Momentarily Out Of The Teapot

Like the dormouse stuffed in the teapot at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, I’m sticking my head out to make a comment before the lid goes on again.

Thomas A’Kempis, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Christopher Columbus, John Calvin, James Dobson, Jonathan Edwards, Francois Fenelon, Charles Finney, King George IV, Soren Kierkegaard, Adolph Hitler, Seth Hubel, Ignatius, Saint Jerome, C.S. Lewis, Martin Luther, Dwight L. Moody, Florence Nightingale, Obadiah, Peter Lombard, Charles Spurgeon… John Wesley…

As I work writing a book about God’s will and how the Lord guides us, I’m reading books by all the above folks.

Actually, I’m not reading all their books,

I’m skimming for quotes.

Looking for stuff that helps me know how far off track my own ideas are when compared to the ideas from authorities of the past. But more than that, I’m quoting these guys to make myself sound as though I’m a thorough researcher, and an authority in myself.

I’m such a fucking fake!

I cull ideas from spiritual giants and quote them because I’m so shallow and devoid of devotion myself. I read and read and read but by and large I have no idea what these guys are talking about.

I think John Wesley states the thrust of my book better than I can myself:

Servants, as they must do their Master's work, so they must be for any work their Master has for them to do: they must not pick and choose, this I will do, and that I will not do; they must not say this is too hard, or this is too mean, or this may be well enough let alone; good Servants, when they have chosen their Master, will let their Master choose their work, and will not dispute His will, but do it.

Christ has many services to be done, some are more easy and honorable, others more difficult and disgraceful; some are suitable to our inclinations and interests, others are contrary to both: in some we may please Christ and please ourselves, as when he requires us to feed and clothe ourselves, to provide things honest for our maintenance, yes, and there are some spiritual duties that are more pleasing than others; as to rejoice in the Lord, to be blessing and praising of God, to be feeding ourselves with the delights and comforts of Religion; these are the sweet works of a Christian.

But then there are other works wherein we cannot please Christ but by denying ourselves, as giving and lending, bearing and forbearing, reproving men for their sins, withdrawing from their company, witnessing against wickedness, when it will cost us shame and reproach; sailing against the wind; parting with our ease, our liberties, and accommodations for the Name of our Lord Jesus.

It is necessary, Beloved, to sit down and consider what it will cost you to be the Servants of Christ, and to take a thorough survey of the whole business of Christianity, and not engage hand over head, to you know not what.

First, See what it is that Christ expects, and then yield yourselves to His whole will: do not think of compounding, or making your own terms with Christ, that will never be allowed you.

Go to Christ, and tell Him, Lord Jesus, if You will receive me into Your house, if You will but own me as your Servant, I will not stand upon terms; impose upon me what conditions You please, write down Your own articles, command me what You will, put me to any thing You see as good; let me come under Your roof, let me be Your Servant, and spare not to command me; I will be no longer my own, but give up myself to Your will in all things.

I come nowhere near that level of devotion or dedication.

It’s hard for me to write a book about what I don’t live.

One chapter may come easy. Did you notice that I include Adolph Hitler in my list of authorities to quote?

Yes, I’m writing one chapter entitled, Kooks And The Will Of God—it’s about people who have committed atrocities or did kooky things while claiming God told them to.

That’s a chapter I think I may be able to handle.

Changing topics:

One day last week I pulled a 24-hour shift as caregiver for a family member who is seriously ill and in excruciating pain.

I feel so helpless to see her suffer so.

It’s frustrating on a couple of levels.

First, it infringed on my personal comfort. I did not feel free to smoke my pipe in her house so I had to stand outside in the rain to smoke. No place to sit without getting my ass soaked. And to stand causes my feet to swell, burn and sting. Besides, I could not sleep so I stayed awake for the whole time in the unfamiliar surroundings; and I did not want to sit on the furniture because they have two inside dogs and a cat and I feared getting fleas from those creatures.

The sick patient complains less than I do.

Another thing on a more serious level. Some well-meaning Christian spent $50 to buy her a tape-player from some tv preacher who says God will cure her if only she believes hard enough and eliminates any person who sends off negative vibrations.

Negative? Who me?

If I did not have negative thoughts, I’d be a walking carrot.

Hardly ever have any other kind.

