The Legend Of The Dogwood

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Legend has it that Jesus was crucified on a cross made of a dogwood tree.

It further goes on to say, that since that time in history the dogwood never again grew tall, or straight enough to make a cross big enough to hang a man.

It is also said that the dogwood blossom is a reminder of the world's most pivotal day in history, Jesus' crucifixion.

When one looks at the blossom, you will find four white petals. Usually two are longer and opposite each other, forming a cross.

At the end of each petal is an indentation which is curled up to signify the excruciating pain of the piercing nails. In the middle of those curled ends is a tinge of red reminding us of the blood spilled. You will also note the stretch marks on the shorter petals showing the stress on the arms of Jesus.

In the center of the cross, or blossom, is the golden crown. The crown fit for the King of kings and LORD of lords.


A legend might be hogwash to some people, but the fact is, "All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made." John 1:3  . . . including the dogwood tree.

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Methane Gas

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It has been reported that a lot of the problem with the earth's ozone layer is the result of excessive bovine flatulence.

The world peoples, other than the Hindus, eat a tremendous amount of beef. Is it expedient then for mankind to find an alternative food source? Certainly, all warmblooded creatures basically have the same digestive systems, including us. What meat, or other rich protein source should we then put on our backyard grill?

According to the "Save The Earth" people, the answer is none. No more hotdogs at the ballpark. No more burgers on the grill. All dogs and cats need to become vegetarians as well. Carrots and celery sticks would be the feature items at all the fast food chains.

We would be a healthier people, and the ozone would help slow down the melting of your ice cubes in your tea. Isn't that wonderful? No more UV protection needed in you sunscreen.

This year, I once again did my part on Earth Day. I fixed me a large bowl of pinto beans, decorated with an organically grown chopped onion, I sacrificed the usual country ham in my beans in honor of this holiest of environmentalist's day. I started to savor this treat a little after eight in the evening. I watched a program that showed the mistreatment of chickens. (Poor things they really don't have any rights.) All the while washing down my beans and onions with organically squeezed soy milk.

I started this annual ritual late in the evening, because I'm well aware of my body's reaction to legumes. I didn't want to pollute the sacred day by having contributed to the destruction of the ozone before midnight.


Now, methane gas is flammable. Naturally, a natural source of energy. I can very well see a future of sticking a pressurized bottle of methane into ones vehicle and drive off to work. I can also see each homeowner, with their own septic system, utilizing this natural emission to heat their hot water tank. Why not? It is free. Or we could stick a pipe down to the septic tank and light the gas coming off and have an eternal flame to soothe the ozone gods.

I have heard stories of pining engineers at most universities have personally experimented with the combustibility and potential use of methane. I've heard stories of these tests being performed not in the lab, but by sitting around in their skivvies, playing with matches.

Funny or not, we do need to consider our environment. It is our job to protect and preserve what has been entrusted to us.

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Is Someone Trying To Tell Me Something?

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We live in a land of plenty. We also live in our own world. By that I mean, we live to ourselves and for ourselves. We only choose the people we want to associate with to create our own world.

Several years ago, around Thanksgiving time, a lady in our church stood up and announced that a local charity group had two dozen food baskets ready to give to needy families. She said to come and see her after church if we knew of a family in need.

I searched my heart, but could not think of anyone in need. I simply did not know any family in need. How sad. In my cute little world there are no poor people. In my selfish little cocoon there are no dire needs. I even get into a mental tirade about that there are no needy people in this great country of plenty. All these so-called needy folks are just a bunch of piglets sucking on the government sow.

What a wretched man I am.

I recently followed an older lady at the meat counter in the grocery store. She had very little in her cart. She kept on picking up small packages of meat, looked at the price and then placed them back in the rack. I saw her later pushing her cart through the isle with no meat in her cart. It wasn't until the woman went around the corner and out of sight, that a strong conviction pulled at my heart and asked, "Why didn't you give the old lady a twenty dollar bill so she could buy herself some meat?" You know what, even after that conviction I didn't search for her in the store to do what the Spirit told me to do.

