State fair

by John D Ramsey

We just returned from the Missouri State Fair in Sedalia. We went to see Claire’s 4-H projects on display, but I was also looking to see if there were any miniature cattle. There is a long story behind that, but I did not see any mini-cows. If they were there, I overlooked them.

Agriculture in the United States intrigues me. I remember bucking bales, killing chickens, and digging thistles on my grandparents’ farm when I was a child. I remember almost passing out when my grandfather and the veterinarian castrated a bunch of shoats before a farm sale. It was my job to pass the bottle of iodine to the vet, but the intense squealing, the blood, and the bucket of [redacted by Lisa] sent me into early retirement from hog farming. I cooled off and regained my color in front of my grandmother’s window air conditioner from Sears. I think I was ten or twelve years old at the time.

I first learned to drive a Ford 8N tractor. I was probably thirteen when my grandfather decided that it was about time for me to learn. The 8N produced about 25 horsepower. In a school science experiment later that year, I produced a little over one horsepower running up the stairway from the school’s cafeteria.

Today I photographed Gabby sitting inside the rim of a 530 horsepower John Deere 9630. I remember I was impressed with how easily my grandfather’s 8N turned the soil in the north garden patch with its one bottom plow. I am older now, and realize that a 25 horsepower tractor is but a lawnmower. Still, the John Deere 9630 is beyond my comprehension.

Huge machines, such as the John Deere 9630, amaze me, but such a beast is inaccessible to me. My interest lies more with self-sustaining agriculture. For instance, this year I am confident that I have produced enough tobacco to meet the needs of the entire family. Moreover, my few plants will produce more than enough seed to let me plant tobacco again next year if I so choose. Additional expenses on potting soil and peat moss followed my initial investment of $3.00 for seeds. If I actually had a use for the tobacco, I am sure that I would be money ahead.

Earlier this month, Lisa and I drove past McGonigle’s Meat Market in Kansas City. Their sign advertised heirloom tomatoes for $5.99 per pound. Price Chopper, a few blocks from our house, sells homegrown tomatoes for $3.99 per pound. The other day I came in from Claire’s tomato patch cradling more than a dozen tomatoes (some heirloom and others not). I let them roll on to the counter and told Lisa, “There’s twenty bucks.”

Lisa looked at the pile and scoffed and said, “At least!”

Yet as we enjoy the fresh tomatoes and basil from our garden, I wonder what it would take to supply all our tomato needs. If we grew enough tomatoes to last us a year, what other costs would be involved in preserving them? At what point would I break even, or have I already by only supplying fresh tomatoes during the summer months?

Lisa and I have concluded self-sustaining agriculture is a difficult puzzle. It suffers from the same economic pressures as commercial agriculture. For instance, if someone were going to buy a John Deere 9630, he would need to use it enough to justify either his financing payments or the amortized return on his initial cash investment. The tractor can make quick work of many things, but if the 9630 is underutilized, it saves time but wastes money. Likewise, any expense I make in the spring preparing the garden must be balanced against the savings I receive eating tomatoes that I did not buy. Otherwise gardening is just a hobby.

A friend and I have been looking at the prices of miniature cattle. According to the Wall Street Journal they produce milk and beef more efficiently than regular cattle, and they are supposedly more suitable for sustainable agriculture. Nevertheless, the prices of the miniature bulls and cows include the valuation of their future offspring. Consequently, for the would-be rancher there is a significant barrier to entry. For instance, I noticed online a bull and two cows on sale for $4000.00. I can buy much beef and dairy for four grand. Yet finding the break-even point is intriguing to me. Dollars spent at a grocery store is money gone, while herds retain and even increase in value.

Do not worry, Lisa, I am not buying mini-cows. We do not have room for them. For me farming and ranching is merely a hypothetical mental exercise. Nevertheless, next year we are planting more tomatoes.

Attending the state fair and walking through the livestock exhibits, reminds me of the celebration of the tithe in the Old Testament. Without getting into too deep a discussion of ecclesiology and tithing, I digress to the history of the tithe. The Old Testament concept of tithing began with Abraham. After rescuing Lot from the five kings from Mesopotamia, Abraham brought the spoils of war to Melchizedek, the king of Salem, and gave him a tenth of all.

