Meager Hope In Bad Times

Ginny came through safe, but Monday she found herself in a potentially explosive situation.

Her boss assigned her to a team interviewing applicants for 75 job openings. Over 300 people showed up wanting those jobs.

Extra security officers were on duty but nevertheless things got loud for a while as frustrated, fearful people vied for a job.

Now the job openings pay just above the minimum wage.

They are temporary jobs

They are only part-time.

The major requirement is that the workers be able to read, write and count.

Yet, some people Ginny interviewed hold masters degrees. Some of these desperate unemployed people drove down 50 miles from Georgia to apply.

An economic crisis grips our nation as millions of people have lost jobs, and one of every six homes are in foreclosure. The Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office says crime is on the rise in all areas of the city and that domestic violence calls have increased 40% in March as tensions and frustrations build.

And there is no peace.

Ginny and I understand the frustration level of these poor jobseekers. Back in 1977 I worked for the county mosquito control board. I grew mosquitoes for test purposes, a job I intended to stay in till I retired. A budget cut forced 18 of us to be laid off.

Now, a man who knows how to grow mosquitoes can find a new job anywhere—right?

Not necessarily.

After searching high and low for work, in frustration I wrote a magazine article about coping with unemployment. It sold. But not for much. So I wrote about coping with poverty.

That launched me in my career as a free-lance writer—the next rung on the ladder of unemployment. But I’ve kept it up ever since.

We endured horrible times of poverty and deprivation praying for daily bread daily. Knowing every certified letter was a final notice. Living without lights or water in the house. Living in HUD housing on food stamps. Fearing every phone ring was another bill collector…

Then the kids would bounce home from school proudly bearing class photos to be purchased at an astronomical price—and I’d see their faces when we told them we could only buy the tiny wallet sized photos instead of the big ones.

But we survived.

Battered, bruised, but we survived.

Back to back, shoulder to shoulder, Ginny and I fought the world like bears in a trap just to keep our threatened family together.

Many times I lost hope, I lost faith, I lost charity—but the Lord brought us through (In His own sweet time!) I felt useless, lazy, cast-aside, worthless.

And, believe me, when you get in that state, those feelings stick with you even when you survive. You know intellectually that the Lord knows His own and is a very present help in time of trouble, but that’s a hard thing to keep believing when you’re desperate and no end is in sight.

As my friend Wes says, “Sometimes when tribulation comes, all you can do is stand there and tribulate”.

Yes we survived, but even today I feel shell-shocked, a disaster survivor stumbling amid the ruins wondering what happened to my life. Yes, I trust in God and praise His name, but those feelings do linger

So, I felt terrible when Ginny told me about those frantic job seekers yesterday. I understand why they might be dangerous. And I have nothing to really offer the poor bastards.

Yet, I remember one verse of Scripture that I clung to myself during our own times of tribulation:

“I know the plans I have for you, saith the Lord. They are plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope”.

Good Dogs—Small, Medium & Large

As Ginny and I worked in our garden this weekend, a flock of russet-capped sparrows swarmed around our birdfeeder. At one point Ginny counted 19 of the flighty creatures. We were happy to see the migration.

But today, I’m writing about dogs, not birds.

Back on March 18^th, I explained about posting photos of dogs on this site. Not everyone who buys my books has a blog or website of their own and they get a kick out of seeing their pets displayed on the internet, hence on my site.

That’s what’s going on.

For instance, here is a photo of JaNene’s tiny dog, Keila:

Alert little thing isn’t it?

JaNene owns copies of several of my books including her purchase last week of Heroes All, my history of firefighting in Jacksonville. JaNene says she is the Number One Fan of my books.

Here is a photo of JaNene’s daughter Nitaholding Keila:

Thinking about good dogs reminds me of the first dog Ginny and I ever owned. Walking though a New Mexico desert 40 years ago, back when we drove an 18-wheel, tractor-trailer truck over the road, we spotted this odd lump near a lonely highway. On investigation, we discovered a puppy that someone had coated with tar and thrown out to die in the wilderness.

Even the puppy’s legs were stuck together with tar so it could not walk. And frostbite had taken off one of the puppy’s ears.

We gathered it up and took it to a truck stop garage where the mechanics let us bathe the puppy in solvent. We had to cut a lot of fur off before ending up with a presentable looking border collie. One of the mechanics nicknamed the dog Engine, but because we’d found it near a pueblo ruin, everybody around the truck stop started saying Injune.

