I have a friend named Paul and he says, "Paper Never Refused Ink!"  In that vein, I am inclined to end this blog because it has caused me nothing but a little trouble (and I don't think anybody reads it, or cares).  So if you happen by, here is a picture of some coffee for you to enjoy!

Kit

Death is a peculiar thing.  It brings out the best and worst in us but most of all, it brings out the stories.  One such story came out on the way back to visit my Father’s grave with my Mother.  It had only been two days since he had been buried and the story came out of nowhere.

Both of my Grandfathers were dirt poor and scratched a living from the dirt.  Neither family had much, and being the height of the Depression, neither did anybody else.  My Father’s dad, I called him Pa Pa, had a small dirt farm in the little town of Reklaw, Texas (Reklaw is Walker spelled backwards.  It’s near Sacul, which is Lucas spelled backwards and they both are named for the fellow who settled the area – Lucas Walker). My Grandfather's little farm was near the railroad track that ran through Reklaw and a train came through every day at 1:00 PM.  He knew it was time for lunch to be over when the train came through and blew its whistle.  He would get up from the table and say, “Looks like the old black cat’s got us!”, then go back to work in the field.

The train no longer goes through Reklaw and the tracks have long been torn out.  My Dad is buried next to my beloved Pa Pa.  All that is left are the stories.

It looks like the old black cat got us indeed.

MAKING MELODY
by Charles R. Swindoll

 Psalm 98

God’s sharp sword stabbed me deeply recently as I was on a scriptural hunt in the Ephesian letter. I was searching for a verse totally unrelated to the one that sliced its way into me. It was another of those verses I feel sorry for (like John 3:17 and 1 John 1:10—look ’em up). This was Ephesians 5:19: “speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody with your heart to the Lord.”

Everybody knows 5:18, where we are told “be filled with the Spirit.” But have you ever noticed that verse 18 ends with a comma, not a period? The next verse describes the very first result of being under the Spirit’s control: WE SING!

Now let’s go further. Ephesians 5 never once refers to a church building. I mention that because we Christians have so centralized our singing that we seldom engage in it once we walk away from a service. Stop and think. Did you sing on the way home last Sunday night? How about Monday, when you drove to work . . . or around the supper table . . . or Tuesday as you dressed for the day? Chances are, you didn’t even sing before or after you had your time with the Lord any day of the week. Why?

The Spirit-filled saint is a song-filled saint! Animals can’t sing. Neither can pews or pulpits or Bibles or buildings—only you. And your melody is broadcasted right into heaven, where God’s antenna is always receptive . . . where the soothing strains of your song are always appreciated.

Let me offer five suggestions:

• Whenever and whatever you sing, concentrate on the words.
• Make a definite effort to add one or two songs to your day.
• Sing often with a friend or members of your family. It helps break down all sorts of invisible barriers.
• Blow the dust off your tape or CD player and put on some beautiful music around the house. And don’t forget to sing along and add your own harmony and “special” effects.
• Never mind how beautiful or pitiful you may sound. You are not auditioning for the choir; you’re making melody with your heart. SING OUT!

If you listen closely when you’re through, you may hear the hosts of heaven shouting for joy. Then again, it might be your neighbor . . . screaming for relief.

Sing loud enough to drown out those defeating thoughts that clamor for attention.

Taken from Charles R. Swindoll, Day by Day with Charles Swindoll (Nashville: W Publishing Group, 2000). Copyright © 2000 by Charles R. Swindoll, Inc. All rights reserved.