Abraham’s tithe was a one-time gift. Moreover, Abraham kept none of the spoil. He gave a portion to his fighting men and the rest he gave to the king of Sodom, saying, “I will accept nothing belonging to you, not even a thread or the thong of a sandal, so that you will never be able to say, ‘I made Abram rich.’” Genesis 14:23 (NIV)

From the passage, it does not appear that God compelled Abraham to make a gift to Melchizedek. Nor is there any other account of Abraham making a similar gift. Many years later, Jacob, Abraham’s grandson, vowed to God, saying:

If God will be with me and will watch over me on this journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear so that I return safely to my father's house, then the LORD will be my God and this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God's house, and of all that you give me I will give you a tenth.

Genesis 28:20-22 (NIV)

Again, God did not compel this pledge from Jacob. Perhaps Jacob remembered his grandfather’s account of tithing to Melchizedek and decided that he should do more. We cannot be certain of his motivation; nevertheless, God remembered his pledge and tithing became part of the Law of Moses at the very end of Leviticus. “A tithe of everything from the land, whether grain from the soil or fruit from the trees, belongs to the LORD; it is holy to the LORD.” Leviticus 27:30 (NIV) Why did one tenth of everything belong to the Lord? It belonged to God because Jacob (Israel) had so pledged. What is most interesting to me is not that God demanded a tenth of everything, but rather how he instructed Israel to give it.

You must not eat in your own towns the tithe of your grain and new wine and oil, or the firstborn of your herds and flocks, or whatever you have vowed to give, or your freewill offerings or special gifts. Instead, you are to eat them in the presence of the LORD your God at the place the LORD your God will choose—you, your sons and daughters, your menservants and maidservants, and the Levites from your towns—and you are to rejoice before the LORD your God in everything you put your hand to. Be careful not to neglect the Levites as long as you live in your land.

Deuteronomy 12:17-19 (NIV)

Who consumed the tithe that God commanded Israel to give? The giver did! God did not want Israel’s possessions; he wanted their hearts. He tells them to come to the place where he will establish his tabernacle or temple, bring their families, servants, and the Levites living nearby to “rejoice before the LORD [their] God in everything [they] put [their hands] to.” Deuteronomy 14 expounds upon the instruction because bringing a tenth of livestock and grain would be a burden to some that lived far away. God tells them they can exchange their tithe for silver and bring the silver to the place of gathering. He tells them,

Use the silver to buy whatever you like: cattle, sheep, wine or other fermented drink, or anything you wish. Then you and your household shall eat there in the presence of the LORD your God and rejoice. And do not neglect the Levites living in your towns, for they have no allotment or inheritance of their own.

Deuteronomy 14:26-27 (NIV)

In every third year, this tithe or perhaps an additional tenth, went to the storehouses that the Levites managed. A tenth of the Levites’ receipts went to support the priests in the temple. The Levites shared their allotment with widows, orphans, and foreigners who lived in the land. This special year was called “the year of the tithe.”

Imagine all the people in an agricultural society coming together to one place and bringing with them a tenth of all their produce. Imagine all their friends and family joining them. Imagine that they stay in this place until they consume one tenth of the national GDP. Imagine that the focus of this event is rejoicing in the Lord and his bounteous provision. This event would outshine any state fair!

Imagine the heart of God telling Israel to take the gift that they promised to him and use it to celebrate his name! The celebration would foster brotherhood. Moreover, imagine the economic stimulus! A man with many cattle might sell them for silver and then use the silver to buy grain and wine. Imagine the man with a surplus of grain gladly exchanging it for silver, which he could use to buy what he lacked. God’s blessing upon his people did not deprive them of bounty. Rather he shared and multiplied his blessings through the economic activity associated with tithing.

When we consider the calendar, we realize that the celebration of the tithe corresponded with the Feast of Tabernacles. At the harvest moon, Israel was required to gather together at the Tabernacle or in Jerusalem and live under the sky for eight days. They built temporary shelters commemorating their sojourn in Sinai. Nevertheless, in Israel’s memory this feast celebrated much more than the Exodus because immediately prior this feast Solomon dedicated the temple. Read about it in 2 Chronicles.

When Solomon finished praying, fire came down from heaven and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices, and the glory of the LORD filled the temple. The priests could not enter the temple of the LORD because the glory of the LORD filled it. When all the Israelites saw the fire coming down and the glory of the LORD above the temple, they knelt on the pavement with their faces to the ground, and they worshiped and gave thanks to the LORD, saying,

“He is good;
his love endures forever.”

2 Chronicles 7:1-3 (NIV)

The glory of the Lord filled had filled the tabernacle and now it filled Solomon’s temple. The glory of God came down to earth and when Israel saw it they fell down with their faces on the ground.