But I bit my tongue and said nothing about the $50 tape worm preacher. Hey, if it gives the patient some comfort in her misery, who am I to douse hope. She even plays this thing in her sleep for subliminal reinforcement.

I doubt if a sickroom is the best place to combat heresy.

Is a false hope better than no hope?

Or maybe I’m just a wimp who did not speak out when I should have.

In one of our conversations she told me something that frightens me—she’s two payments behind on her mortgage. Still owes more than three times the value of our home when it was new!

Because last month my two elder sons lost the home they’d lived in for 50+ years to foreclosure, the thought that my daughter is behind on her house payments scares the hell out of me.

If it can happen to them, it could happen to Ginny and me—I fear this even though we have never missed or been late with our mortgage payment. Besides that, another scary thing happened: a director at Ginny’s office found her job abolished without notice last week. And this came the day after a major triumph in that lady’s department.

One day celebrating, the next day on the street.

While none of these things directly affect Ginny and me, yet to see trouble to people close by terrifies me.

While John Wesley and other spiritual giants relish full commitment to Christ and resolve to follow His will at any cost, I covet comfort.

I want my chair, my pipe, my coffee mug at hand, my book in my lap while I nap.

I’m 70 years old and I want my own way.

I fear the troubles of this world.

And I fear that following Christ fully may rock my boat.

I’m a Christian scaredy-cat.

But, for all that, I hold on.

Christ is my Lord.

I can’t claim a lot of faith, but I hold on. I think that for me it’s more a matter of pig-headedness than religious faith. When I read the Scripture, it more often condemns me than comforts, but I hold on. As Job said, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him”.

Nevertheless, faith makes me nervous.

I walk by faith—on eggs.

But, what say the Scriptures?

“Even to your old age I am He; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you”. —Isaiah 46:4

“Those that be planted in the house of the LORD shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing to shew that the LORD is upright”. —Psalm 92:14

I don’t know about the fruit and flourishing part of that verse, but I qualify as being fat.

But the interesting phrase in that verse is why the Lord deals with the aged—“To shew that the LORD is upright”.

OK. Now I’ll go back in the teapot till after Ginny and I get back from our 41^st Anniversary trip out camping in cabin in the deep piney woods. Maybe walking in the deep woods will get my head more attuned than reading more Whats-Hz-Name.

Happy Hay Days

The St. Marys River separates Florida from Georgia.

The city of St. Marys, Georgia, lies at the mouth of the river in Camden County about 30 miles north of our home in Jacksonville, Florida. Indian tribes occupied the area in prehistory. The French and Spanish fought over the territory in the 1560s. Then in 1663, the English claimed Georgia until the American Revolution when Georgia’s representatives signed the Declaration of Independence.

This past weekend Ginny and I had business in St. Marys, the second oldest continuously occupied city in the United States.

We found the city occupied by scarecrows.

Yes, in celebration of Happy Hay Days, a harvest festival, city residents erected scores and scores of scarecrows in the median of the main street, in front of homes and businesses.

Anybody and everybody seems to have a hand in decorating the scarecrows. Businesses, civic organizations, clubs, police, firemen, schools, and even candidates running for office constructed scarecrows with a theme related to their interests.

Here is a photo of me and a friend (in pantyhose) front of Orange Hall:

The windy day blew the purple hat off the Mad Hatter, but I replaced it:

Even the town’s churches took part in the community’s display. A scarecrow dressed in a priest’s robes greeted folks at the door of one church. Another church arranged dozens of bronze chrysanthemums around a notice saying—Worship The Lord Of The Harvest.

Ginny made friends with a lady scarecrow from a local barbershop:

Naturally, the girls discussed how the wind made for a bad hair day:

Being a history buff, I discussed how local history sites are vanishing with the Invisible Man scarecrow:

Of course no day’s outing for us would be complete without a lingering visit to a secondhand book store where I browsed among old diaries and journals in one room while Ginny looked at mysteries in a room through the arch:

With unusual and admirable restraint, we only bought two books!

We strolled along the waterfront watching fishermen, and crabbers tending their traps and shrimpers casting nets, hikers boarding the Cumberland Island ferry and Coast Guard boats patrolling the river, a three-mast schooner at anchor just offshore:

Worn out from all our walking amid 200-year-old homes, we enjoyed a magnificent lunch at a restaurant overlooking the waterfront as the end of a happy, happy day.