Here is a 1971 photo of the noble, grown-up Injune in his Dog of Destiny pose on a roc outcrop in Texas. This medium-sized dog was one of those dogs who “smile” showing all his teeth when wanted to play. Injune lived with us for many years and traveled in the truck with us all over the country:

Later, we acquired Sheba,. a mostly Black Lab, who lived with us for 17 years. Here is a photo of her, oddly enough, it’s the only photo of her that we have:

Although a huge dog which intimidated visitors on first sight, Sheba never met a stranger. She loved everybody. In fact, in all the years she lived with us, I only heard her growl once—that was when Ginny and I were horse-playing in the kitchen and Ginny squeaked as I dropped an icecube down the neck of her blouse; Sheba charged into the kitchen with bared teeth and growled at me as she protected her beloved Ginny.

Many, many years later, killing Sheba was the third hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I mentioned it in a biographical speech I was once asked to give at a church.

If you like, you can read my talk—the title is Guts, Feathers and All—at http://www.cowart.info/Gutsspeech/GutsFeathers.htm

My Triumph Over Temptation—after a fashion

Yesterday I meet a strong temptation and I resisted it—for all of 12 minutes.

Then, I succumbed as usual.

But for a whole 12 minutes there, I triumphed over temptation.

Won’t Jesus be just tickled pink with me?

Stronger Christians exist, I know. But I’m not one of them. In fact, I don’t ever recall resisting any temptation for very long. When tempted to do anything, I eventually give in and do what I know is wrong, or I avoid doing what I know is right.

That phrase in the Lord’s Prayer, “Lead us not into temptation” has meaning for me. The only wrong things I’ve not done are the ones I’ve never been tempted to do.

For instance, I’ve never been drunk. No virtue on my part. It’s just that I’ve never had a taste for liquor—never been tempted to over indulge.

On the other hand, resentment, bitterness, petty theft, gossip, anger, secret lust, carnal cravings, harsh words, obstinate opinions, all sorts of mental cruelty, backbiting, ambition, inordinate love of possessions, hypocrisy, vicarious enjoyment of other people’s sins, and a host of other sins—those catch me every time, as well as even more squalid iniquity.

I wallow in that stuff.

See why I need a Savior?

There was a reason Christ died on that cross.

But, doesn’t the Scripture say that God will with every temptation make a way to escape that ye may be able to bear it?

Funny thing that.

The few times I can recall escaping temptation, it wasn’t my own doing. Like that time parked petting with that girl as we kissed goodnight in front of her house and all systems were GO, but her father came out to the car and interrupted us moments before lift off…. I was saved from temptation, but I was not happy about it one bit.

Back on July 26, 2007, I wrote a another entry about temptation, “The Most Effective Spiritual Phrase We can Ever Use”.. It works but I still haven’t altogether absorbed that lesson myself.

Another thing, I have trouble telling the difference between an opportunity and a temptation. Like if I’m working on one project when the chance to move on to another one comes up; is the new thing a temptation to keep me from finishing project one, or is this the sign to abandon a futile project and move ahead into a new venue?

Beats me how to tell the difference.

You pays your money and you makes your choice—and live with the consequences.

What brought up this train of thought?

At the moment I’m facing a long-term temptation. I’m torn between trusting the Lord to provide, or taking matters into my own hands. Or is taking matters into my own hands an expression of trust in God and an exercise in common sense?

This dwells on my mind gnawing at me this morning.

Bummer.

I do not know how it will turn out.

Maybe I’ll triumph over this particular temptation.

I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me—for at least 12 minutes.

Under

In my devotions yesterday I read the most horrible chapter in the Bible.

I’m trying to read the whole Bible in the course of this year and my reading program has taken me into the book of Deuteronomy. At this point the people of Israel stand ready to enter the promised land.

Moses assembles them near the crossing of the Jordan and tells them that they are to cross without him. He reminds them of how God delivered them from slavery in Egypt. “The Lord brought us forth our of Egypt with a mighty hand, and with an outstretched arm, and with great terribleness…”

He instructs them that once they cross the river, they are to erect great stone pillars and plaster them with plaster. “And thou shalt write upon the stones all the words of this law very plainly”.

He reviews the main points of the law, and the people respond “Amen” to each point.

Moses pronounces lavish blessings on them as they keep the Commandments:

All these blessings shall come on thee, and overtake thee, if thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the LORD thy God.

Blessed shalt thou be in the city, and blessed shalt thou be in the field.

Blessed shall be the fruit of thy body, and the fruit of thy ground, and the fruit of thy cattle, the increase of thy kine, and the flocks of thy sheep.

Blessed shall be thy basket and thy store.

Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in, and blessed shalt thou be when thou goest out.

The LORD shall cause thine enemies that rise up against thee to be smitten before thy face: they shall come out against thee one way, and flee before thee seven ways.