As Christians we cannot read 2 Chronicles 7 without remembering the words of the Apostle John, “The Word became flesh and [tabernacled] among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” John 1:14 (NIV) We realize that celebration of the Feast of Tabernacles looked not only into the history of Israel but also unto the promise of Christ! Without too much stretch of the imagination, we realize that when Israel celebrated God’s bounteous provision during the Feast of Tabernacles, their actions also looked forward to God’s amazing provision of eternal life through the Son, Jesus Christ.

As believers, the history of the tithe challenges us to use our resources – the blessings that God has given to us – to celebrate Jesus Christ. Nevertheless, God is not seeking a tenth of our increase. Just as he wanted from Israel, he is seeking 100% of our hearts.

Children of freedom

by John D Ramsey

When I was a child, we spent Independence Day in Jamesport, Missouri. My cousins and I would light Black Cat® firecrackers and shoot cheap bottle rockets all day long. We would unravel the strands of firecrackers so that we could light one at a time. We then threw the lighted firecrackers at snakes or anything else we saw moving by the creek.

If we could drop a firecracker at the right moment, it would sink beneath the water before exploding. The hollow thunk sound followed by a splash was perhaps the most gratifying moment of the whole day. A close second might have been using firecrackers to launch tin cans skyward. At night, the adults lit illuminations, and they were okay. However, the noise of firecrackers and bottle rockets were my favorite.

In our exercise of freedom, we earned sprained thumbs and minor burns. These occurred when we held firecrackers too long or rather when the fuses burned too fast. Adults warned us that children had suffered major injuries abusing fireworks, but the risks only added to the exhilaration. For a day or two, we celebrated freedom. Occasionally, we had freedom ringing in our ears after an untimely detonation.

When Daniel was a boy, he loved July 4, too. I did not permit him the same freedom that I had enjoyed, but he probably found it when I was not looking.

Moving to Minnesota put an end to firecrackers for a few years until former Governor Jesse Ventura managed to get fireworks legalized. Still, many Minnesotans marched faithfully to public displays and personally shied away from anything hotter than a glow stick. There were fantastic displays, but on balance, the holiday was suffocating. I do not fault anyone for disliking fireworks. They do not thrill Cara. Likewise, sometimes I find them to be annoying. Nevertheless, I strongly object to a society that abridges my personal freedoms.

One year we came down to my brother-in-law’s house in Raymore, Missouri for the Fourth. Gabby was almost two years old. The neighborhood barricaded the street and each family barbequed and enjoyed a fireworks free-for-all. One neighbor fired his miniature cannon. It shook the windows in houses. Others fired their muzzleloaders (without bullets) into the air. They were almost as loud as the cannon. Of course, there were rockets and firecrackers all day long. In the evening, we walked to the end of the block to watch the public display. Some of us carried canvas chairs; some carried blankets to upon which to sit.

We waited until dark. When it finally started, it was a bit difficult to discern the public display because the sky was awash with red, white, and blue from the eastern horizon to the west. Everywhere we looked people contributed to the scene. When we walked home, the street choked with the smell of black powder. Firecrackers detonated nearby, and rockets flew from one side of the street to the other. It looked like tracer fire from a war movie, but it was not directed at people in the street. The combatants politely paused to let the crowds pass.

This scene still frightened Gabby, so I wrapped her in a woven blanket and carried her over my shoulder. She was no safer in the blanket, but it calmed her. To my knowledge, no one’s behavior inflicted injury that day. When we arrived to my brother-in-law’s house, a little girl driving a golf cart came by to share ice cream treats with the entire neighborhood. God bless America.

Since moving back to the Kansas City area, both Claire and Gabby have enthusiastically embraced fireworks. I am mellower in my old age, and I limit their expenditure. Still, like their father and brother, they are children of freedom, and they like to celebrate.

By faith in Jesus Christ, we are all children of freedom. The New International Version of the Bible renders Galatians 5:1, saying, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” A group of rule makers and enforcers plagued the Galatians. Paul wrote to the church to tell them they were free from the law. He said that he wished that those who preached circumcision would instead emasculate themselves. That sounds harsh, but it proves how strongly Paul felt about the freedom we have in Christ.

When we read Galatians 5:1 alone, it sounds almost as if personal freedom is the primary objective of the Christian life, but before our imaginations start wandering Bohemian, we should take a closer look at what Paul was saying in context. Strangely enough, the King James Version renders a better translation than either the NIV or the venerable NASB. It says, “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.” A literal translation from the Greek reads, “In the freedom then in which Christ freed us, stand firmly, and do not again be pressed upon with the yoke of slavery.” With a better translation, we can observe a couple important ideas that the NIV and NASB ignore.

