My Ten Favorite Quotes (Today, Tomorrow it May be Different)

1.     The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.  ~ Dolly Parton

2.     If you hear a voice within you say “you cannot paint,” then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced. ~ Vincent Van Gogh

3. Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. ~ Mark Twain

4.     Fall seven times, stand up eight! ~ Japanese Proverbs

5.     No pressure, no diamonds. ~ Mary Case

6.  You must be the change you wish to see in the world. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

7.     Once you choose hope, anything’s possible. ~ Christopher Reeve

8.     Reach up as far as you can and God will help you reach the rest of the way. ~ Greg Hickman

9.     Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle. ~ Plato

    10. Never, never, never give up. ~ Winston Churchill    (In his later years, Winston Churchill was asked to give the commence-ment address at Oxford University. Following his introduction, he rose, went to the podium, and said the above 5 words. Then he took his seat.)

LATE (BUT ON TIME) FOR THANKSGIVING DINNER

While I was the pastor of West End United Methodist Church in Portsmouth, Virginia, I took a carload of ladies from the church to a Lyman Coleman small group seminar in Virginia Beach. The large auditorium at Virginia Beach UMC was filled with round tables, and seminar participants were assigned to sit at different tables so no two people from the same church shared a table.  Dr. Coleman then began the warm-up session by providing us with questions to ask each other at our table. One of the questions was “How many speeding tickets have you been given since you started driving?”  I, of course, had the most of anyone at our table, and as it turned out the most of anyone at the seminar: eleven.

Much to my chagrin Dr. Coleman then had us share some of our answers, and I had to stand and announce to the entire room that I had accumulated eleven speeding tickets in the twenty five years that I had been driving.  The ladies from West End Church seemed a little hesitant to get back into my car for the drive back to the church at the close of the seminar.  Who could blame them?  I decided right then and there that I would do better, drive better, and get no more speeding tickets.  And the only way to absolutely be sure that I didn’t get another speeding ticket would be to never again speed.  Ever.  Easy, right?  Read on…

The next week was Thanksgiving.  My son, Sam, was in the first grade, and had invited me to join him for the school’s Thanksgiving Lunch on the last day of school before the Thanksgiving Holiday break.  I had some ill parishioners across town that I needed to visit that day but I felt that I could see them and still make it to his school in plenty of time.  The problem was that at the last home I visited I found the wife to be in quite a bit of distress over her husband’s illness, so I took some extra time to listen to and console her, occasionally checking the time on her mantle clock.  They were an elderly couple, and I could see that worry was taking its toll on them.  As we chatted she invited me to lunch.  As I glanced again at her clock I politely explained that I was to have lunch with my son at his school at noon. 

“Oh dear!” she said, looking beyond me to a clock on the wall behind me, “You don’t have much time to get there, it’s already eleven forty-five!” 

“What?!” I exclaimed, quickly turning to see the wall clock, then turning back to again check the mantle clock.  Pointing toward it I said, “That clock says eleven-fifteen!”

“Oh, I know,” she giggled, “its run slow for years.  I suppose we really should get it repaired but we’re so used to it now we never think anything of it.”

I said a hasty prayer, apologized, and ran from the house to my car.  Over my shoulder I heard her exclaim, “You be careful now!”

I probably don’t have to tell you what happened next.  Every light between her house and Sam’s school turned red just as I got to it, and then I seemed to be behind every slow driver in the entire city whenever I was were I could not pass.  I prayed, I fumed, and I swore that I would never again be late!  I was determined to keep my word and not speed.  That promise was harder to keep when at last I was on the freeway and the lanes were open, and there was nothing to stop me. 

I was torn between wanting to be there on time for Sam (I hated the thought of him believing that I had forgotten, and let him down), and wanting to not speed (I had to get this speeding compulsion under control).  So, I sang hymns, and then I prayed.  I knew that I was going to be at least ten minutes late, unless I gave in and hit that accelerator hard.  I also knew that if I got pulled over for speeding I would be even later. So I prayed that, first of all, I get to Sam’s school safely, and secondly, that he not be too upset.  I asked that God please help me to get there by twelve-ten.

At eight minutes past noon I pulled into the school parking lot, found a parking place almost immediately, and walked through the doors of the school at 12:10 pm!  When I started to stop to get a pass at the office the secretary waved me on.  Down the hall was the “cafetorium” and I could already hear the loud but happy sounds of the children.

