put to death, for you and me, for Ed. He could have stopped the bloodthirsty crowd, but he died and rose again for you and me.
Because Christ died and rose again, Ed’s death, his brutal death, was final. However, Ed lives forever. Christ can make sense of such an unbelievable happening. He died so that we might live.
Holidays are a time when the Cambridge Corps family works together and that’s what we were doing. It was time to prepare our chapel for Easter. For many who would worship with us on Easter Sunday, it would be a first. Easter Sunday would be the time for lilies, shining white cloths, and a crown. We were in the process of draping the three wooden crosses on the platform with purple. The flowers soon would be scattered about with an array of darken shades of cloth. It was to help us visualize Good Friday. We would remember Christ’s intense pain, extreme loneliness and physical death. Death! Many were familiar with beatings, for many different reasons. But this was Christ’s death.
There was activity everywhere. The kitchen was busy arranging platters, creating salads of every kind, designing desserts and checking off the menu items as they went along. The dining room was filled with volunteers who were setting tables and arranging chairs. There were those who were outside washing windows and gathering trash. And in the chapel men were gathering who would sing in the men’s hours. The chorus was made up of men from our homeless shelter, from our staff, from our soldiery and those associated with the corps. They would sing, “The Old Rugged Cross”. For many of them, words like despised, shame and suffering were familiar. I was in the office making sure I had enough copies of the music.
As I continued to count out each sheet of music, Sam entered the office. He was the shelter director. During the day he ran a drop-in center for anyone who wanted to enter. They could wash their clothes, take a shower, see the clinic or use a number of other services available. At noon there was a meal which had anywhere from 150 – 200 in attendance. After 4:00 PM only the men who slept in the shelter stayed. Sam was very distressed. Now it was not unusual to see Sam distressed, but this was different. It was also just about noon, which would be his busiest time, so what was he doing in the office?
Then he spoke. As he began to describe the tragic event, the whole office was quiet. There had been a beating, such a vicious beating that there was a man dead. Sam continued. A handicapped man who could barely walk was beaten.
At the age of 46 years old, Ed was dead. He had received a brutal beating, which punctured his lung and caused other serious damage. Now, Ed was dead. Sam said, “Ed was a part of our program, our family. He was one of us.”
Ed was well known around our community. He stayed at many shelters. He was well known at The Salvation Army. He stayed in our shelter. It was at The Salvation Army Shelter where Ed rested his cane against the wall and pulled the covers up tight on a cold winter’s night. He was crippled. It was at The Salvation Army where Ed sought medical attention. He was seen at the clinic staffed by the Cambridge Hospital and was housed at The Salvation Army. It was at The Salvation Army where Ed would attend church, although not regularly. It was not uncommon to see him sitting in the back of the chapel participating. He would even go to the altar on occasion.
In fact, Ed even sang in the men’s chorus once or twice. The Salvation Army became the place where Ed found fellowship, clothing, food and where we attempted to introduce him to Christ.
Now, there was one more thing we would do for Ed. We would provide him yet another service. We would now perform Ed’s funeral service.
The funeral was made up of Ed’s friends, those men who spent time with him in the shelter and on the street. The men who often took their meals and washed their clothes at the “Army” would be there. There were family members who attended as well. Although they did not share his life style, they loved him. There were also those who tried to help Ed: counselors, clinic staff, and soldiers. There were reporters, investigators, and even a photographer. At the conclusion of the funeral service there were many who were kneeling at The Salvation Army altar.
Ed died from a senseless death. This beating had no meaning. What was the meaning of beating a crippled, handicapped man to death? Ed was not able to fight back. It was a cruel act. His death was a terrible waste and brought only pain. Ed had no choice he was murdered.
Yet, Jesus’ death brings life. The Bible says, “He was wounded for our transgression, he was bruised for our iniquity.” Jesus was beaten and died so that we might live. Jesus laid down his life it was not taken from him. He was God and yet He allowed himself to be put to death, for you and me, for Ed. He could have stopped the bloodthirsty crowd, but he died and rose again for you and me.
Because Christ died and rose again, Ed’s death, his brutal death, was final. However, Ed lives forever. Christ can make sense of such an unbelievable happening. He died so that we might live.
Labels:
christianity,
Easter,
homelessness,
Jesus Christ,
Salvation Army
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Seeing, Twenty/Twenty!
