The First Rain and the First Rainbow

Okay. I admit it. Writing about rain on a nasty snowy/winter mix day is a little strange, but it’s what came to mind this morning.

I’ve always been told that the forty-day rain–the rain that caused the “Great Flood” that Noah and his family (and two of all living creatures) were the only survivors of–was the first time earth had ever received rain. While I didn’t question that “fact,” I couldn’t keep from marveling at it. How could I be sure that was correct?

If you read the Creation story in the Bible, you won’t see any references to rain. Certainly the Garden of Eden had to have had a source of water to maintain its unimaginable lushness. But I’ve always pictured Eden as the world’s first rain forest–perhaps huge terrarium would be a more accurate description since it was a perfectly maintained ecosystem.

Situated between four major rivers, it undoubtedly had access to all the water it needed. Irrigated by underground springs? I couldn’t say.

But we still haven’t established whether rain fell on the earth before Noah’s day, although I can easily imagine his neighbors questioning why he was building a humongous boat in his backyard. Even if he planned to use it as a houseboat (which, of course, he ultimately did), how would he ever get it to the nearest body of water that was large enough to hold it?

(Picture the pond in the movie Second-Hand Lions after the two brothers bought a humongous yacht that took up almost the whole pond.)

The following picture is a life-size reproduction of the ark at the Ark Encounter.

I think the answer to my question about whether the flood rain was earth’s first rain can be found at the end of Noah’s story.

While Noah was standing there on a dry mountaintop, possibly watching the water down below receding, God created a rainbow and announced that it symbolized His promise never to destroy the earth again with water. So that must have been the first rainbow; how would “just another pretty rainbow” have been sufficiently special to be worthy of symbolizing God’s promise?

Although not every rain results in a visible rainbow, rainbows always exist when the circumstances are right–even if no one is in the right place to see them. So God’s rainbow must truly have been the first one, and the first rainbow would logically result from the earth’s first rain.

Whether or not you believe the biblical story of creation and the story of Noah’s flood–I believe both–I hope you’ll remember God’s promise the next time you see a rainbow. It’s a promise He’s made to all of us. How about leaving a comment?

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

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On Color Blindness

You know what one of my pet peeves is? When I tell people I’m color blind and they ask, “What color is THIS?”

Although I’ve always been color blind, I didn’t know I was for a number of years. I do recall marveling at my sixth grade school picture, in which I was wearing a red sweater–I KNEW it was red–but it appeared green in that picture. In the years since then, I’ve concluded that the picture was printed in just the right shade of red for me to see it as green. Who knows?

Once as a high school senior I was visiting in the home of a friend. His father was an eye doctor of some sort. I don’t recall what brought this up, but he got out a book of charts used to determine color blindness and tested me. Yep. Color blind. A red-green deficiency. Uh, okay.

That didn’t exactly wreck my life, but it did lead to a couple of interesting events several years later.

Before I tell you about those, however, let me explain that color blindness doesn’t mean someone sees only in black and white. I see everything in color. Well, except things that really ARE black and white. The problem is I don’t see them the same way people with normal color vision do. And in my case at least, learning of my color blindness made me distrustful of my ability to correctly distinguish the colors I don’t have problems with. For example, blue and purple.

After graduating from junior college, my parents and I failed to notify the Selective Service that I would be enrolling in a four-year college to finish my degree. That was during the Vietnam War, and I had to go for a physical to see if I was fit for the military. Although my flat feet  and the fact I had to avoid contact sports because of acute viral encephalitis in the eighth grade both should have been enough to fail me, surely color blindness would be a serious factor in making me unfit for service.

Don’t ask me how or why, but when they tested my color vision at the draft physical, they apparently thought I was faking. How I wish! I passed the physical! Thank goodness we got things straight when I got back home, but passing a physical I should have failed was scary.

The other interesting tale has to do with my learning to drive. I have NO problems telling the colors of a traffic light, but when I went to take my test–I’ll tell you some other time about what I went through learning to drive–the machine told the tester that I was too color blind to get a license.

But bless the State of Maryland DMV’s heart. I must not have been the first person the machine had falsely rejected. The tester got out a strip of wood with three colored reflectors fastened to it. I correctly identified the colors without any problem and received my license without any further problems.

 

TrafficLights

 

I’ll admit it. Being color blind is a nuisance at times. Like clothes shopping. And getting dressed.

But I know what color my clothes are, whether they look like those colors or not, and I know what goes together.

What about you? Are you color blind? More guys than gals are, but not all of us. Do you have anything to share regarding color blindness? We’d love to see it in a comment.