The LORD shall command the blessing upon thee in thy storehouses, and in all that thou settest thine hand unto; and he shall bless thee in the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.

The LORD shall establish thee an holy people unto himself, as he hath sworn unto thee, if thou shalt keep the commandments of the LORD thy God, and walk in his ways.

And all people of the earth shall see that thou art called by the name of the LORD; and they shall be afraid of thee.

And the LORD shall make thee plenteous in goods,…

The blessings go on and on.

Then comes the horror.

But, it shall come to pass, if thou wilt not hearken…

Moses clearly states what happens when we break the Commandments and seek after other gods. These horrible terrors are described in detail in Deuteronomy Chapter 28.

Worst chapter in the Bible.

A real conscience rattler.

More gruesome than any Stephen King novel!

It’s chapters like this that give the Bible a bad name among squeamish unbelievers.

It’s not for sissies.

Shudder!

As Jon’s cartoon says:

But, also in my reading yesterday I ran across this quote from Hannah Whitall Smith , a Quaker lady who died in 1911 but whose books remain in print and are widely read even today.

She speaks to my condition when she said:

I was once talking to an intelligent agnostic. He said, "The Christians I meet seem to me to be the very most uncomfortable people anywhere around. They seem to carry their religion as a man carries a headache. He does not want to get rid of his head, but at the same time, it is very uncomfortable to have it."

This was a lesson I have never forgotten. It seemed, as one of my Christian friends said to me one day when we were com­paring our experiences, "as if we had just enough religion to make us miserable."

I confess that being uncomfortable with religion was very disappointing. I had expected something altogether different. It seemed to me exceedingly odd that a religion whose fruits were declared in the Bible to be love, joy, and peace should so often work out practically in an exactly opposite direction and should develop the fruits of doubt, fear, unrest, conflict, and discom­forts of every kind. Why should the children of God lead such utterly uncomfortable religious lives when He has led us to believe that His yoke would be easy and His burden light? Why do we find it so hard to be sure that God really loves us?

The religion of the Lord Jesus Christ was meant to be full of comfort, because "eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for them that love Him."

All the difficulty arises from the fact that we have under-believed and under-trusted.

Yes, indeed, She speaks to my condition.

Dead Stick

The bed of amaryllis I photographed last week has put out a few more flowers—and it’s not finished yet! Some stalks have hardly broken through the soil.

To avoid working or thinking this past week, I’ve engaged in yard work. Mowing, pruning, raking, cleaning, moving stuff that I haven’t touched since November.

The yard went to pot over the winter.

The yard is not the only thing.

Stifled because of age, arthritis and physical inactivity, added to just plain laziness, I find that I’ve grown weaker. I’m not able to sustain hard work long enough to get a job done in one push.

After every 20 minutes work, I need a 20 minute break.

Ginny and I enjoy a rest area under an awning attached to a shed. Two comfortable chairs, a side table for coffee cups, an easy-listening station on the radio, fountain bubbling close at hand, bird feeders visible, our rest area provides a panoramic view of the yard.

Problem is… the view from our rest station also provides an overwhelming view of work that still needs doing. Any direction I look, I see things that need fixing—for instance, I see that dead stick hooked in the foliage of the flamingo plant.

As soon as coffee break is over, I’m going to pick up that dead stick.

I knock out my pipe and start toward the flamingo plant…I hear the pool pump making a funny noise. I shut off the pump and bleed air from the line. Doing that I see pollen stuck on the pump housing and turn on the hose to wash it off. But the hose leaks and I need to replace a washer.

I forget about the dead stick.

Time for a smoke break.

By the time I get my pipe stoked, I look across the yard and see that dead stick sticking up in the flamingo plant.

I finish my break and walk over to get that stick, but Ginny calls me to help her move a big potted Tree of Heaven. Moving that, we see leaves trapped behind the pot need to be swept up…the broom is out front. Go get it and see the gate hangs loose…

I forget about the dead stick.

Time for another smoke break.

I sit down listening to the radio—and see the dead stick still sticking.

Drink my coffee down and walk toward the flamingo plant to move the dead stick. Step on a thorn ball. Hurt my foot. Sit down again. See the stick.

Break over, I got to get the stick.. but first I sharpen the mower blade, check the oil. Clean the air filter…

I forget to pick up the dead stick.

Break time again…. Look across the yard. That dead stick spoils the view. That thing is so annoying… but the only time I notice it is when I sit down to rest. The thing remains forgotten and invisible until I get still from all my activities. Only then does the dead stick come into view.

