Peering Through Life's Window

Usually when I travel, I swim early in the morning before the pool opens, so I won’t be in the way of anyone else. But, this May, when I went on a Florida vacation with my family, I awakened each day to a temperature in the fifties and a north to northeast wind, gusting at thirty to forty miles per hour. By the afternoon when the sun had warmed the day to seventy something, the pool looked like a cross between an adult pool party and a kid’s birthday celebration. I didn ’t want to join the women and men sun bathing on the blue and white chaise lounges, and I felt I’d be out of place in the crystal, clear blue water with the kids diving for their swimming pool rings, floating on rafts and jumping from the sides of the pool, not to mention that they left no room for a lap swimmer. However, after four days my yearning for water exercise grew great, so I put on my suit, cap and goggles and headed to a place far different from Cobb Aquatic Center in Marietta, Georgia, the indoor pool where ...

On Good Friday when our daughter, Laurie, called to tell us to look for shelter at a Cracker Barrel, the middle Tennessee sky looked overcast, but not threatening. Within minutes after we hung up large pellets of ice that sounded like rocks hitting a tin roof pounded our gray Avalon. But there was no Cracker Barrel in sight, so we stopped under a bridge behind several other cars and a van. My husband, Rick, got out his laptop and pulled up a map that showed massive splotches of red and yellow all around the area where we were parked. While I stared at the grass flattened by strong wind an eighteen wheeler with its trailer waving passed by; after it, an ambulance with its siren blaring. After the hail stopped I said, “Rick we have to move to a safer place.” “Where?” Staring at the computer, I noticed a tiny sliver of green, indicating rain between one of the storm markings. Almost simultaneously, the sky cleared to a drizzle and the grass returned to its normal position. “The Cracker Ba...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...