After poking around the antique store for a while, my wife and I found an outdoor table at Gracious Plates, an eatery on Main Street. It was a warmer than expected first day in Franklin, North Carolina.
I watch this Mercedes SUV slowlying and deliberately park on top of the line, occupying both spaces right in front of the restaurant. A couple who looked much older than us very slowly made their way into the restaurant. I didn’t have to say a word. My wife knew exactly what I was thinking. But I wondered out loud anyway, “Think that will be us in twenty years?”
As we ate, I watched a cement truck slowly backing in inches away from the expensive vehicle as a road crew waited to finish up some street repairs. My wife made me laugh as she said, “I’ll bet they’re sweating now!”
Maybe that’s the way you do things around here. Ten minutes later this second SUV parks in front of us making no attempt to stay in the lines.
The sky is just beginning to lighten in the eastern sky. As we (my dog and I) turn the corner and head into the final stretch of our morning walk, the smell of cigarette smoke hits our noses.
Really? At 6 am? Sure enough, someone is out on their back patio, under their pool screen enclosure, enjoying their first smoke of the day. I’ve never smoked, so I don’t understand the habit. I’ve been told it’s a difficult addiction to overcome. Growing up, I smelled it all the time since my mom smoked a lot at home. Now, smoking isn’t allowed in many public places, so I immediately notice it.
On other walks, we notice the slightly sweet smell of marijuana as we walk past a house in the neighborhood. I became familiar with that smell at college a few years ago, even though I didn’t ever try it. Weed isn’t technically allowed either, but that doesn’t deter those who enjoy it first thing in the morning.
Then there’s my neighbor just a few houses up who prefers his tobacco in a pipe. How often do you see someone with a pipe in their mouth? The smell of burning tobacco wafts up the street as he zips along shirtless in his electric wheelchair, beneath a wide-brimmed hat.
Just when I think smoking has disappeared from our culture, I notice smoke shops in strip malls and impressive cigar selections in liquor stores, which are right alongside the medical marijuana dispensaries. I suppose there are enough smokers out there (and on my block) to keep places like these in business.
I think it’s interesting that I’m always aware of the smell of a cigarette. It’s neither pleasant nor revolting, but distinctive and noticeable.
One young lady perked up and exclaimed, “The Dollar Tree?”
It was a priceless moment.
From time to time I teach a middle school Sunday School class. This year, the curriculum takes them through the Old Testament books of 1 and 2 Kings. This morning, we covered 1 Kings 12-14, when Israel divided into the northern and southern kingdoms under Jeroboam and Rehoboam, respectively. When Jeroboam sets up two golden calfs in the north, it’s a repeat of the golden calf episode in Exodus. God’s people tend to make the same mistakes over and over.
It’s a challenge to engage any class of young or old with this particular narrative. Metal and wooden idols seem kind of silly to modern ears. So we have to talk about those thing we fear, love, and trust more than God, which are our idols.
While we have much to learn about idolatry, we’re familiar with Dollar Tree. True, most of the stuff there is junk. But almost everything costs $1.25. Inflation, you know. Between them, Family Dollar and Dollar General, I never feel like I’m more than five minutes away from a discount store. This reality says much about what we value. It’s stuff. It’s the creation rather than the Creator. Once I take a step in that direction, my life drifts further and further away from God, something Paul writes about in Romans 1.
Anyway, because of our discussion this morning, when someone mentions idolatry, I’ll always think of Dollar Tree!
On my walks and drives around the neighborhood, it’s not unusual to see mattresses on the curb for trash pickup. However, I share this one as one of the dirtiest and nastiest I think I’ve ever seen.
It could have been in someone’s garage for a while. Maybe they just never got around to getting rid of it. Mildew grows fast in the humid Florida air. If the house was unoccupied and the power was off, imagine the black mold growing throughout the rest of the house.
I guess it could have been someone’s mattress, but I cringe at the thought. I know mattresses get dirty and accumulate a lot of dust mites and dead skin cells. But this much?
Some friends of mine had a bedbug problem a few months ago. Needless to say, they had to get rid of their mattress and boxspring. They left theirs on the curb, but someone actually took it before the trash guys showed up!
They say you should replace your mattresses every seven to ten years. How old do you think this one was?
I’ve had this picture on my phone for a while now. I walk by this house a couple of times a week, and am always amazed by this garage door.
First of all, I wonder, “What in the world happened here?” I’m guessing the spring is broken, but why is the door hanging crooked like that? Did a rail break loose inside the garage? Did the wheels come off one of the tracks? I’m not sure how to get a garage door to do this.
Next, I wonder, “How come you haven’t tried to fix it?” At least find a way to lower it so it’s not open like this all the time. An open door is an invitation for critters to come in and squat in the garage.
This same house also had elaborate Halloween decorations on display.
So I couldn’t help but wonder, “If you’ll take the time and effort to decorate your yard, don’t you have a few minutes to try and fix the garage door?”
I’m tempted to assume this is a rental property. If so, I guess the landlord hasn’t been by in a while. I’m thinking that code enforcement hasn’t been by in a while, either.
How would you react if you pressed the button to close the garage door and this happened?
I was reading Psalm 115 this morning and I was struck by how interactive the Christian faith is. It is not just words on a page. It’s not just stories in a book. It’s not just images of biblical truths on t-shirts or coffee mugs. We experience the truths of the faith because God interacts with us in sensory ways.
The psalmist backs into this by describing idols made by human hands. They don’t say anything, see anything, hear anything, smell anything, feel anything or go anywhere. They are good for nothing. On the other hand, God does all of these things and more. That’s why we can trust him to help, protect, remember and bless us.