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

P.S. I’ve gotten the rights to The Devil and Pastor Gus back, and I’ve just re-released it with this brand-new, more intriguing cover.

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Bartenders, Shrinks, Dentists, Spouses, & God

I used to have another blog–IF YOU COULD READ MY MIND. This is something I posted on July 27, 2011.

From what I’ve seen on television, the listener of choice for many people appears to be the local bartender. Of course, that’s a toughie for those of us who don’t drink or want to hang out in bars.

Hopefully, most people with serious emotional problems get professional help. I doubt that I’m the only one who’s thankful for that kind of listener.  Professionals like those may be paid to listen, but at least they’d supposed to be objective.

But what about those of us who just like to talk or want to unwind verbally?

My six-month dental checkups are a lot more pleasant–even fun at times–because my dentist and his hygienist have both gotten to know me so well that I can talk to them about a number of subjects I wouldn’t talk with the nice fellow at the 7-Eleven down the street about. They listen, they feel free to ask questions, and they really seem interested in more than just the health of my teeth.

But you know what? I’d much rather share items of interest with my wife. She’s an even better listener than the folks at my dentist’s office, and she knows me well enough to put things in the proper perspective. She can usually say the right things in response, and I couldn’t ask for a more receptive person to talk to. And let’s not overlook the fact that I can talk to her about  things I wouldn’t mention to my dentist or his hygienist.

Things I wouldn’t mention even to a some other friend. After all, she’s my best friend. Best earthly friend, that is. So why settle for less than the best?

But what about those secret–or at least those private–thoughts a person doesn’t feel comfortable talking with any other human being about? (If you don’t have them, too, I’m in serious trouble.) Most of mine are too silly to talk about. Or maybe I’ve talked about similar things so much I hesitate to revisit a path that I’ve already worn bare. Maybe I’m just being irrational because it’s the middle of the night, and my thoughts aren’t worth waking my wife over.

God, however, is still in the listening business–not His primary one, of course–and I’m thankful for that. Nothing is too silly, repetitious, or inconveniently timed to call to His watchful attention.

Of course, I do have a little problem talking to someone I can’t see. Someone whose parts of the conversation are not audible. I often have to remind myself that prayer doesn’t mean talking to myself.

God is real. He’s not only “out there,” but inside me, and He’s always listening. I don’t even have to verbalize my thoughts. Sometimes I can’t. But I always make sense to Him.

Even when I don’t make sense to myself.

I can’t explain how God can be in tune with all of His children at the same time–there are millions of us–but I believe He is. And He’s the most perfect listener of them all. He has answers–perfect answers–even though the answer is often “no” or “wait.”

And for those prayers not requesting an answer? The ones where I just want to talk with Him because He is my heavenly Father and He loves me? And He wants me to talk to Him because I love Him, too?

I imagine Him saying, “I hear you, son!” and giving a big grin of approval.

What greater blessing could this talker ask for?

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

P.S. I’ve just republished PROJECT MUFFINTOP as JUST FRIENDS? (Yes, the question mark is part of the title.) Friends at the Facebook group Avid Readers of Christian Fiction had convinced me that my original title and cover weren’t teen friendly. I hope they–and teens, too–will find this more appealing.

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Christmas Traditions

Long gone are the Christmas traditions I grew up with during childhood. I’m not sure I can remember any from that part of my life. Not unless you count having to hang each icicle on the tree individually!

Seriously, my wife, Kathleen, and I have established our own Christmas traditions. Christmas Eve starts with a candle lighting service at church. If we don’t eat before going, we have a quick meal when we get home and then head to the table we keep the little tree and the presents on.

I’m not sure why we started doing our opening of presents on Christmas Eve, but it makes Christmas morning easier. (While I was growing up, my mother’s health situation required her to eat breakfast before we could do presents; obviously not a kid-friendly necessity.)

After that, we put the DVD of Celtic Woman’s  Christmas special on and thoroughly enjoy the music and the costumes. And we always express our amazement at the way the CW violinist dances and prances around on stage while playing so beautifully!

Breakfast on Christmas morning is apt to be one of the favorites we usually only have on weekends–waffles or pancakes. This year we’re getting bacon bits to put in the waffles.

Although we always eat out for Thanksgiving dinner, I doubt there are any restaurants open on Christmas day. Sometimes we splurge and buy crab for me to make crab cakes. Or a leg of lamb. But this year Kathleen is going to fix pizza and a sugar-free apple pie. Yum!

This year will be the beginning of a new tradition. We saw the animated movie The Star when it came out last year and then bought the DVD to watch on Christmas Day. As much as we enjoyed it last year, it’s been tough to hold off watching it ever since the DVD arrived.