Just a few years ago I met a Christian couple. They were a middle-aged couple and their past was as rich in experiences as their present. Never doubting, God had plans for their future.
At first glance you saw a warm and gentle woman. How would you come to that conclusion at first glance? You just would! You would see her gentle demeanor, warm smile, and accepting eyes. She is one of those individuals whose reflection reveals a greater image than her own. When you looked at her you could see Jesus’ love in her eyes. And if you happened to see her as she caught her husband’s eye, you would see that same caring love.
He was outgoing, friendly, and anxious for activity. He could have been part of a Nike commercial, because his unspoken motto seemed to be, “Just Do It!” Carpenter, cook, painter, comptroller and “can-do-it,” he was always ready for action. I had heard that he took things in his stride and kept going, and I would later learn just why that was. Those who just met him, those who knew him for years, his wife, children and family, all valued him. My husband and I were blessed to meet this couple and counted them as Godly friends. We worshipped together. We enjoyed meals, conversation, laughter, and so much more.
Then came the night of the auction. Auctions are not my favorite, but the men worked hard to get everything together. We went home with treasures, some needed and some not. We went home pleased and ready for the next day’s adventures and usual commitments. However, the next day for this couple was anything but usual. Years ago he had lost the sight in one eye. So this optimist simply used his other eye. In fact, few people even knew of this happening. On this morning he woke to find that his sight was completely gone. The doctor confirmed that he had a detached retina in his seeing eye. Then started the doctor visits, surgeries, and waiting. Now the second surgery was completed.
I met his wife at the waiting area of the hospital. She was deeply concerned and yet she was calm and still. The phone rang and the doctor relayed to her the outcome of the surgery. As she shared the conversation with me she started by saying, “Well, it is kind of what I expected. He won’t have twenty/twenty vision, but he will see. Just how much he sees we won’t know yet.” I sensed that she wanted to be positive even though it was not exactly what she wanted to hear. But how many people do have twenty/twenty vision? With contacts, glasses, and corrective surgeries, many find their sight corrected twenty/twenty. He would have some sight that was positive.
We went up to the ninth floor where he was in recovery. He was eating crackers and greeted his wife as if she had been shopping or out for a walk. He was trying to put her at ease. How are you? When he heard my voice he asked how I was feeling. When his wife went for the car, he revealed that his pain was quite uncomfortable, but assured me that once he started the medication he would be all right. He didn’t want her to worry. How utterly selfless, how unbelievably caring! Two caring people faced with such difficult assignments and in this uncertain situation still able to put others first, especially each other.
How much sight will he regain? How will they cope with this situation? How will they put their affairs in order and get on with their lives?
What will they do in the next few months and years? All questions that cannot be answered right now, are questions that God will find answers for.
Jesus said that sometimes we have eyes to see but do not see. Is sight always our physical vision?
The Lord has shown this couple many pictures, which were not seen by their eyes, but rather their hearts. They have seen the shadows of insecurity and fear. They have walked together the road of pain and difficult moments. They have experienced caring and love along the way. They have traveled through the wildest storms of waiting and when the darkest clouds would seem to consume them, they could see Jesus.
“No tempest can my courage shake,
My love from thee no pain can take,
No fear my heart appall;
And where I cannot see I’ll trust,
For then I know thou surely must
Be thou my all in all.”
Will he ever see twenty/twenty, I don’t know. What I do know is that they both have twenty/twenty vision when it comes to seeing from the heart. I pray my heart would learn to see as well.
-----------------
Four weeks after his last surgery a group of us went out to dinner. It was a Sunday night and everyone loved getting out together. They almost didn’t come, but at the last minute they chose us over the Patriot’s Game. There was laughter until tears were rolling down my checks. What a great time! Someone asked if he could see any better. He said, “some.” And he said, “If I never see any better than I see right now, I will praise God for all He’s done.” In just two days he was to return to the doctor for a follow-up.
Monday afternoon he was “Promoted to Glory!” Without warning he felt a pain in his arm and he was very warm. Then he had a chest pain and his wife called the ambulance. He never saw the doctor. He closed his eyes in the ambulance and opened his eyes to see King Jesus! Twenty/twenty no, his sight is perfect!
