Several years ago I resolved never to make New Year’s resolutions. If I am not quite mistaken, that was the first resolution I have ever faithfully kept. Don’t be horrified to think that I never have new resolves. Can you even begin to believe such a lack in me? Instead of making new resolutions every year, only to be dropped, trampled on or broken within a month, I simply make new ones every day. Some as basic as: today I will drink eight cups of water. Trust me, this one is harder than it sounds when the heat of summer and the loss of sweat are no longer driving me to it. Others are a little more serious: today I will finally unpack and clean my camera and I will plaster my seat to my seat and write at least five hundred words on Eldenwood and I will line out Bible study notes and questions from John for Amber.
I’d neglected to remember that Papa would be home from work. Instead of accomplishing a single one of those tasks I wondered around the house like a little, lost puppy, trying to assist Mom in planning where to hang pictures. Unpacked everything and even moved into the garage in less than a month, but we still have to hang pictures on the walls. Perhaps Papa is beginning to rub off on me, but there’s something of ascetic beauty about an empty wall—so simple, so straightforward, so unassuming. We soon complicated it a bit by the addition of family pictures and a few plaques which we rebuilt to match our new décor and more modern styles. We still have several empty places, begging for a hanging of their own, and several empty frames which I plan to fill by the aid of my good Canon and a little editing to add scriptures. Hence the resolution to unveil my camera, clean it and fire it off in the woods.
Granola forms the principle part of my newest marketing scheme. Why, I must ask, was I doomed to be an entrapraneur? If I could help myself, I would. “What do you need money for?” Papa asked, curiously, when I submitted my plan to him. I shrugged. So I can buy recording software to record audio dramas and…make more money so I can buy a good camera and…make more money to…um…have? “You want to record audio dramas?” he asked. Again I shrugged. I’d like to try my hand at just about any creative process known to man. And every creative idea comes complete with a marketing scheme. If I were a wise woman, I would hire myself out as a marketing consultant. Instead, I am stewing over the finer points of marketing homemade granola to a mixed multitude. “I want to see if I can.” It was Papa’s turn to shrug. “You know you can,” he answered. “You already tried that with tea parties and it grew too big.” In all honesty, it is not I who needs money, but others. At a table full of people, however, it’s awkward to admit to my dad that I want to work with my hands to have something to share with those who have none.
As a family, we’ve been traveling through Acts, stopping off with Paul to pay special attention every time he preaches the gospel. He has no formula, but I’ve learned a lot through his presentations. To the Jews he lays out exactly how their fathers rejected the Lord time and again and then comes down to Jesus, the promised Messiah, rejected by them. To the gentiles, he begins with the God who created earth and heaven and who will judge us all then points out our unworthiness. When the sword finds tender flesh, and his listeners are cut to the quick, he offers the saving grace of Jesus. When seized, attacked and forced to render an account of his teachings and actions he resorts to sharing his own testimony. After all, a testimony is a person’s own story and who can argue with it? What a powerful tool the story of the Lord’s calling in my life can be, and I should always be ready to give an account for the hope within me.
Lord, this work of Thine, my story,
Is written to give Thee the glory.
So in telling I proclaim
The wonder of Thy matchless name.
My tongue, a scribbling scribe’s own pen,
Must write each word that Thou portend
Attesting Thy dictation here
As Thou dost tell it, year by year.
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