It’s there all the time, but I just don’t see it until I stop doing other stuff.

What you see depends on what you’re looking at.

Ginny experiences this same process of seeing a chore she intends to do while she’s at rest, then bypassing it once she starts moving.

She said, “Working together as a team, there’s just no end of things which we don’t get done”.

Not to be irreverent here, comparing God Almighty to a dead stick, but the Scripture that comes to my mind is, “Be Still and know that I am God”.

I get so busy.

Too busy.

When exhaustion overcomes me, it forces me to stop running around doing stuff and realize that the Lord has been there all along. Exhaustion forces me to notice. Weakness calls Him to my attention. I put Him on the list of things I intend to get around to… but then I forget.

That dead stick in the flamingo tells me something.

I need to voluntarily quit being busy with important things, and tend to the Preeminent Thing in my life….

“The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing”.

That’s not Scripture.

That’s what did the cowboy said in the movie City Slickers?

But it speaks to my condition.

Stiffs And Resurrection

As I age, the quality of junk mail delivered to my home changes.

Used to be, every Spring Victoria’s Secret mailed me their lingerie catalogue (always addressed to J.W. Cowart, never to John Cowart).

Now, I get junk mail promoting Medicare supplement insurance, retirement communities with assisted living facilities, and special offers on cemetery plots.

Yesterday the mailman handed me a letter from a funeral home trying to sell me—this is what the envelope said—FREE, PRE-PAID CREAMATION.

How can it be free if I have to pre-pay for it?

Funny, but this coincides with a book I’m re-reading this week: Stiff by Mary Roach (W.W. Norton & Co., N.Y. c.2003). The subtitle of Ms Roach’s humorous book is The Curious Lives Of Human Cadavers. With a light, sympathetic, touch the book examines what happens to dead bodies—fascinating. Back on April 6, 2006, I wrote about my own happy stint years ago as a security guard in a morgue. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but I found that a beautiful experience.

Ms Roach explains that of the remains of whole body organ donors 80% are used in anatomy labs to enable student physicians to learn how to treat and cure living patients. But first all salvageable parts are used for transplants. My little brother has survived for over five extra years now because someone donated healthy lungs for his transplant.

Thank you donor family.

But, Ms Roach’s book also reveals that some cadavers are used as crash test dummies to teach rescue workers how best to help those injured in automobile accidents or airplane crashes. Some bodies get tied to posts and shot so police or military personnel can observe effects of gunshot wounds. Some of us will end up on “body farms” where forensic pathologists learn the stages of decomposition under various conditions; they study how insects, worms, .and fly larvae do their work.

All of us end up somewhere.

It is appointed unto man once to die and after that the judgment.

Years ago Ginny and I both signed up as whole-body organ donors. Now, at my age, I doubt they can harvest many usable parts, but I like to think I’ll be helpful to someone even after my death.

No rush, mind you; but no fear either.

I love the declaration of the Patriarch Job who said,

I know that my Redeemer liveth,

And that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth:

And though after my skin, worms destroy this body,

Yet in my flesh shall I see God:

Whom I shall see for myself,

And mine eyes shall behold, and not another;

Though my reins be consumed within me.

Isn’t that terrific?

Of course, while we can’t avoid death, we should avoid and alleviate pain in ourselves and others whenever possible. That’s only common sense. If Gethsemane teaches nothing else, it showed that Jesus was not a masochist enamored of pain. He went to suffer on the cross for us knowing full well that it meant physical suffering.

Somebody important, I forget just who, said, “The whole business of the Christian is to get ready to die”. This has nothing to do with acting stoic. The Christian is to face death, and life too for that matter, not with stoicism but with confidence.

Confidence?

But isn’t death tragic? Sad?. Shouldn’t we mourn? And cry? And feel loss? Grieve? Show respect for our dead?

Certainly.

Christ Himself, even knowing all there is to know about future resurrection, wept and mourned at the tomb of Lazarus.

Yes, Jesus knew Job’s words. Yes, He knew a miracle was at hand. Yet He grieved.

Isaiah called Him, A Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.

Jesus never soft-peddled the tragedy of death.

Yet He knew more.

He said,

Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, The hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live.

For as the Father hath life in himself; so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself; and hath given him authority to execute judgment also, because he is the Son of man.

Marvel not at this: for the hour is coming, in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, And shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.

Cremated by fire, buried in the ground, crumbled into dust, aborted in the womb, abandoned in a landfill, used as a crash test dummy, eaten by sharks—doesn’t matter. Even the sea will give up her dead. Restored, reassembled, revived, we shall rise.