I stepped into the room, and was overwhelmed by the sight before me: there were more than seven hundred children, all of them wearing paper head décor.  There were Indians with a single, colorful feather, maidens with white bonnets, and pilgrims with tall black hats.  How was I ever going to find Sam?

As I scanned the sea of children’s festive headdresses I saw something different: one tiny hand in the air.  I stopped there, and my eyes looked from the hand to the eyes of a tiny Indian’s face beaming at me.  Sam.  I rushed over to his table, prepared to apologize.  His teacher saw me coming and stood and indicated an empty seat beside Sam.  She then directed me to get my tray and come join them. 

When I was seated, Sam beside me, his teacher across from us, I again started to explain why I was late and to apologize.  But his teacher stopped me with these words, “Sam made me save you a place, Mr. Harris, because he said that his daddy would never forget to come to Thanksgiving Dinner.”

Time seemed to stand still at that moment, as a wave of emotion rushed over me.  I slowly sat down, and glancing at Sam, who was happily engaged in eating his lunch, I had a profound realization:  Sam placed more trust in me as his father than I deserved, but my Heavenly Father wanted me to have just such a child-like trust in Him.  Then, as I tried getting the turkey and mashed potatoes past the lump in my throat, I also realized that despite what anyone’s watch or clock might have said, when I entered that room I was, in fact, right on time.

Sometimes trusting God means not allowing what seems to be true to be all we will settle for; it sometimes means believing that which is not seen, but is truly real and really true nonetheless.

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." - Hebrews 11:1 (KJV)

Realizing the Extent of God's Grace and Blessings Results in Generous Giving

People often tell me that I am talented and gifted, and in some areas I am.  Money management is not one of those areas.  I can honestly own up to that fact simply because it has been shown to be true over and over through the years.  One of the many reasons I am so grateful for my wife, Debbie, is that she is a very capable money manager.

In my young adult years I was ashamed to be so poor at managing my meager financial resources yet I would not seek help from my parents.  The consequence was that during my freshman year at Virginia Commonwealth University (VCU) I worked at three part-time jobs and lived on candy bars and Pepsi Cola.  My parents would have been shocked to know this, of course, and I didn’t want to use any more of their meager resources than necessary (nor did I want to hear a “sermon” from my Dad on money management).  They were operating a boarding school for severely disabled adults, and they needed everything they had just to keep it afloat. Of course, they would have helped, had I asked.

Instead, the three jobs and the long hours they occupied in my life, plus my subsequent tiredness, took their toll on my studies; and in the summer following my first year I dropped out and joined the Navy.  My parents were devastated by this decision, as this was in 1968, and the Vietnam War was taking the lives of many of our nation’s young men.  As it turned out I did not go to Vietnam; after boot camp and photography school, I spent two years in Meridian, Mississippi, and nineteen months aboard a ship in the northern Atlantic Ocean.

Not Much to Show for the Effort

When I was discharged from the Navy in December of 1972, I had managed to save enough for a new car. That was it. And after I purchased my dream car, a 1972 Plymouth Barracuda, I had nothing left. I moved to Cincinnati, to an apartment on the second floor of my uncle’s house, and began to look for work. It was 1973 and the oil crisis was beginning to change how we spent our money. Gas was expensive and hard to find. So were jobs.

Even though veterans were at the top of the list in the employment agencies, I went weeks without work. My Uncle Bud was as understanding as he could be, but I was getting further and further behind in my rent. I finally found a job as a glass-blower in a thermometer factory (that sounds like a joke, I know, but it really was my job title). That job lasted less than a month (my only time ever working in a factory); then I worked as a shoe salesman (and got to meet Pete Rose). Later I found work as a traveling photographer, going to beauty salons and photographing the customers after their hair was done. That job evaporated due to the rising cost of fuel.  By then Uncle Bud had asked me to “relocate,” so soon I was living in an efficiency apartment in a boarding house for $10.00 a week.  It wasn’t long before I was unable to pay that rent or even eat healthy meals.

It Had Never Occurred to Me to Ask God for Help

Though I was raised in the church, it was no longer a part of my life. I sometimes thought of my self as an atheist, or at least as an agnostic.  I felt ashamed for having gotten myself into such a state of poverty and distress, and I refused to ask my parents for help, or even let them know how bad off I was.  The fact is, I had been a self-serving person for years.  I didn’t care what God wanted for me, and I was not going to allow God to influence how I lived.

I will tell you in another post of how God rescued me from that situation. But suffice it to say for now that I finally reached the point of such desperation that I cried out to God, and God heard me and brought me out of fear, poverty and distress.

