Each week I tutor two of my homeschooled grandsons in math. We’ve begun adding a science project each week. One of our favorites is the volcano!
Their mom and dad knew about the project and gave strict instructions to do this outside of the house.
It’s a pretty simple project. I used a one liter water bottle. I had the boys wrap it in wrinkled brown craft paper secured with a little bit of scotch tape.
Using a funnel, I put a half cup of baking soda into the bottle. I added a teaspoon of red food coloring to a cup of vinegar and had the boys pour through the funnel. The “lava” bubbled up and flowed down the side of our mountain, better than I imagined it.
Like a good nerd grandpa, I showed them the chemical reaction on their homeschool marker board. I confess, I had to look it up. It’s been fifty-six years since high school chemistry.
In elementary school, the volcano was one of the classic science fair experiments, along with a lemon powered lightbulb and burning a hole in paper using a magnifying glass. Rarely did these win prizes, but they were popular projects nonetheless.
Until I watched a few videos on painting tips, I never thought much about a second coat of paint unless I was covering up a dark wall with a lighter color. However, most advocate another coat for the best results. That’s what I did yesterday when I got to work on the entry doors and woodwork that gets the most wear and tear in the house.
A second go-over reveals little spots I missed. It shows what I should have filled in or sanded a little better. Since it’s the same color, it goes a lot quicker and leaves a smoother finish, too. It took me how many years to learn this?
What else better the second time around? Or maybe not as good. That’s where my thoughts went this morning.
How about that second cup of coffee? For me, the first is always the best. Freshly brewed is different than from a pot that’s been sitting for a bit. I find the first sips are the best, hot, steamy, and of course, black.
I’ve written before about guest preaching a second or third time at a church. What about those mornings worshiping at a different church? The sermon may or may not resonate. The liturgy may have been different than what you’re used to and took some effort to follow. Maybe special music that knocked your socks off the first time wasn’t there the next time. I would always attend a few times before forming an opinion. Every pastor has at least one good sermon in them, right?
Some people are gracious enough to give a restaurant a second chance. After a so-so meal with so-so service, I would be hesitant to go back. But maybe another entree brought by a different server would change my mind.
The first time I made sourdough bread left me with a dense, gooey loaf surrounded by a crust that almost bested my bread knife. My second attempt was much better, and each loaf continues to improve.
Meeting a person for the first time can be different than the second. A shy, aloof, rude, or serious person may be having a much better day the second time you talk to them. Give them a chance?
Going back through the buffet a second time? A little more of what you really liked the first time? Adding a few things you didn’t have room on your plate for last time? Of course.
How about a work of art? The first time, you liked it. The second time, something different caught your eye. A detail, a color, a flower. Definitely worth a second, longer look.
The Assyrians have captured all thew fortified cities of Judah. They are Jerusalem’s doorstep. King Hezekiah goes to the temple to pray and sends a message to the prophet Isaiah: “We’re in big trouble!” (2 Kings 19:3).
Isaiah’s response?”God says, ‘Don’t worry about it'” (19:6). In fact, the prophet goes on to say
‘Have you not heard? Long ago I ordained it. In days of old I planned it; now I have brought it to pass’ (19:25)
In other words, everything is going according to plan. God’s plan. God’s eternal plan. God’s salvation plan. God’s Messianic plan.
We all worry about stuff. Lots of stuff. Wars and rumors of war. The price of gasoline and heating oil. Our health and the food we eat. The future of the church. Elections and government. Identity theft. Inflation and taxes.
The list goes on and on. Even the most faithful believers need a reminder: Don’t worry about it. Everything is still going according to God’s plan.
Our worst behavior doesn’t stymie God. Our best efforts don’t help him. He’s never surprised by the news. He planned out our salvation before the creation of the world (Ephesians1), knowing how it would play out.
The best thing we can do is trust him, especially when he says, “Don’t worry about it,” or “Don’t be anxious,” or “Don’t let your hearts be troubled,” or “Peace be with you.”
At a recent Airbnb stay in Cedar Key, FL, the owner provided an awesome battery powered fan for warm nights on the patio: A green and gray 18-inch EGO Power+ Misting fan.
The 56 volt 5 amp battery had a sixty-hour life. The turbo setting blew air at twenty miles per hour. Plus, you could add a bucket of water and it would add a cooling mist to the breeze. With wheels and a handle, you could cart this anywhere.
We didn’t crank it up all the way. Just a few clicks to blow gnats away in the evening.
I thought, “I gotta get one of these for baseball season!” Sitting outside watching the grandsons play baseball can get steamy. This would be perfect.
All the big box home improvement stores had them. $300 was steep, but worth it with all those features.
However.
They must be popular. There was a whole aisle full of them and other tools behind a locked cabinet. When I asked a helpful employee about them, he warned, “You know, that price doesn’t include the battery.”
Okay. I guess I’ll have to get a battery, too. They were further down the aisle. I looked at the price tag and asked, “$369? Is that correct?”
The employee said, “Yeah. I’d suggest buying another tool that comes with a battery which will also fit in the fan.”
So this wonderful fan had doubled in price when I added the battery and charger. Yikes. No thanks. I already have one that cost about $100 and works really well.