On that happy note, I’m shutting down this blog for a couple of weeks. My well has run dry and I need to replenish myself before I’ll have anything worth saying for a while.

Please check back now and then, or browse in my archives, if you’re interested in what I think. But for right now, I feel a time of silence is appropriate.

Family Support

While my name alone appears on the covers of the books I write, my family contributes as much to their production as I do.

They make my work possible with every level of support.

Recently I have been working on a manuscript about God’s leading and guiding us and how we find and follow the will of God. If I recall correctly, I began work on this book back in 1986, but I dropped it as too hard for me, and came back to it, several times. And quit work on it several times.

Not a good practice.

For one thing, over the years I used a bunch of different typefaces, and formats as I graduated from one computer to newer one.

For another thing, my notes stink.

I’ve forgotten what footnote goes with which quote and now I have to look references up all over again…. And why did I save this quote anyhow?

I drive me nuts.

Anybody know who Stoddard is, what book he wrote, and why I left a manuscript note to be sure to include his ideas from page 387 in my text?

Me neither.

Frustrating work to turn this rat’s nest of notes, quotes, and half-ideas into consistent book chapters. I knew so much more about the will of God 20 years ago than I do now. Lord, but I was cocksure of myself back then. I’m tempted to give the project up—again. But I know that if I give up again, I’ll never get this book written.

I’ve been stewing over the thing.

Then yesterday afternoon came a happy note from my son-in-law Mark. Without my knowing anything about it beforehand, Mark created an author’s profile in Wikipedia. He created dozens of links to my books so that I appear much more important than I am. Mark put a massive amount of work into promoting me and my books.

I’m tickled.

You can read Mark’s entry about me at : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Wilson_Cowart .

I have an encyclopedia entry. That tops a WANTED poster at the post office.

I’m somebody.

Thanks Mark.

In a similar vein, last week—purely out of vanity—I googled Bluefish Books, my online publishing company. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you can buy a clock, a coffee mug and a bunch of shirts with my Bluefish Logo on them:

I did not know that.

Never heard of it before.

How did that happen?

The stuff (gear?) can be viewed at http://clothing.cafepress.com/item/golf-shirt/17321602

I imagine that Donald or Helen created this site; but I don’t recall anyone ever mentioning it to me. It came as a pleasant surprise to me to find this website—Although it will be a cold day, before I spend that much for a tee shirt!

—even one with my logo on it.

However, my point here is that my family is wonderful.

They are so kind to me.

They surprise me all the time in all kinds of ways.

I am blessed.

Thank You, Lord.

Dave's Diner Closes Its Door

Monday my friend Barbara came over to take me to breakfast, but when we got to Dave’s Diner, a sign on the door announced that the restaurant is closed.

Thus ends an era.

Ginny and I have been going to Dave’s a couple of times a week for the past 15 years, since back when it was called DeLoache’s. Our family has celebrated birthday parties there, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, and a party when Ginny’s brother and his wife adopted two orphan kids.

Once, our kids even bought me a Dave’s Diner tee shirt:

Last night at devotions Ginny and I prayed for the staff of Dave’s—Ed and Chris and Nicole, and Billy, and Robin and Jesse and Big Will; and, from the old days, Alex, Homer and Mark—people are put out of work by the restaurant’s closing. They have been like extended family to us and we grieve for their loss.

We also prayed for customers we know by sight but not by name: the battle-wounded marine, Chuck, One-eyed Sally, the librarian, the clergy couple, the homosexual couples, the feeble old lady, and so many others for whom Dave’s was a fixture in their lives.

Also last night I searched my old diaries to see references to Dave’s and remember all the happy times we’ve had there—one diary posting I found was from ten years ago.

Surprise! Back in ’99 I was in a slump of depression and I was concerned about how God guides us… A lot of this old post could have been written yesterday!

I’m going to repeat it here:

Caution: the following contains profanity, adult, and religious content; if you are offended by such things, you may want to skip this posting:

Wednesday, April 14, 1999:

This morning I biked to the Murray Hill Library to return books. The building had not opened yet and books overflowed the external book drop.