The Widow Has Her Priorities Right

In this blog post I want us to consider the account of Jesus and his followers observing a poor widow in the temple who gave all she had to God.  Jesus says it was “all she had to live on.” Probably money managers of today would call her foolish; but Jesus considered her to be blessed.

Your church – wherever you attend - does not want all that you have to live on, but each of us who is a part of a church family should contribute their fair share.  It isn’t about how much one gives (the widow gave only two small coins), but rather it is about giving as much as one should.  So what is one’s “fair share”?  The simplest answer would be to say 10%.  Indeed if everyone gave 10% of their income, the church would collect funds far in excess of our budget!  And it would be fair to all, since all would give equally of their income. But, I know that if you have never been a tither before then the thought of giving ten percent seems incredible.

The more realistic proposal for how to give your “fair share” is to suggest that we each give a percentage portion of your income; if not 10%, then perhaps 7% or 5% or even 4%. God will bless any committed effort to consistently give to God’s work.  I would also encourage any of us who are giving according to a plan to give a bit more than you think you can afford.  I truly believe that anyone who does will be amazed at how God will bless their sincere effort to give their fair share.

After God rescued me from the brink of disaster in Cincinnati, how could I not give back? I know that some preach the idea of “giving to get” (give God money so you can receive blessings), but I am not one of those. Oh, I do believe that God blesses us when we bless others; but that is the natural result of generosity, and should not be the goal of the giver. I prefer to say we should give because we have truly been blessed. I believe with all my heart that if you will step out in faith and make a percentage pledge to your church, you will be able, by the grace of God, to give more than you ever imagined, and thus bless the church and the God who has blessed you time and time again.

Dear Lord, you gave your all for us. You did not hold back in any way. We are grateful for your sacrificial love and grace. We pray that you will meet the needs of our churches and members in the coming year, and that we will be enabled to step out in faith and trust you as we give and live in 2011. Please guide us by your Holy Spirit to give to others who are in need as well.  In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

Why I Am Changing the Name of This Blog

This is my first blog, which I started a little over a week ago, on October 22^, 2010.  I had trouble deciding on a name for the blog, and chose “ArtWorXReflexions” because the name of my painting studio is Jim Harris ArtWorX Studio, and because this blog is intended to be a sort of spiritual journal.  The spiritual life is to be lived in reflection, that is it should reflect our faith, and how that faith influences and interacts with all of our life.  The spiritual life should also include time spent reflecting on our walk and relationship with God.

This is especially a blog about my life as an painter who uses the stained-glass effect as his motif.  The stained glass windows of the great Gothic cathedrals have historically been related to the telling of stories from the Bible.  It was developed during the dark ages, when many people were illiterate.  By studying the windows the believers could learn the stories, and gain an understanding of their meaning.  The stained glass windows of the middle ages articulated (made clear) those stories and their meaning.

That is the hope for my art, my sermons and my writing, that I may clearly articulate my faith and it’s role in my life. Thus my new name for this blog will be:  ARTiculate.

Did You Know: Cars Cost Less than Candy Bars!

One of my favorite “duties” at Bridgewater United Methodist Church, where I am the Associate Pastor for Congregational Care, is having the Children’s Moments during the 11:00 a.m. worship service.

Today I wanted to talk to them a little bit about the meaning of Halloween, and suggest ways for them to make it a fun day.  I also wanted to relate Halloween with All Saints Day.  On top of all that I wanted to put something into their hands that would help them remember what I said, but I did not want that to be candy, since I was sure they would get plenty of candy tonight as they go trick-or-treating.  The solution I came up with was to give each of them a Hotwheels toy car.  Did you know that you can still purchase Hotwheels and Matchbox cars for less than a dollar?  They sell for 99 cents at Walmart.  Think of it…that’s nearly fifty cents less than the average full size candy bar!

So, perhaps you are wondering what toy cars have to do with Halloween.   Well, as I explained to the boys and girls, Halloween is the day before All Saints Day (which is always on November 1^st), and has become a bid deal largely because of generations of superstition.  I explained to them that a superstition is a silly belief that really has no basis in reality, such as “step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” or “break a mirror and have seven years bad luck.”  We had some laughs about those.  I told them that all the evil and bad parts of Halloween come from silly superstitions, and that they needed to just have fun, and not be scared.  As long as they were not tricking anyone they should have a fun time.