At first glance you saw a warm and gentle woman. How would you come to that conclusion at first glance? You just would! You would see her gentle demeanor, warm smile, and accepting eyes. She is one of those individuals whose reflection reveals a greater image than her own. When you looked at her you could see Jesus’ love in her eyes. And if you happened to see her as she caught her husband’s eye, you would see that same caring love.
He was outgoing, friendly, and anxious for activity. He could have been part of a Nike commercial, because his unspoken motto seemed to be, “Just Do It!” Carpenter, cook, painter, comptroller and “can-do-it,” he was always ready for action. I had heard that he took things in his stride and kept going, and I would later learn just why that was. Those who just met him, those who knew him for years, his wife, children and family, all valued him. My husband and I were blessed to meet this couple and counted them as Godly friends. We worshipped together. We enjoyed meals, conversation, laughter, and so much more.
Then came the night of the auction. Auctions are not my favorite, but the men worked hard to get everything together. We went home with treasures, some needed and some not. We went home pleased and ready for the next day’s adventures and usual commitments. However, the next day for this couple was anything but usual. Years ago he had lost the sight in one eye. So this optimist simply used his other eye. In fact, few people even knew of this happening. On this morning he woke to find that his sight was completely gone. The doctor confirmed that he had a detached retina in his seeing eye. Then started the doctor visits, surgeries, and waiting. Now the second surgery was completed.
I met his wife at the waiting area of the hospital. She was deeply concerned and yet she was calm and still. The phone rang and the doctor relayed to her the outcome of the surgery. As she shared the conversation with me she started by saying, “Well, it is kind of what I expected. He won’t have twenty/twenty vision, but he will see. Just how much he sees we won’t know yet.” I sensed that she wanted to be positive even though it was not exactly what she wanted to hear. But how many people do have twenty/twenty vision? With contacts, glasses, and corrective surgeries, many find their sight corrected twenty/twenty. He would have some sight that was positive.
We went up to the ninth floor where he was in recovery. He was eating crackers and greeted his wife as if she had been shopping or out for a walk. He was trying to put her at ease. How are you? When he heard my voice he asked how I was feeling. When his wife went for the car, he revealed that his pain was quite uncomfortable, but assured me that once he started the medication he would be all right. He didn’t want her to worry. How utterly selfless, how unbelievably caring! Two caring people faced with such difficult assignments and in this uncertain situation still able to put others first, especially each other.
How much sight will he regain? How will they cope with this situation? How will they put their affairs in order and get on with their lives?
What will they do in the next few months and years? All questions that cannot be answered right now, are questions that God will find answers for.
Jesus said that sometimes we have eyes to see but do not see. Is sight always our physical vision?
The Lord has shown this couple many pictures, which were not seen by their eyes, but rather their hearts. They have seen the shadows of insecurity and fear. They have walked together the road of pain and difficult moments. They have experienced caring and love along the way. They have traveled through the wildest storms of waiting and when the darkest clouds would seem to consume them, they could see Jesus.
“No tempest can my courage shake,
My love from thee no pain can take,
No fear my heart appall;
And where I cannot see I’ll trust,
For then I know thou surely must
Be thou my all in all.”
Will he ever see twenty/twenty, I don’t know. What I do know is that they both have twenty/twenty vision when it comes to seeing from the heart. I pray my heart would learn to see as well.
-----------------
Four weeks after his last surgery a group of us went out to dinner. It was a Sunday night and everyone loved getting out together. They almost didn’t come, but at the last minute they chose us over the Patriot’s Game. There was laughter until tears were rolling down my checks. What a great time! Someone asked if he could see any better. He said, “some.” And he said, “If I never see any better than I see right now, I will praise God for all He’s done.” In just two days he was to return to the doctor for a follow-up.
Monday afternoon he was “Promoted to Glory!” Without warning he felt a pain in his arm and he was very warm. Then he had a chest pain and his wife called the ambulance. He never saw the doctor. He closed his eyes in the ambulance and opened his eyes to see King Jesus! Twenty/twenty no, his sight is perfect!
Friday, April 17, 2009
His Last Words!
Rev. Lowe Was a special kind of hero to me. As a teenager I loved listening to him speak. He was a retired professional wrestler and a redeemed alcoholic. One never knew what would come out of his mouth. He told some pretty amazing stories and usually had pictures to back them up. He taught me how to win at arm wrestling and many other skills useful to teenage boys. His funeral was on of the "best" i have ever been to. It was "rockin"! Thanks for remembering Rev Lowe, mom.