My wife and I were behind a young couple at the Walmart checkout. They had bought a few groceries and were in the process of paying for them. The cashier patiently waited for the young lady as she dug in her pocketbook for a few more small coins to make the total owed. She dug and dug, having already doled out the last dollar bill. I started to become impatient. Then, she finally found the few pennies, in the bottom of her purse to make the total. Again, after the young couple had pushed their cart out the door, my wife and I looked at each other and both said the same thing, "Why didn't we give them a five or a twenty?" They were obviously broke. I mean broke; without cash.

How many more times will the Lord have to smack us, me, before we learn to love people outside of our circles. To see beyond our own little world that there are people struggling. To see that my plenty that the Lord gave me doesn't flow on its own to someone in need.


Carol and I have seen, and been among abject poverty on other countries. Our willingness to share in those places often includes our last dollar.

Let me tell you this true story.
There is one face of a boy that will never leave my mind. I see that face often in my time alone.

It was in Cusco, Peru. After two weeks in the jungle on a mission to build a church, our group took a break and became tourists. The group was led to an exclusive restaurant for a lavish meal. As we entered the establishment, a boy, about eight years old, stood at the door, looked me straight in the eyes, and pointed at his open mouth. The boy, obviously hungry, knew we were foreigners. He knew we came to get fed. He knew there would be plenty of food eaten and plenty left over. We ate for more than an hour. We listened to local music and singing for more than another hour. All full and smiles, we finally left the restaurant. When I got to the entrance door to get out, there still stood the boy, imploring my eyes to see if I brought him some morsel to eat. I hadn't. I forgot. What a wretched man I am.

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2 plus 2 equals 4 . . . Maybe?

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I recently was at Liberty Lake Park in Bedford. Since I wore my dapper hat, three young folks, about twelve years old, thought I'd be a sucker to buy a raffle ticket.

Well, I've never bought a lottery ticket in my life, I did bend for their effort however, and bought one ticket for a local cause.

The ticket's cost was three dollars. I had only two singles on me and didn't want to challenge the kids to change a larger bill. So, I hollered to my son and had him cough up the additional dollar.

I held the three single dollar bills in front of the kid's noses. They had seen me bum a dollar from my son. I asked them a simple question:

I said, "What if I win, how would I split the $100 prize?"

Right off the tall boy simply said, "You split it in half."

I reiterated the point, holding two dollars in one hand, and just one dollar in the other, and said, "But I put in two dollars and he only put in one dollar."

Then the girl piped up and said, "You keep $75 and he gets $25."

I said, "Hey you guys, that is not fair to him he would only get one forth and me three forth."

Still holding the three dollars in front of them I said, "Shouldn't he get one-third and I keep two-thirds?"

"Yes," said the younger of the three, "he gets ten dollars and you get ninety."

"Yo, listen!" I said. "One third of a hundred is $33. So, how much should I get if I win?"

Duh . . . none of the three had a clue.

Could it be that I intimidated those freckle-faced kids with my dapper hat?

Hat or no hat, WHAT DO THEY TEACH THE KIDS NOWADAYS?

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A Seizure

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This Sunday after church my wife and I chose a quaint restaurant to eat a light lunch.

A young man in his early thirties, and what appeared to be his grandmother, came in and were seated at the table next to us. The elderly lady, frail and assisted by a cane, gingerly took her seat. The waitress brought water and politely took their order.

My wife and I had just begun to enjoy our main course when the elderly woman began to have severe shakes. The shakes soon became uncontrollable in her legs and arms. The lady convulsed to a horizontal position and slipped to the floor. An ambulance was called.

Two or more waitresses came to assist the young man. After the convulsions somewhat subsided, they helped in repositioning her back to the chair.

The young man, on his knees, spoke to her in a kind manner while she began to regain control.

Suddenly, the old lady started to hit and smack the young man with an anger that obviously came from deep within her inner soul. With the waitresses' help they succeeded to restrain her violent outburst. Continuing to speak kindly to her, they accomplished to have her sit, although slumped, while her arms and legs still trembled.