Most important of all traditions, however, is making a point of remembering that Christmas isn’t really about any of those things. It’s the celebration of the birth of our Savior and Lord. How God could impregnate Mary supernaturally is something we’ll never be able to comprehend, but the fact that Jesus was both God and man is an essential element of the Christian faith.

That makes His the most worthwhile birthday of any to celebrate year in and year out.

Thanks to my good friend Tammy Van Gils for her recent blog post about Christmas traditions; that’s what inspired me to write about Kathleen’s and my traditions.

Do you have any special traditions? How about sharing a comment.

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

Now available on Kindle!

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Little Aids for an Older Me

I’ve never been the world’s most coordinated person. Even a slow dance with my daughter at her wedding in 2011 (yes, I can remember the date–9/10/11) required my constant attention, but at least I didn’t fall or knock her or anyone else down.

Nonetheless, it’s not a wonder I started using one of my many homemade walking sticks some years ago when walking for exercise . I’ve always been fond of telling people it’s because I can trip over a line in the floor. Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration, but if there’s a slick or ever so slightly uneven spot where I’m walking, one of my feet is sure to find it.

I have to admit I occasionally use a walking stick when shopping or just going somewhere where having something to lean on is useful.

When will I really need to use it all the time? No idea. But at least I’m prepared.

But walking isn’t the only activity aging affects. Getting in and out of the shower–and remaining upright while showering–and in and out of the car are things younger people probably take for granted.

But not me.

Although my mother-in-law doesn’t have a shower handle, she’s the person who made me realize how much I needed one. After spilling some shampoo in the bottom of the tub one day, I needed something I didn’t have to keep from sliding and falling down.  (No, I didn’t fall, but I was on pins and needles about the possibility.)

Even on a normal daily basis, simply leaning against the wall while raising each leg in turn to wash my feet didn’t make me feel safe. Rinsing my hair (with eyes closed, of course) tended to make me feel less steady. And totally drying one leg and foot and setting it out on the bath mat while the other remained in the tub felt especially dangerous.

So I found a shower bar online and managed to install it without doing too much damage to the bathroom.

The other two gadgets I’ve found useful are for the car; we have one of each in both cars. A car cane–I learned about that from my mother-in-law who does use one–and a swivel cushion make sitting down and getting out of the car far easier.

Two gotchas about the car cane. Some have all kinds of extra stuff–flashlight, window breaker, seat belt cutter–you get the idea. That’s not one of the gotchas. I just threw that in to see if you were paying attention.

The rubber handle of some car canes comes off. Imagine that you’ve just lowered yourself into your seat and dutifully removed the cane from the hook it attaches to. And then you close the door and hear (and feel) a loud clunk.

Whoops! The handle is still in your hand, but the rest of the cane is still in the door, blocking it from closing.

The other gotcha has to do with the user’s remembering to unhook the cane before attempting to close the door. Those canes are pretty strong, but both of ours have a few nicks from my failure to unhook the cane first.

The swivel cushion is a whole different story; it won’t get caught in the door unless it falls out when you get out–highly unlikely. It’s important to get a cushion that fits within the depressed part of the car seat. And it’s more of a challenge to use if the seat is so far forward that you must watch your knees while using it.

Nonetheless, it’s a wonderful gadget to keep from having to slide into a car seat.

Not to mention the fact that swiveling is fun if you have the kind of sense of humor I have.

That’s all, folks. If you’re older, or if some of the needs I’ve described apply to you, Amazon has a good variety of car canes, swivel cushions, and shower bars. And, by all means, if you care about some older person who might benefit from one or all of these things, they make great–albeit strange–gifts.

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

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Electrifying Kisses

 

We’re not totally in freezing weather yet, but it’s coming soon…and far too fast.

I’m not overly fond of cold weather, although it does kill the grass until spring and frees me from having to mow the lawn at least once a week.

And, my word! My Honda Civic, which automatically calculates gas mileage, goes down from an average of 29 mpg in-town driving to 21 or 22. Partially because I have to run the car a little while to defrost it and warm the inside just a tad. And partially because the tire pressure warning light comes on periodically and it takes me a while to use the plug-in tire inflator.

I used to like cold weather better than hot weather. But, with the coming of age, I’ve reversed my preference. And it has nothing to do with gas or grass.

It has to do touching. Touching almost anything.

Cold weather at our house means almost everything I touch shocks me. I always hear it, and—more times than I like to think about—I even see the spark.

Once the weather gets cold enough for that to happen, I’m tempted to put on gloves before touching the front door handle, even if I’m not going outside. Or a light switch.