His Last Words!
“I’m going home to talk to the Lord about you!” were the last words of Rev. Lowe. He had just stepped out of the tavern and spoke these words as he grabbed the handlebars of his bicycle and began to throw his leg over the side. He stood balancing the bike with both feet on the ground and before he could pedal off, he dropped to the ground and indeed went home. As the medics struggled anxiously to revive his heart, Christ simply claimed the heart of his child for whom he died. Sunday afternoon on February 28, 1999, Reverend Willis Daniels Lowe was “Promoted To Glory!” What urgent message did he have for the Lord, which he would now share face to face?
It was not strange to see this 77 year old man ride a bike; it was his transportation. Nor was it strange to see it parked in front of the tavern. Years ago you would expect him to return to his bike in a condition, which hindered his riding. These days it was only the weather that held him back. However, he frequently left his bike in front of taverns. Rev. Lowe was a changed man and he was involved in intervention ministries.
Earlier that morning his bike was parked in front of The Salvation Army, while he attended church. For years he had done everything from professional wrestling to singing in the saloons. Now he used his booming voice and sang with gusto during the service. At twelve o’clock midnight on Christmas Eve 1998, you could have witnessed Rev. Lowe coming down the aisle dressed as a great high priest and singing, “Oh Holy Night!” He often carried spoons, shakers and other instruments to services. As he sang he would accompany himself. And never would he let an opportunity for sharing his witness, pass him by.
At the conclusion of this particular Sunday morning’s service he and another gentleman were at the altar praying for the release of their friend. The chains of alcohol just would not let their friend go. They prayed and concluded with the request: “God use us to help our friend.” Both knew from experience that the chains of addiction were released when the power of God was released. They meant business with God and they were ready for battle.
That afternoon they found their friend. He was not hard to find; in fact, they knew just where to look. He was in the tavern right down the street from the corps. Rev. Lowe left his bike outside and the two men entered the tavern. They headed right for their friend and were stopped by the bartender. However, Rev. Lowe confronted the bartender and it was more than a “flesh and blood battle.” It was the Lord’s own battle. The two of them walked their friend out and propped him against the building. Rev. Lowe felt his mission was almost completed. He would leave this needy friend in the arms of another. There was just one more thing. He turned and looked at his needy brother as he began to leave.
“I am going home to talk to the Lord about you,” and he did.
The memorial celebration for Rev. Lowe was thrilling, both in heaven and here at the Cambridge Corps.
Men, women, and children came from everywhere to say thank you and farewell. One after another told of how he had helped them, financially, physically, and spiritually.
At the service there was standing room only, and very little. His bicycle had a place of honor in the front of the chapel. Tambourines and drums were heard down the street, possibly as far as that famous tavern. Jesus Christ had changed his life. Family and friends who knew him in his younger years, saw him as a new man, the person he had become. Among those in the congregation sat the two men who had heard his last words. There was one who prayed with him that morning and the one who was the answer to his prayer. Neither man will ever be the same. They now attend the Sunday service and reach out to others. One is an adherent in The Salvation Army and the other a staff member. They too, have conversations with their Father.
We are thankful that God answered the request found in Rev. Lowe’s last words.
His Last Words!
“I’m going home to talk to the Lord about you!” were the last words of Rev. Lowe. He had just stepped out of the tavern and spoke these words as he grabbed the handlebars of his bicycle and began to throw his leg over the side. He stood balancing the bike with both feet on the ground and before he could pedal off, he dropped to the ground and indeed went home. As the medics struggled anxiously to revive his heart, Christ simply claimed the heart of his child for whom he died. Sunday afternoon on February 28, 1999, Reverend Willis Daniels Lowe was “Promoted To Glory!” What urgent message did he have for the Lord, which he would now share face to face?
It was not strange to see this 77 year old man ride a bike; it was his transportation. Nor was it strange to see it parked in front of the tavern. Years ago you would expect him to return to his bike in a condition, which hindered his riding. These days it was only the weather that held him back. However, he frequently left his bike in front of taverns. Rev. Lowe was a changed man and he was involved in intervention ministries.