A man, apparently a doctor, came rushing into the restaurant. With him he brought his soft-cloth satchel, a cushion and a small restraining jacket. He quickly checked her color and vital signs. Then, he and the young man gently wrapped her and the cushion, and carried the lady from the restaurant to await the ambulance.


Points to ponder:

Where did the doctor come from?  Did he have a scanner on to intercept the emergency call? If so, I praise God for people like that who would give up a Sunday lunch or a nap to rush to a need that is within their reach.

Why did the old woman beat and slap at the young man? He obviously gave up his time to treat his grandmother, or maybe simply an older lady, to lunch at a good, nice restaurant. I'm sure the woman initially accepted the young man's gracious offer and came with him willingly.

I'm not, by all means, condemning the old lady. I've seen several times, in my three-score-and-twelve years, when totally unbecoming and irrational behavior, or words, sprang forth from an old person.

In my mother's last days she became a person that I never saw or knew before. It was almost like little demons were coming out and grasping for a new home. It is scary to think that we as humans are all alike and capable of irrational deeds. The battle in us between good and evil rages since we were born. Don't ever say, "I'm not going to be like that when I get old."

To cap this little story, please read just these two verses in the bible:     Ephesians  6:12-13

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The Newness Of Life

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Every spring I rejoice in seeing the newness of life.

I ponder nature and try to apply it to my life. When the storms howl dead branches break and fall to the ground and are buried by leaves. I thank the Lord for my storms in life. For breaking off my deadness, my sins, and bury them, and be covered by His sacrifice.

I ponder the buds on the trees, a regeneration to newness, to purpose, to grow. I question my regeneration, my purpose. Am I here after seventy-two years to just sail into the sunset? No. My purpose is to grow closer to the Lord, and to participate in the growing of others.

I ponder the blossoms on the trees, cheerful, bright, attracting fellowship. I question my cheerfulness, my brightness, the light in me, does it it shine, draw others?

I ponder the onset of the fruit, the continuance of life, the life hereafter. I question my fruit. Have I been faithful and born the fruit I was asked to produce? Or do I need more pruning to remove the dead in me?

I ponder the seed that is in each fruit. May it be in the apple, in the persimmon, in the dogwood berry. I could bury a candy corn, but it will not grow to produce more corn. However, I can plant a seed from a tree or a vine and it will grow and produce more fruit–more seeds. Because God has endowed it with the spark of life.

So, what is the spark of life? When does it begin? We, mankind has already found out when we mess with tomatoes and corn for instance, we generate a hybrid fruit that has dead seeds in it. They will not sprout.

When does life begin? It begins with the will of God. How dare we, mankind, say a baby is nothing but a blob before it draws a breath. That is like saying an apple is not an apple until it is in a pie. Life begins at conception. It was God's will.

Let me leave you with an unsettling question and comment.

Why did a court of law convict Scott Peterson for killing his wife AND his unborn child? Because the child was a human being! The abortion mongers didn't complain and holler, "Ah that blob was not a person." Why? When does life begin?


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Warm Days

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I like spring because of its promise of life. Even the stinkbugs, the ones that tried so hard to get into your house in the fall, are now wanting to get back outside and back into action.

Not only do flowers spring up during the warm days, but also animals are drawn to wake up from a winter's rest and get on with the plan.

I recently saw this rock, precariously perched at the edge of our deck table.

I figured one of the grandchildren had placed it there. But, after trying to pick it up, it felt a bit fragile. I realized it was just hanging out there, enjoying the warmth of the sun.

When I touched his hind legs, this lethargic little toad just barely opened its eyes. His peaceful look simply said, "Hey, I'm not bothering anything."


Likewise, spring encourages the littlest blooms to show off and soak up the new warmth.

Those are not the blooms of wild strawberries. I know what one flower is, but I can't spell it. Don't know what the star-shaped bloom is.   (Clue me in please.)

Speaking of clueing me in, tell me what this one is. I've seen the thing bloom only in the woods. This one is at about 2,500 feet above sea level in a Floyd County woods.

I feel like I need to make a remark here.  STOP! Stop your walking, running, biking with those everlasting invasive earphones in your ears, and ENJOY the small things in life.

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