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Looking in the Window: Life Skills

Today I got caught amid the big yellow buses caravanning toward the school near our house in Georgia. I usually time my journeys through the nicely landscaped homes to avoid them because they back up traffic. But today I watched them as though they were an educational parade. With equal distance between them they snaked up the road for one-half mile, turning ever so carefully into the parking lot in front of the sprawling brick building. Then it dawned on me. What a great country. All across America these giant-sized cumbersome vehicles drove children to their free educations, and not one single kid was left out. It had been that way for as long as I could remember. Watching the youngsters peer out the back window of the vehicle in front of me, I recalled my school days at the foothills of the North Carolina mountains in a two-story brick building with a pristine grassy yard, bright green shrubbery, flowers, a circular drive in front and a playground out back. In the first grade when I

Looking in the Window: Finding Love

Years ago I attended a small college nestled in the towering, blue-tinted mountains of North Carolina. Every afternoon after class I joined my peers at a local hamburger joint in a modest brick building, where I forgot about such weighty matters as the American dream seen through the eyes of Clyde Griffiths in Theodore Dreiser’s AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY. But at the beginning of fall semester my senior year I met a guy. I’ll call him Joe. Each day when I let go of my books and settled into sipping my Coca-Cola, Joe sat down, put his elbows on the bright yellow table and made an off-the-wall statement, such as, “I bet you can’t prove to me that God exists.” My muscles would tense, but I’d set aside my soft drink, turn away from my friends who chatted about the next fraternity party and try to say something to convince him there was a God. A member of my philosophy class, he claimed everything could be explained by science and bombarded me with reasons why there could be no God. Looking back o

Looking in the Window: Food for Thought

My dictionary defines a miracle as “an event or action that apparently contradicts known scientific laws” and “a remarkable thing.” However, most people associate a miracle with an act of God, so I was surprised when I saw the words “Miracle On The Hudson” on television, describing the U.S. Airways jetliner that ditched this month in the New York river. Sadly, our country endured a spiritual drought about ten years ago, making it taboo to be a Christian. Even though Christians have reclaimed some of their right to say they believe in God without being chastised, other than evangelists and ministers the media who are under more scrutiny and more likely to be attacked for such professions of faith, lag behind the general public. This is the first time in recent years I can recall seeing the word “miracle” on the news, most likely because of its religious connotation. Some meanings of spiritual are “of the spirit or the soul,” “of religion,” and “not corporeal,” which draws one’s thoughts

Looking in the Window: A Place for God?

My neighborhood in Marietta, Georgia, glows with bright lights. At the local malls shoppers fill their arms with packages. Employees in nearby office buildings bring sugar cookies with red and green sprinkles on them to work and swap presents at the gift exchange. Communities all across the country hold parades, put up red and green decorations and brilliantly lit trees. It’s the Christmas season. And I’m caught in the flurry of activity, the baking, getting together with friends, finding the right sweaters for my daughter and niece, the socks and aftershave my husband always asks for, the parties. It’s time to celebrate the bonds of friends and family. But it’s so much more. It’s Christians all over the world rejoicing because Christ came to free us from the shackles of sin that we could not possibly shed on our own. By his grace, because of the blood he shed, the pain he endured if we accept him as our Savior, we’re no longer bound to an eternity of misery. Therefore, at this holy ti

Looking Out The Window: The Sunset Club

When I think of Thanksgiving, all my blessings rush to mind, including the ones I often take for granted, such as food, shelter, clothing, family, friends, and freedom of worship. The many gifts of life in peaceful Marietta, Georgia, overwhelm me compared to the obstacles faced by many. But today I’m in Destin, Florida, on a fall vacation, seeing people I haven’t seen since last October. I’m thankful I’ve found a spot where I’m received with warm welcome smiles. One doesn’t find such a place easily in our busy world where we often don’t have time for one another, where we disagree on so many issues, where we have so many problems to confront. Before I left for Destin I left the house to drive to the pool in Marietta to swim laps before the crowds arrived, ended up in the Monday morning rush hour, rode one hundred feet in a long line of cars, stopped, rode another hundred feet, stopped, started moving again when suddenly a red sports car zipped in front of me, missed me by an eight of a

Looking in the Window: My Big Floppy Hat

This September, in Destin, Florida, when hurricane Ike hit Texas we were fortunate. Only winds strong enough to blow sand a quarter of a mile inland and a tide seven feet above normal blasted the area. Shortly after the storm the sun shone brightly on a beach tinted yellow by the waves that had crashed over it. Jelly fish, some in pieces, others entire blobs with their tentacles still in tact, cluttered it like monsters out of a horror movie. Other unidentifiable items, which appeared to be pieces of bricks, cement, and rusty iron, had washed up from who knows where. This morning as we walked by the sea my husband, Rick, pointed out roofing shingles that had blown off the roofs of condos on our right and underpinnings that had pulled away from several buildings. Not a pretty sight, but we were grateful. The eye of the hurricane and the worst of its outer bands had missed us. Some children ran around us with their buckets and shovels, others charged into the Gulf on rafts while teens th

Looking Out The Window: All Wind - No Rain

I first noticed the green leaves ruffling on the oak trees in the back yard on Friday afternoon, when I looked out the kitchen window of our Marietta, Georgia, home. My husband, Rick, entered wearing a pair of jeans and a green checked shirt. He picked up the binoculars he kept behind a plant sitting on the pine stand and gazed at the bird feeder. “Not much business out there. It looks like we’re going to get some rain.” “I hope so,” I said. All day long the branches swayed, but the air stayed dry. By that night the first of fall’s dead brown foliage lay on our deck, but not one drop of water. Saturday morning the blustery weather teased us again, seemed to promise a shower that never came. Disappointed, I told Rick, “There’s a storm outside with no substance.” Then it occurred to me. When I’m not true to my religious beliefs, I am a Christian with no core just like a tempest without rainfall. I attend church on Sundays, but do I have a strong foundation that stays with me when I walk