Earlier that morning his bike was parked in front of The Salvation Army, while he attended church. For years he had done everything from professional wrestling to singing in the saloons. Now he used his booming voice and sang with gusto during the service. At twelve o’clock midnight on Christmas Eve 1998, you could have witnessed Rev. Lowe coming down the aisle dressed as a great high priest and singing, “Oh Holy Night!” He often carried spoons, shakers and other instruments to services. As he sang he would accompany himself. And never would he let an opportunity for sharing his witness, pass him by.
At the conclusion of this particular Sunday morning’s service he and another gentleman were at the altar praying for the release of their friend. The chains of alcohol just would not let their friend go. They prayed and concluded with the request: “God use us to help our friend.” Both knew from experience that the chains of addiction were released when the power of God was released. They meant business with God and they were ready for battle.
That afternoon they found their friend. He was not hard to find; in fact, they knew just where to look. He was in the tavern right down the street from the corps. Rev. Lowe left his bike outside and the two men entered the tavern. They headed right for their friend and were stopped by the bartender. However, Rev. Lowe confronted the bartender and it was more than a “flesh and blood battle.” It was the Lord’s own battle. The two of them walked their friend out and propped him against the building. Rev. Lowe felt his mission was almost completed. He would leave this needy friend in the arms of another. There was just one more thing. He turned and looked at his needy brother as he began to leave.
“I am going home to talk to the Lord about you,” and he did.
The memorial celebration for Rev. Lowe was thrilling, both in heaven and here at the Cambridge Corps.
Men, women, and children came from everywhere to say thank you and farewell. One after another told of how he had helped them, financially, physically, and spiritually.
At the service there was standing room only, and very little. His bicycle had a place of honor in the front of the chapel. Tambourines and drums were heard down the street, possibly as far as that famous tavern. Jesus Christ had changed his life. Family and friends who knew him in his younger years, saw him as a new man, the person he had become. Among those in the congregation sat the two men who had heard his last words. There was one who prayed with him that morning and the one who was the answer to his prayer. Neither man will ever be the same. They now attend the Sunday service and reach out to others. One is an adherent in The Salvation Army and the other a staff member. They too, have conversations with their Father.
We are thankful that God answered the request found in Rev. Lowe’s last words.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sneakers
“Sneakers”
Major Betzann Carroll
Early in our ministry my husband and I were awakened by a telephone call. It had been a strenuous day in the Plymouth, Massachusetts’s corps and having just fallen asleep, it was difficult to answer the 2:00 AM call. The voice I heard was not familiar. I searched my memory trying to recognize the voice, but without success. She said, “Does The Salvation Army accept used clothes? I wanted to answer immediately “Of course they do, everyone knows that!” Yet I just listened. Her voice became shaky and hard to understand. She continued, “My husband has died and will not need these clothes anymore. They are in good condition, washed, folded and like new.
Several years later the daughter of one of the finest officers I have ever known called. She said. “Dad has served the Lord faithfully in his retirement.” It was true! He had come to rescue us when we were sent to a difficult appointment. He got our “books” in order and came often to help us keep our financial accounts straight. “Now that Dad is gone, it would be fitting for the men in your homeless shelter to get some use out of his clothes. There are socks, shoes, shirts, and all kinds of clean, folded, useable clothing.”
Several years later a similar request came from one of our Advisory Board Members in Cambridge. After sixty-five years of marriage, his wife was gone. She had beautiful clothes, some she had never worn. His great concern was, “Can you give them to someone?”
Why were clothes so important? Why were socks and shoes of such great concern to someone who had just lost a dad or their life’s partner? Why?
On Tuesday, April 27, 1997 my mother-in-law was promoted to glory. She had been another mother to me in the absence of my mother. Both of my husbands’ parents were visiting with us on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday prior to her death. They toured our corps, entertained family and friends in our parlor and slept in our room. They left Sunday morning and she died on Monday.
It was unbelievable. Now she would be buried from our corps. I tried to change the bedroom around and make it comfortable for dad. As I cleaned I found a pair of white sneakers. They did not belong to me and they were definitely not my husbands. They were mom’s and she left them there only four days ago. What would we do with these sneakers? They were new and in good condition. She would never wear them to move about the house, walk down the front steps or reach our daughter’s graduation in only a few weeks. What would we do with her sneakers? Why was it so important?