A train across the tracks had delayed me before I got to the library and I puzzled over why I appeared to be held in the area. The thought of leaving my books on top of the book drop tempted me, but a large number of high school students clustered around the library waiting for a school bus to show up and since one of my books was the latest Stephen King, I felt reluctant to leave it in plain sight.

I rode down the street to see if anymore goodies had been put out from the closed Greyhound Bus Depot but the fence was locked and the pile of trash/treasures out of reach. Nothing for it but to hang around till the library opened; so I decided to eat breakfast at DeLoache's (now renamed Dave’s Diner) — where something odd happened.

I had almost finished my eggs, sausage and grits when a trio came in, two guys and a girl. They sat near my table and their conversation grew loud enough to overhear. One guy appeared to be a bystander but the other spoke cruelly to the woman. At one point he said, "Just because I fuck you doesn't mean you can hang around my apartment while I'm at work".

He threw some money on the table to pay for the meal and he and the other guy stomped out.

The woman sat there smoking cigarettes and looking miserable.

She sported enormous tits unencumbered by a bra. She was quite pretty but with an aura of roughness. A woman who has been around... but she was obviously very unhappy.

None of my business...

Now I don't readily speak to strangers. I went to the cashier and paid my bill and returned to my table for my library books. I felt a compulsion to speak to the young woman. I sat back down sipping coffee and thinking of reasons I should leave; but the nagging feeling that I should talk to her about Christ persisted. Given my current low spiritual state, I'm in no way qualified to speak with anybody about eternal matters.

Besides, I have things to do, plans for the morning. Her boyfriend may return. She might think I'm hitting on her. I'm no preacher. I have nothing to say. I'm empty. Depressed...

"Miss, are you OK? You look so unhappy over here. May I sit with you for a minute?" I said.

She nodded, on the verge of tears.

" What's the problem?" I asked.

"The problem is that I am a whore," she said.

I said, "Whore is not what you are. It is something you do. And you can change that anytime you want to".

She explained that she sold pussy to buy drugs for herself and this guy she'd been with. He is not exactly a full time pimp but he does take her money and beat her, and this has been their off and on relationship for a year of so. She has done exotic dancing and whoring on the side but she’s stopped dancing and just whores now, picking up guys on street corners. She's sick of herself and some of the things she’s done. For instance, recently some guy at the beach had her push the spike heel of her high heel shoe up his ass while she sucked him off. He later pissed on her breasts as she masturbated.

Glamorous life, no?

She told me that she suffers from chronic depression (no wonder), and that she is bi-polar as well as manic-depressive. She also takes crack cocaine and drinks to excess.

"My life is in a deep, dark hole and there's no way out," she said. "I want to change but I can't. I just stay in this hole".

"Good," I said.

That got her attention.

"Jesus Christ knows all about holes. He was tortured to death for our sins and they put Him in a grave, the deepest, darkest hole there is. But because He is the Prince of Life, He came out of that hole. He knows what it's like. He knows where you are, and He cares about what happens to you".

I again emphasized that whore is what she does, not what she is. "You are a woman created in the very image of God Almighty. He treasures you. He cares about how other people have treated you and about how you have treated yourself. He values you. He actually loves you no matter what.

"If you ever decide to change what you are doing, He will help you. And there are other people who will help too."

I wrote down phone numbers for Liberty Center for Women, Hubbard House, WSCO, and Laurel (a Christian counselor I know). "If you want to go on doing what you have been doing, you can. No one is going to stop you. If you ever decide you are sick enough of the life you are leading and really want to change, then Jesus will help you. It will be tough but it is possible. You don't have to keep on doing what you are doing and feeling the way you are feeling. The ball is in your court."

"Mister," she said, "I think God sent you here this morning."

Her name is Cindy.

When I got home, I called Hazel. "Oh John, I think God had you call me this morning," she said. She is upset about Medicare problems and prescriptions.

Later, I called K.K at church. "The Lord must have had you call," he said, "I've been thinking of calling you all morning".

Thus three times today it appears that God's hand has been directing my activities and using me... yet I am not conscious of being any more devout or spiritual than at any other time recently. I still feel empty, dried up and useless... Perhaps these three contacts have been sent from Heaven to encourage me not to give up altogether. The three incidents were not for the benefit of the other people involved, but for me because I am so low and discouraged and depressed.