Everything that makes you you, everything that makes me me, when we hear that Voice which we’ve yearned to hear all our lives, we will shake off our slumber and leap toward Him. All of us together from the dawn of history to the generations in the future, from all the families of the earth, out of every tongue and tribe and kindred and nation, from the north and the south and the east and the west, we will surge toward Him like the eager crowd pouring into a stadium for a concert.

Leaping and shouting and praising God we will rise giving honor to Christ the first fruits of the grave. Our Lamb has conquered, Him will we follow.

Faces glowing with anticipation, we shall see Him and we shall be like Him for we shall see Him as He is. No more of this through a glass darkly business, then we’ll see Him face to face.

The Desire of nations, the desire of thy heart—face to face!

Can it get any better than that?

Yes!

On the night before He was crucified, Jesus said:

Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.

In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.

I go to prepare a place for you.

And if I go and prepare a place for you,

I will come again, and receive you unto myself;

That where I am, there ye may be also.

I find that thrilling!

They arrested Him that same night He said that. Crucified Him the next day. Buried His cadaver in a tomb. Three cold stiff days. Then the Prince of Life burst forth alive. Went back to where He had come from—prepare a place for you…that where I am, ye may be also.

We have so much to look forward to!

As the Scripture says, “As it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him”.

That’s wonderful!

Unless, of course, you’ve made some other commitment.

Then, we’re talking about an altogether different ball game.

Heaven is, but Heaven’s not all there is.

As Saint Paul told Timothy, “Some men's sins are open beforehand, going before to judgment; and some men, they follow after”.

Be that as it may, for all of us the grand adventure lies ahead.

We’re moving in that direction already.

Nevertheless, I think I’ll pass on that special offer for a free, pre-paid, mail-order cremation. I think it’s one of those bulk mail senile senior specials where they’re just after my money.

P.S.: Speaking of senior specials—Victoria, if you’re reading this, I’m only 69 years old. I’m still interested. No need to stop mailing me your secret catalogue yet. Just remember it’s J.W. Cowart, not John—I wouldn’t want our mailman to get the wrong idea.

Literary Lion, or A Dirty Old Man Goes To The Dogs

All readers of great literature love dogs (and sometimes cats).

A few years ago my daughter, who is a librarian, promoted a Read To A Dog program at her library. This encouraged kids who are slow readers to sit on a mat with a dog and read a simple story aloud to the non-critical, non-threatening animal. Kids’ reading skills improved drastically in the low-pressure environment. The kids loved to read to such an appreciative audience.

Playing around yesterday, I offered that for anyone buying one of my books, I’d post a picture of their dog on my site. (See yesterday’s post if you want to get in on this).

My e-friend Amrita in India countered my offer saying that if I’d buy her dog, she’d post a photo of my books on her blog! What a hoot!

Amrita already owns a copy of my book I’m Confused About Prayer. So here I’ll post a photo of her dog; Sheeba has just chased a mongoose out of the house and has it cornered in the back garden:

The idea for posting of dog photos in relation to my books came about in a chance conversation with my friend Carol who owns copies of my books Glog and Crackers & Carpetbaggers. Here are her happy dogs in their baby stroller:

Last week, some Jacksonville firemen (sorry, I don’t know their names) bought nine copies of Heroes All, my history of the fire department. In honor of them, here is a photo of Lucky, a puppy rescued by firefighters from a fire at the Jacksonville Humane Society last year when over 200 other dogs died in the flames. The firefighters adopted Lucky as a mascot:

Another reader who already owns a copy of my fire history is Wendy. She and her husband, both firefighters, live in Texas. She contributed a chapter to my book. Here she is with her dog. I think it’s a border collie:

Brittany’s owner, here in Jacksonville, owns a copy of my book A Dirty Old Man Goes Bad. My book weigh more than the little dog:

Maybe a good title for my diary this year when I publish it next January would be A Dirty Old Man Goes To The Dogs.

Of course having great taste in literature does not mean a person has great taste in pets; EQ owns a copy of my novel The Lazarus Projects and many of my other books—along with this window full of cats:

Cat lovers, Donald and Helen, computer people, not only read my books, they designed several of my book covers themselves and they set up my on-line book catalogue for me. They also have copies of Barbara White’s Along The Way series of books (which I edited).

I tolerate cats, but this couple not only own books and cats, but they print pictures of their cats CC and Perl (named after computer programs) on the chest of tee shirts and actually wear them out in public.

There’s no accounting for taste in books or pets. Witnessed by the fact that whenever I visit Donald and Helen, their herd of cats ignore every fawning cat-lover in the room and come rub against me and want to sit in my lap.

Yes, cats love me. But they’re illiterate.