“Then Simon Peter, who was behind him, arrived and went into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head. The cloth was folded up by itself separate from the linen.” (John 20: 6,7)
When Jesus died, he did not leave many clothes behind. The soldiers cast lots for his robe at the foot of his cross. There were those who mourned him. There were those who felt their hearts would beak. Yet, when it was finished there were no socks and shoes to bundle, nor sneakers to give away. Only grave clothes – what of the grave clothes? The exciting reality is the grave clothes were clean and folded and he did not need them, nor do we. Jesus conquered death!
The parting with a loved one’s clothes bring the realization that indeed they are gone. They will physically never again need anything. Yet we need. We need to know that life is not in vain. Reassurance is found in the fact that Christ’s grave clothes will never be needed, for he is robed in white. Brigadier now wears glistening clothes, pure and white. Mom may not be wearing sneakers, but…she is not in need. She’s in glory!
Major Betzann Carroll
Early in our ministry my husband and I were awakened by a telephone call. It had been a strenuous day in the Plymouth, Massachusetts’s corps and having just fallen asleep, it was difficult to answer the 2:00 AM call. The voice I heard was not familiar. I searched my memory trying to recognize the voice, but without success. She said, “Does The Salvation Army accept used clothes? I wanted to answer immediately “Of course they do, everyone knows that!” Yet I just listened. Her voice became shaky and hard to understand. She continued, “My husband has died and will not need these clothes anymore. They are in good condition, washed, folded and like new.
Several years later the daughter of one of the finest officers I have ever known called. She said. “Dad has served the Lord faithfully in his retirement.” It was true! He had come to rescue us when we were sent to a difficult appointment. He got our “books” in order and came often to help us keep our financial accounts straight. “Now that Dad is gone, it would be fitting for the men in your homeless shelter to get some use out of his clothes. There are socks, shoes, shirts, and all kinds of clean, folded, useable clothing.”
Several years later a similar request came from one of our Advisory Board Members in Cambridge. After sixty-five years of marriage, his wife was gone. She had beautiful clothes, some she had never worn. His great concern was, “Can you give them to someone?”
Why were clothes so important? Why were socks and shoes of such great concern to someone who had just lost a dad or their life’s partner? Why?
On Tuesday, April 27, 1997 my mother-in-law was promoted to glory. She had been another mother to me in the absence of my mother. Both of my husbands’ parents were visiting with us on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday prior to her death. They toured our corps, entertained family and friends in our parlor and slept in our room. They left Sunday morning and she died on Monday.
It was unbelievable. Now she would be buried from our corps. I tried to change the bedroom around and make it comfortable for dad. As I cleaned I found a pair of white sneakers. They did not belong to me and they were definitely not my husbands. They were mom’s and she left them there only four days ago. What would we do with these sneakers? They were new and in good condition. She would never wear them to move about the house, walk down the front steps or reach our daughter’s graduation in only a few weeks. What would we do with her sneakers? Why was it so important?
“Then Simon Peter, who was behind him, arrived and went into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head. The cloth was folded up by itself separate from the linen.” (John 20: 6,7)
When Jesus died, he did not leave many clothes behind. The soldiers cast lots for his robe at the foot of his cross. There were those who mourned him. There were those who felt their hearts would beak. Yet, when it was finished there were no socks and shoes to bundle, nor sneakers to give away. Only grave clothes – what of the grave clothes? The exciting reality is the grave clothes were clean and folded and he did not need them, nor do we. Jesus conquered death!
The parting with a loved one’s clothes bring the realization that indeed they are gone. They will physically never again need anything. Yet we need. We need to know that life is not in vain. Reassurance is found in the fact that Christ’s grave clothes will never be needed, for he is robed in white. Brigadier now wears glistening clothes, pure and white. Mom may not be wearing sneakers, but…she is not in need. She’s in glory!
Labels:
christian,
devotional,
John 20: 6-7,
memorial,
Salvation Army
“Foot-Washing in The Salvation Army”
The following is my favorite of all of Mom's public articles. It also is probably the most widely known. When I was on a mission trip in South India and Salvation Army Captain asked me if I knew Major Betzann Carroll when he found out my last name. I said she was my mom and asked how he knew her. He explained that he didn't know her but that this article had touched him deeply, as he was stationed at a Salvation Army Hospital and had seen this kind of love from some of the nurses there.