 

DoorKnob     LightSwitch

 

I touch the plastic part of the pet gate latch first in the hopes the static electricity will leave me alone for once. I tiptoe across the carpet to try to prevent static buildup.

I haven’t totally given up the idea of dragging a chain wherever I walk inside to ground myself. (Yes, I know that probably wouldn’t really work.)

Remaining well grounded is important for a seventy-two-year-old man, anyhow, isn’t it? In every way.

But the most shocking problem occurs when Kathleen and I kiss. If one of us has just scuffed across the carpet,  kissing becomes an electrifying experience. Kissing isn’t supposed to be painful, is it? Or something to be apprehensive about doing?

I don’t know how to solve other shock problems, but now Kathleen and I touch  fingertips before kissing. Better to do that and get the shock out of the way so we can have a safe, spark-free kiss.

 

FingerTouch    kiss

 

Exciting kisses are one thing. But shocking ones are awful.

If you have or have had any shocking experiences during winter, how about sharing a comment.

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

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Living in the Past, Present, or Future?

We older folks are often accused of living in the past and thinking everything back then was so much better than now. I’m not one of them.

As a few of you may recall from a former blog post, I don’t seem to have nearly as many memories of my childhood and teen years as adults typically have. I attribute that, whether correctly or not, to the acute viral encephalitis that could have killed me or left me in a vegetative state, but from which God restored me to a reasonable normal condition. But one that was somewhat fuzzy about the past.

That was in the eighth grade. I wouldn’t want to relive that part of my past.

College years were fine, but not exciting. Neither was my teaching career or my years at the Maryland State Job Service as a counselor/interviewer.

Life grew more meaningful when I took some computer programming courses and went to work at the International Mission Board. Working behind the scenes of something important gave me a feeling of significance I’d never experienced before. I had some wonderful successes before I started having problems with a new job assignment.

And then I got downsized after almost nineteen years.

Those memories aren’t things to dwell on. Despite the many good moments, I’ll never think of those years as “the good old days.”

 

What about the future?

As a Christian, I’m not afraid of death, although I would love to have the assurance that the process of dying would be quick and painless…and that my wife, Kathleen, and I would die at the same time so neither of us would have to face life without the other.

But the future–at least the part where I’m still alive on earth–isn’t knowable.

I don’t have many dreams about what I’d like the future to hold. Yes, of course I’d like for my novels–some of them, anyhow–to suddenly take off and start selling. Not because I care about the income, but because I want to know they’re blessing and entertaining readers.

I can’t help wishing and hoping (yes, and praying, too) that at least one of my songs will end up in a collection of praise and worship songs. Maybe even in a hymn book!

I hate to admit it, but when I’m expecting a shipment of some tiny something-or-other from Amazon, you’d almost think I was a little kid waiting for his parents to wake up on Christmas morning so he can start opening presents.

That’s a bit weird, maybe, but that’s how I am. My future on earth doesn’t promise to be the best time of my life. Especially as my body falls apart a little more year by year. I hope and pray my mind doesn’t do the same thing.

And the present?

That leaves the present. I’ve ended up with two skills–two things I love using–I’m not able to use the way I’d like to. Yes, I’ll keep working on developing them even more, but knowing I may be doing it only for my own benefit is discouraging.

Until yesterday–or was it this morning?–I was super-frustrated at what I perceived as my lack of usefulness. I couldn’t see myself accomplishing anything, and that thought was more depressing than I’d like to think about.

It’s no wonder. Many–maybe most–of the authors I know have more book ideas running through their heads than they can use in a lifetime. I don’t.

I’d started working on a sequel to one of my teen books. I’d even designed a cover for it and written a few chapters.

But I just couldn’t get excited about it and haven’t been able to proceed. It’s not a matter of writer’s block, but of questioning whether this was what I should be doing.

You can better understand now why I was feeling useless and insignificant, at least in the areas of my life that are so important.

But I prayed, and I kept praying, and God led me back to an idea I had begun considering in January of this year. Why I set it aside then, I couldn’t tell you.

But I’ve fallen in love with it. Working on it won’t restore my losses in other areas, but I feel good again. Great!

Living in the present seems to work best, as long as I don’t totally forget the past or fail to consider the future. And when today’s present becomes the past, I’ll find something in that future time to make that present time the best.

Where do you live–past, present, or future? How about leaving a comment?

I’ll be back again next Sunday. If you’d like to receive my posts by email, go to “Follow Blog via Email” at the upper right.

Best regards,
Roger

P.S. Here’s the new cover and title for what was previously published as PROJECT MUFFINTOP.

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