It’s not subtle. God is dramatically different than anything else you can fear, love, or trust.
He speaks. He speaks words that create life, hope, and peace. We know that all he has to do is say the word, and something happens.
He sees. He sees what’s going on in the world and in our lives. He looks into our hearts and see what we truly desire. He can also see what we ultimately trust.
He hears. He hears our complaints, laments, questions and cries for help. He hears our praise and thanksgiving. He hears every request, too.
He smells. Prayers and sacrifices wrapped in smoke are a pleasant aroma to him. The stink of death doesn’t deter him from giving us new life.
He feels. He feels the touch of the desperate who need healing, the worship of the thankful, and the pain of the nails that held him to the cross.
He walks. He walks through crowds, on top of the water, and up the hill to a cross.
Created in his image, we see, hear, taste, smell, and feel, too. If we’re paying attention, each of our senses connects us to the Creator. They give us sensory access to his divine power and nature.
So what did I see, hear, touch, smell, and taste today? And how did it remind me of my God, who is so much more than any idol I might craft in my mind or heart?
My first sip of morning coffee was disappointing. The brew was weak with a strange taste, not at all what I was expecting. But it was early, my taste buds probably weren’t fully awake yet, and at least it was hot.
Half a cup later, I decided, “I shouldn’t have to put up with this. I’m going to make another cup.” Maybe a rogue coffee pod had found its way into the box of organic dark roast from Sam’s Club, which typically makes a good cup. I dumped the water and filled the reservoir with it with fresh. I washed out my favorite coffee mug, something I admit I don’t do often enough. I made sure I pushed the “strong” button on the coffee maker before the cup size.
And then I thought, “Did I put a new coffee pod in the first time?” Of course I did. I always do. Yet in the early morning darkness with the day’s plans on my mind, was it possible? I looked in the trash can. I didn’t see a used pod in there. You’ve got to be kidding. No wonder it tasted bad. These weren’t designed to be used more than once. I had run water through a day-old used pod. The second cup tasted much better, confirming my theory.
I’ve never done this before. I’m a morning person. I don’t stumble through the dawn into my day. I hit the ground running. But this was our first day back home after a week of travel. I had to brew pots of drip coffee at the Airbnb. The hotels brewed fresh coffee for me in the lobby. I was out of sync.
We had just walked in the door after a week away. I switched the thermostat from hold back to the programmed temperature. Everything looked OK. Until I walked back into the garage and happened to glance at the AC unit. I saw no flashing lights. Usually, there are green and blue lights flashing continually, a sign that everything is working normally. If you see a red light, there’s a problem. No lights? I never saw that before.
I did what I could. I turned the breaker off and on. I checked the drain which sometimes gets clogged, triggering a shut-off switch. Nothing.
It’s 4:00 pm on a Friday. I’ll bet I have to wait till Monday for a repair. I called anyway. They said someone might be able to get there this afternoon. I said, “OK, I’ll be around.”
Five minutes later, a tech was at the door. He had been at a house just down the street. Nice!
After I described what was going on, he got to work. It was a puzzle. There were no indicator lights to clue him in on the problem. He checked a couple a fuses. Nothing amiss. I went back in the house while he kept checking around.
When I came back out, he said, “I figured out the problem.” There are two kill switches that turn off the AC when you open up a door to change the filter. The switches didn’t quite close when the door was in place, leaving the unit off. It was an easy fix. The tech taped a piece of cardboard on the inside of the door so that the switches would work as intended.
I still had to pay the show up fee and for fifteen minutes of labor, but everything works just fine. It’s a little cooler out now, so AC isn’t as crucial as in summer. It’s the humidity that makes it necessary.
So I’m thankful Arctic Breeze had a tech nearby who could diagnose and make the easy fix.
As soon as I returned home from a recent trip to Dallas, I planned to file a claim with UPS and get the value of the lost item and shipping charges I had paid. Every package I send comes with $100 of insurance. All I have to do is provide a couple of receipts, and the money should be on the way.
When I pulled in the driveway and opened the garage door, I could see a very large package wrapped in lots of white packing tape. My neighbor had brought plenty of packages in while we were gone, but we hadn’t ordered anything that big.
I knew exactly what it was. I opened the flap and peeked inside. Sure enough, it was the missing diaper genie I had shipped to a buyer in South Carolina. Later on I opened it up and it was damaged in several places and accessories were missing. A letter from UPS came along with it. The letter basically blamed me for not packing my shipment correctly. It was my fault, not theirs, so there would be no insurance claim.
The letter had suggestions for future shipments. The gist of the instructions: use lots and lots of tape. Tape up every edge, every corner, every flap with at least three layers of tape. If you don’t use up a whole roll of tape, you haven’t used enough.
I flashed back to packages my mom used to send me. Mom knew how to tape up a package. She sent boxes of goodies to me at college in a shoebox wrapped up in brown paper. She would tie heavy twine around the sides. She then taped it all up with a twine reinforced tape. I am convinced she did use a whole roll of tape to secure every edge, side, and flap. Without a very sharp knife, I could not begin to open the package. Needless to say, she was never guilty of improperly preparing a package for shipment, although I know she spent more on the tape than on the contents.
I don’t think I was at fault either. The shipping guy, where I dropped off my package, didn’t say a word. Okay, I didn’t use a whole roll of tape, but I’m sure I went around the box a lot of times.
The contents were only worth twenty bucks. I only paid fifteen for shipping. It’s not worth my time. But I assure you my future packages will be impervious to damage in the future. Some readers may remember the Samsonite luggage commercial with an ape tossing suitcases around. Yes, that will be my packaging goal from now on.
Waite for it... 