At the next baseball tournament, I noticed a whole lot of family dragging in those very fans. One family wheeled in two of them! They were certainly heavily invested in 11U baseball.
There’s no panorama of yellow, orange, red leaves. There is no chill in the air. Beaches don’t close. Trees don’t drop their leaves. It’s still too humid to leave the windows open.
It’s fall in Florida.
I’ve gotten used to it these last thirty years. People put pumpkins imported from northern places by the front door. Scarecrows stand watch over manicured lawns rather than fields ready for harvest. Pumpkin spice candles fill the house with autumnal smells. Pumpkin spice beverages keep baristas busy.
But it’s all manufactured to make it feel like fall. The pumpkins will quickly melt into a pool of orange goo. Air conditioners still run, keeping the outside humidity at bay. Palm trees will look as they did last month, last year. Pine needles will blow across the lawn, but there’s plenty more where they came from.
A few things have changed in Florida as we approach the end of October.
I don’t have to cut the lawn every five or six days. It’s as if someone flipped the switch and the grass growth slowed.
The days are shorter. Sunrise comes later, sunset earlier.
It’s election season, so campaign signs pop up at intersections like fast-growing weeds. I don’t recognize the names. But I’ll need to choose some in a week or two.
Families who live up north in the spring and summer begin showing up in Florida as northern temperatures drop. There more traffic and longer lines.
The annual property tax bill arrives by mail. It’s not due until the end of March, but I can save money if I pay it earlier.
I don’t have to apply as much sunblock as I did in the summer.
I’m sure there’s more signs of fall in Florida. I’ll add more as I think of them. Much different than up north, but a nice season nonetheless.
Now I am about to build a temple for the Name of the Lord my God…The temple I am going to build will be great, because our God is greater than all other gods…the temple I build must be large and magnificent” (2 Chronicles 2:4, 5, 9).
Those are King Solomon’s words to Hiram, the king of Tyre. Hiram is like the manager of the biblical Home Depot, supplying all kinds of wood and contractors for the work.
The words that caught my attention this time around were “large” and “magnificent.” I’ve worshiped in some really small, simple chapels. I’ve also been in some beautiful, expansive sanctuaries that took my breath away. I’ve worshiped in spaces that had no windows but lots of stage lighting. I’ve preached in windowed churches where the sunlight blinded me for a few minutes as it moved across the sky.
Even Solomon acknowledges you can’t put God in a box. So why even try? Why build a place at all? Why a big, medium, or small worship space?
Every worship building, from tabernacle to temple to cathedral is a reminder of God’s presence, power, and protection. God doesn’t need a place. But we need to remember that he has come to dwell with us. And every building is a space that illustrates that truth.
Rows of white-robed musicians sound silver trumpets before an imposing stone temple.
The temple’s built and furnished. They’re bringing in the ark. And it’s getting loud.
One hundred priests are blowing trumpets (2 Chronicles 5:12). Levites are singing and making worship noise with cymbals, harps, and lyres. There is so much divine smoke in the temple that not even the priests can enter.
Now that’s a worship service, right?
Not everywhere. Some people insist on quiet. Silence. No interruptions. Meditative. Contemplative.
Crying babies? Chatting friends? Youth group bake sales? Friends catching up with each other?
Just shut up, already. I’m trying to worship!
When did worship become quiet and reserved?
I guest-preached last month where the congregation was vocal. Plenty of “Amen” and “Yes” and laughter and nods. How refreshing! How invigorating! When I’m preaching I can feed off that. It’s so much better than stiff-faced, unemotional faces looking back at me.
Babies in worship? I hope so! I want to hear young voices in the room. I want families together in church, the more generations the better.
A warm reading nook invites quiet relaxation beside a mountain sunset.
The Airbnb was nice. Really nice. It was located in a quiet northwest corner of Columbus, Indiana. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two big TVs, well-equipped kitchen, nearby walking trails, and a bonus room over the garage. The best feature was he outdoor fireplace, a perfect spot to sit on a cool night with a glass of wine and perhaps a few marshmallows to toast for s’mores.
It wasn’t till I got home that I realized what I missed.
Comfortable places to sit. All three sofas were nice, but they were deep. So deep that I couldn’t really sit without a pillow behind my back. I needed to sit on a pillow to make the folding chair tall enough to sit at a desk for writing. I felt like I was sitting really low out by the fireplace. Back home, I really appreciated our love seats where I could put my feet up and indoor and outdoor tables where I comfortably sit to read and write. The irony: lots of place to sit, but nowhere I wanted to sit.
Lighting. As in most Airbnbs, there was only harsh overhead lighting, and no dimmers. Two settings: daylight or midnight. I moved the one lamp around from bedside to the desk and back. I’m sure too many lamps have either walked off or been damaged, so I understand the scarcity. I just appreciate the subtle lighting of home.
My favorite coffee mug. I know that sounds silly. But morning coffee or tea is a daily ritual, and the heavy, white ceramic mug I use each day is anchoring. Airbnbs usually have an interesting collection of scenic, tall, and large coffee mugs, plus a few small cups. They just don’t feel right in my hand. I can adapt for a day or two. But it’s unsettling.
So when I get up in the morning, turn on a table lamp, and sit with a mug of coffee, I know I’m home.