Then I talked to them about the importance of All Saints Day.  I explained that saints are the wonderful Christian men and women who were a part of the church before us and have now died and live with Jesus in heaven.  All Saints Day is one day when we remember them and thank God for them.  I told them about my grandparents who lived in Florida when I was little, and how I didn’t know them well because I hardly ever got to see them.  But, they were very special to me because they ate the kind of cereal that had toy cars in the bottom of the box.  Then they would mail to cars to me in Virginia.  I loved those little cars.  They were plastic and the same size as my Matchbox cars. 

Today I gave each of the children a Hotwheels car to honor my grandparents and to help them see that God has blessed us with wonderful families, and God has blessed the church with wonderful saints who, like my grandparents, have set the example of how to live the Christian life.

End-Note: There’s more to the story of my Florida grandparents (a truly great lesson to be learned from them) which I will write about during the Advent season, just before Christmas.

How My Hometown Came to be My Hometown

I grew up in Keezletown, Virginia, in the heart of the beautiful Shenandoah Valley. We moved there from the place of my birth, Cincinnati, Ohio, when I was nearly three years old.

I had two special-needs siblings.  My brother Paul had been born with cerebral palsey and he was being seen regularly by doctors at the Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, and my sister Merle, four years older than Paul, had been born with a hole in her heart and was being treated by doctors at the Medical College of Virginia Hospital in Richmond.  As a result, my parents were making lots of trip from Ohio to the east.  They would usually come through the Shenandoah Valley, or “the Valley” as we refer to it, on U.S. 33 and they always admired its beauty.  Finally, Dad came by himself one time to find a home they could purchase so they would be closer to the hospitals.  They also wanted to be out of the city.

My parents were concerned about my oldest brother Hugh, that he might be starting to hang with the wrong crowd, and the direction his life was taking him.  He was 14 when we moved, and it was really hard for him.  It wasn’t too hard for me, I loved the big yard, the apple orchard, and the various out buildings that made up our little farmette of three and a half acres.

It was also hard on my mom. She had always been a city girl. Now she lived in a small town with one small grocery store/gas station. It was especially hard because the good folk of Keezletown eyed our family with great suspicion.  They couldn’t imagine why these city folks would want to live in their little community.  Even at the little Methodist church people were very slow to warm up to my family, and they didn’t let them get involved in things at first.  This added to the isolation Mom felt, and as a result, she  became very homesick.

I was oblivious to all of this, of course, until something that happened in the third grade.

People from Ohio are “Yankees”

I adored my third grade teacher, and so I choose to believe that she didn’t know how her actions of that fateful day would affect my life.  I was reading something aloud in class and she stopped me and said, “Jimmy, you pronounce your ‘th’ words like someone from Ohio.”  “Oh,” I innocently replied, “that’s because I am from Ohio. I was born there.”

A shudder of realization swept the room, and my fellow student eyed me suspiciously.  I seem to remember some of them even backing their desks slightly away from mine.  At recess that day I learned that I was a “Yankee” and they were “Rebels” and Yankees and Rebels were sworn enemies for all time.

We often would play Civil War on the school playground, with us school kids, the “Southerners,” always winning against the unseen and invisible Northern Enemy.  But from that fateful day onward they had a visible Yankee, and the North routinely lost the Civil War on the school playground.  How could I help but lose, being so greatly out-numbered?

It was a bit confusing to me, however, because they were all crazy about baseball, and their favorite team was the New York Yankees.  It was bad for me to actually be a Yankee, but they had no hesitation to root for “the Yankees” during the baseball season.  The only baseball team I ever heard about at home was the wonderful Reds of Cincinnati, and so I stupidly suggested to my schoolmates that the Reds were as good as the Yankees, which did not endear me to them either.

People often say, “Oh kids will be kids, I’m sure they got over it and forgot you were a Yankee.”  You would like to think so, but the following year the Fourth Grade Class took a trip to Williamsburg and Jamestown, and I bought a Rebel hat at the gift shop in Jamestown, hoping desperately to fit in better.  I tried to wear it home on the bus, but my classmates became so enraged that I, a Yankee, would try to disguise myself as a Rebel that they took my hat from me, and I never saw it again!

My Adopted Hometown Finally Adopted Me

Of course, over time my family gradually gained acceptance.  My mother became a Sunday school teacher, and my Dad was on the church board, and took turns holding various offices in the church. However, when my parents opened a boarding and day school for the severely physically handicapped adults of the area rumors began circulating that this non-profit organization was a sham, and that we were raising funds to build a bigger house for ourselves.