“Foot-Washing in The Salvation Army”
Captain Betzann Carroll
January 26, 1993
Previously Published in "The Officer", "The War Cry (USA)" and "The Good News"
My arms were full and I was trying to do five things at once. I turned the corner to my office when someone yelled, “Mrs. Carroll! You have a telephone call on line one!”
Christmas is certainly a busy time in a Salvation Army Corps! Not only were my arms full with half a dozen last-minute “emergencies”, but also my mind was cluttered with details that needed to be finalized. Now there was the anticipation of what request would be waiting for me on the other end of the telephone.
I stopped dead in my tracks! The sight I witnessed before me changed my direction, my thoughts and even my life.
The little room across from my office houses a medical clinic for the homeless, the very people I was rushing around to assist. There are a number of wonderful programs to aid the homeless at The Salvation Army in Cambridge and sometimes in all the hustle and bustle I miss the beauty of them. The sight I was witnessing brought tears to my eyes.
An elderly man sat in a chair in the middle of the small clinic. His rough appearance didn’t seem to be an issue. Nor did the stale smell that lingered in the hall after him and intensified as one neared the clinic area. That was not the problem being addressed. I had often seen this man in the lunch line when he and his friends would line up for a hot meal, but now his face seemed to have a different look. On the floor was a plastic sheet carefully laid out and a basin of water. His feet were soaking in the warm water and a young woman, a nurse from the Cambridge hospital, which sponsors the clinic, was kneeling before him bathing his legs and feet. His lower limbs were an awful sight with ulcers and open, swollen soars.
As the woman spoke, her words were both warm and direct, “You must care for those feet and legs; they are in serious need of attention.” Her scolds were accepted almost as well as the bathing she provided. I could see Jesus in the nurse’s face. The whole picture before me seemed so compassionate, so necessary.
We still wash feet in The Salvation Army, along with legs and tear-stained faces. I can’t remember who was on the phone that day. I don’t remember if all the details were completed that day. Probably not, they seldom are. I do remember the elderly man sitting in the clinic chair at The Salvation Army. I think I will always remember. Jesus visited the clinic that day. He touched red, swollen feet and a lonely man’s heart. He touched me.
“Foot-Washing in The Salvation Army”
Captain Betzann Carroll
January 26, 1993
Previously Published in "The Officer", "The War Cry (USA)" and "The Good News"
My arms were full and I was trying to do five things at once. I turned the corner to my office when someone yelled, “Mrs. Carroll! You have a telephone call on line one!”
Christmas is certainly a busy time in a Salvation Army Corps! Not only were my arms full with half a dozen last-minute “emergencies”, but also my mind was cluttered with details that needed to be finalized. Now there was the anticipation of what request would be waiting for me on the other end of the telephone.
I stopped dead in my tracks! The sight I witnessed before me changed my direction, my thoughts and even my life.
The little room across from my office houses a medical clinic for the homeless, the very people I was rushing around to assist. There are a number of wonderful programs to aid the homeless at The Salvation Army in Cambridge and sometimes in all the hustle and bustle I miss the beauty of them. The sight I was witnessing brought tears to my eyes.
An elderly man sat in a chair in the middle of the small clinic. His rough appearance didn’t seem to be an issue. Nor did the stale smell that lingered in the hall after him and intensified as one neared the clinic area. That was not the problem being addressed. I had often seen this man in the lunch line when he and his friends would line up for a hot meal, but now his face seemed to have a different look. On the floor was a plastic sheet carefully laid out and a basin of water. His feet were soaking in the warm water and a young woman, a nurse from the Cambridge hospital, which sponsors the clinic, was kneeling before him bathing his legs and feet. His lower limbs were an awful sight with ulcers and open, swollen soars.
As the woman spoke, her words were both warm and direct, “You must care for those feet and legs; they are in serious need of attention.” Her scolds were accepted almost as well as the bathing she provided. I could see Jesus in the nurse’s face. The whole picture before me seemed so compassionate, so necessary.
We still wash feet in The Salvation Army, along with legs and tear-stained faces. I can’t remember who was on the phone that day. I don’t remember if all the details were completed that day. Probably not, they seldom are. I do remember the elderly man sitting in the clinic chair at The Salvation Army. I think I will always remember. Jesus visited the clinic that day. He touched red, swollen feet and a lonely man’s heart. He touched me.
Labels:
Holiness,
Practical Theology,
Sacrements,
Salvation Army
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)