My parents never would talk much about how hurtful that was.  Instead, they set out to win the hearts of the people in Keezletown.  First of all they named it Community of Hope, and then they recruited people of the town to work there.   It was the best thing they could have done, because the people who worked there became eyewitnesses to the good that was being done, and could see how the monies were being spent.  Over time the rumors died out, and Keezletonians came to accept Community of Hope as a part of the town.

I persevered as well, and to this day I am close friends with many of my old elementary school friends.  I came to love that little town, as did my Mom.  The folks there came to love us as well, though they never forgot that we were Yankees.  Or so I thought.

In 2004 when I was about to retire from full-time pastoral ministry the Keezletown Postmaster attended my retirement worship service at Fishersville Church.  She was in her early 80’s and had been the Postmaster there for more than 40 years, and in fact, the Post Office was located in the front room of her house!  When testimonials were called for she stood and said that she was proud of me and my success as a pastor, especially since I was the only one in my family who had been born in Keezletown.

Wow!  Now that’s acceptance, when they think you were born there and that you are one of them!

I bear no ill will or bad memories of those childhood days.  I learned many things through living that out, things that I have used throughout my life.  Seeing how my parents handled the rejection and suspicion was a great lesson as well.  They simply chose to return not in-kind, but rather to love the people until at last they loved them back.

Now, for me, Keezletown is my home town, not Cincinnati.  And I thank God that I grew up there.

 

My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed. ~ Psalm 139:15-16

HOW TO GET IN GOD'S WAY (And Lose a Church Member)

Whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. “When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. - Matthew 6:5-8 NRSV
 Wait for the Lord, and keep to his way...  - Psalm 37:34a NIV

What is it that compels us to feel we must answer our own prayers, or drives us to not wait upon the Lord, but just barge ahead and do it ourselves?  So often when we do that we end up getting in God's way, and we cheat ourselves out of the discovery that God had indeed heard our prayer, and was about to answer it - according to God's will, not ours.  The worse case scenario is that in foolishly rushing ahead of God we ay inadvertently (or even worse, intentionally) hurt others.

Such is the case in this true story.  [NOTE: I have changed some details to hide the "who," the "where" and the "when."]  Nearly four decades ago in a rural community "Jed*" owned a small gas station/grocery store just down the road from a little Methodist Church.  Anyone anywhere could be guilty, even today, of rush to judgment, and getting in God's way.

Many of the members of the church were his regular customers, and they often invited him to church activities, but he never came; that is, until he came to their revival (to this day he cannot tell why he went).  At the revival, much to his surprise, and to the surprise of the church members, he accepted Christ as his personal savior, and he began to attend church there. Soon he was attending the only adult Sunday school class; and, in the tradition of too many churches then and now, it wasn't long before he was taking a turn teaching the class.

Once he started teaching the class he was forced to get serious about getting into the Word of God. He started studying for the lesson on Sunday afternoon, and by Saturday he had it pretty well figured out.  What he lacked in skill and knowledge he made up for in enthusiasm.  There is nothing more compelling and exciting than the lessons of one who is learning and discovering the age old Bible stories for the first time.  That pure, child-like joy he manifested as he came to understand the Bible soon resulted in his becoming the only teacher of the class.

Jed taught the class for several weeks, and as he studied and prepared the lessons, God would speak to his heart and convict him of attitudes and behaviors. He was repenting and turning from something nearly every week, and he wondered if God would ever be done with him. He was also an increasingly compassionate man, and his concern for the poor and hurting was growing and becoming contagious.

Meanwhile, a woman in his class (one of its former teachers) was becoming increasingly agitated because he still sold cigarettes and beer at his station.  She began to work in the background to get others in the class upset about this.  Of course, neither she nor anyone else in the class ever mentioned these concerns to him, even though they all bought their gasoline and some of their daily groceries from him.  Some of them were praying for God to touch his heart and help him see the error of his ways.

While this concern was growing God was reaching out to him through his daily Bible readings and prayer times. He began to be concerned that selling cigarettes and beer was a poor witness for Jesus. Finally one week, when the beer truck driver came he had him remove all the beer. "You'll never stay in business without beer," he threatened; but, it proved to not be true.

The cigarette man said much the same thing, but Jed insisted that he remove the cigarettes from his store anyway. To this day he does not sell either (or lottery tickets!), and he is still in business.

He was humbly excited about this decision, and ashamed that he had taken so long to catch on.  He was looking forward to church the next Sunday and to telling the class what God had done.  He never got the chance.  When he stood to teach that Sunday, before he could share anything about what he had done that week, the woman who was so angry with him stood and publicly denounced him for calling himself a "Christian" while still selling cigarettes and beer.

He was shocked and hurt, but he said nothing. He simply closed the lesson book, picked up his Bible and left the church. He drove a dozen miles or so to the closest small town and found a church of a different denomination.  He never went back, and it was many days before the other members of the class actually looked around his station and saw that he no longer sold beer and cigarettes.  To this day he is a very active member of the church in town.

They told the woman in Sunday school about his changes, but her heart had grown hard, and she refused to believe them.  They never did invite her to be their teacher again, and sadly she became more and more embittered over the years.  Not trusting that God would hear and answer a prayer for his heart to change, she chose "play god" and cost that small church a very valuable member and teacher.

Do not judge, and you will not be judged.  Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.  Forgive, and you will be forgiven.  - Luke 6:37 NIV 

Inside OASIS (Recent Photographs)

The OASIS Gallery is located at 103 South Main Street, Harrisonburg, Virginia.

This is a cooperative gallery of more than thirty artist and artisans showcasing the best of local and regional arts and crafts in a convenient downtown location. Next time you are downtown for shopping or dining be sure to stop by OASIS and see my work and all the other wonderful things there.  These photos are to whet your appetite for all that OASIS has to offer.

For Homecoming JMU challenged the downtown businesses to come up with the best JMU-related window, and OASIS won the contest with this window:

And here is the award:

Unintended Detour

Some years ago I attended the funeral of a friend.  During the service his pastor quoted from portions of a long poem he said has been my friend's favorite.  There was a line from that poem that has stuck with me ever since: "I have determined that when I find myself on a detour I will enjoy the view."  That was exactly how my friend had lived his life.  Despite his serious illness and many hospital stays over the years, he was always ready with a smile, a positive word, and a good attitude. 

During my years as a volunteer chaplain at Augusta Health I have quoted that line over and over.  I realized that it must have been during his own times in the hospital - his own detours - that it meant the most to my friend.  It always seemed to be meaningful when I shared it with patients. I have also mentioned it in other contexts to people seeking my pastoral care and insights.  My friend died in his 60's due to his illness, but his faith and view of life live on as I share his story and that quote.

And so I found myself on a little unintended detour yesterday.  I had gone to Waynesboro to pick up some supplies and decided that since I needed to go to Verona also, I would use Route 254 instead of US 250.  However, when I got to the intersection of Poplar and Broad instead of turning onto Poplar I drove on to the Willow Oak Shopping Center, as I usually would.  As I entered the parking lot I couldn't believe that I had driven there without even realizing it.  Isn't it kind of scary that we can drive on "auto-pilot"? 

There I was, on an unintended detour.  There was nothing to "see" besides pavement and store fronts.  I knew that there was a back entrance to the center that would take me over to Poplar and I exited that way.  As I got near to Poplar I could see this stunning tree a block or so beyond.  We weren't having a very colorful fall this year, perhaps due to the drought, or to the fact that we had not yet had a heavy freeze.  I wanted to see a tree that was bursting with color, so I drove beyond Poplar and found the tree on Ohio Avenue.  I was glad that I had my camera in the car.  That is the tree that is pictured above.

 

To get to Route 254 from Poplar I had to turn onto Ivy Street.  Almost immediately I came face to face with the most stunning red tree.  Red is especially rare this year, and most trees with red leaves lose them almost as soon as they appear.  After photographing the tree I continued on Ivy and was amazed to see another tree in full glory on the other side of the street a couple of blocks down.  Wow!  It was huge and bathed in splendid bright orange leaves.

I was really excited now.  I traveled on to Verona fully expecting to stop many times to photograph more bright trees.  However, from Waynesboro to Verona and on back to my home in Staunton I never saw another tree that was covered with brightly colored leaves.  It was while I was reflecting on that amazing reality that it dawned on me:  I had experienced life that day in a way that would have greatly pleased my old friend.  I had found myself on a detour and I had "enjoyed" the view. 

Admittedly, if I had been pressed for time yesterday the enjoyment of the view or even the detour itself would likely not have been a happy occasion.  I hope that I will learn from this, and try not to be in so much of a hurry that I miss the detours and the views that God has laid out to bless and encourage me.

One of my favorite Bible passages is Romans 8:28, "We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose."  Now, if I could just remember to embrace that in all my journeys and travels.

Blessings, Jim