First of all, the subject of the initial phrase is not “it”, but rather the inferred, “you.” Paul is commanding, “You stand firmly!” In what are we to stand? “In the freedom then in which Christ freed us.” We are not to stand firmly in our own personal definition of freedom. Such is anarchy. Christ did not free us to walk according to whim. He freed us to walk with Him. The freedom to which we are called in Christ is a freedom to serve. Paul makes several points in Galatians 5 among which are these:

1. You were called to freedom.
2. Do not turn your freedom into an opportunity for the flesh.
3. Through love, serve one another.
4. The whole Law is fulfilled . . . in the statement, “YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF.”
5. Walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh.
6. If you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the Law.

Paul was angry with the legalists in Galatia not because they were dullards who had no fun, but because they substituted a credo for a relationship with Christ. Paul did not want believers to follow somebody else’s rulebook while thinking it was spirituality. Paul explained that sometimes we deferred to the conscience of others, but only for their sakes. He asked the Corinthians, “Why is my freedom judged by another’s conscience?” Paul instructed the Colossians similarly, saying,

If you have died with Christ to the elementary principles of the world, why, as if you were living in the world, do you submit yourself to decrees, such as, “Do not handle, do not taste, do not touch!” (which all refer to things destined to perish with use)—in accordance with the commandments and teachings of men? These are matters which have, to be sure, the appearance of wisdom in self-made religion and self-abasement and severe treatment of the body, but are of no value against fleshly indulgence. Colossians 2:20-23 (NASB)

The Law focused the sinner upon his sin. Paul was saying, enough of that already! Our focus is upon Jesus Christ. The Law held the sinner in bondage whereas the blood of Jesus Christ set the sinner free. Looking again at Galatians 5:1, “In the freedom then in which Christ freed us, stand firmly,” we should take notice of the adverb “then.” In the Greek the word oun is sometimes translated therefore, so, then, so then, however, and now. It indicates that the action results because of something. We discussed in what we are to stand firmly. We discussed what our freedom is and what it is not. Now we ask, why are we to stand firmly in freedom? Because, Paul says, our mother is free.

These things may be taken figuratively, for the women represent two covenants. One covenant is from Mount Sinai and bears children who are to be slaves: This is Hagar. Now Hagar stands for Mount Sinai in Arabia and corresponds to the present city of Jerusalem, because she is in slavery with her children. But the Jerusalem that is above is free, and she is our mother.

Therefore, brothers, we are not children of the slave woman, but of the free woman. Galatians 4:24-26, 31 (NIV)

As we celebrate our freedom as a nation, those of us who name Christ Jesus as Savior should also remember that we are also residents of the heavenly Jerusalem. As we celebrate national independence, we should also give thanks . . .

. . . to the Father, who has qualified [us] to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. Colossians 1:12-14 (NIV)

Celebrate! We are children of Freedom.

Faith and faithfulness

by John D Ramsey

Tonight we went to see The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice at the Heart of America Shakespeare Festival. Lisa packed a wonderful picnic including a bottle of cava brut that has been chilling in our refrigerator since the night Lisa served dinner to the home-school coordinators. Lisa made sangria for the ladies, but she bought a couple cava as emergency backup bottles. The sangria was a hit at her party, but there was plenty, so the last bottle of cava was safe until tonight.

Before the play tonight started, we sat on the lawn of Southmoreland Park to eat and drink. Brio was serving dinner at the bottom of the hill, but Lisa's menu: spinach chicken salad with fresh basil, pineapple, grapes, fried pita, pimento spread, and sparkling wine was perfect for a summer evening at the park. I felt as though we had cheated Brio out of $30 a head by bringing our own gourmet dinner to their venue. Oh well, the theme of the festival is Free Will. Lisa gave, of her own free will, a contribution to a man in tunic and tights who was standing at the gate. I suppose, too, that no one compelled him to dress accordingly. Even though the event was free, it cost us something. It would have been ungracious to watch without contributing something, especially knowing that it cost the poor chap in tights his dignity.

Before the show began, Gabby and I walked below the stage to see the Paul Mesner Puppets perform their abbreviated version of Othello. We arrived in time to watch the end of the play, which might have been confusing to Gabby because puppet murder and suicide transforms tragedy into comedy. Perhaps our ability to laugh at tragedy is itself a great human frailty.

Shakespeare wonderfully constructs each of his characters with a frailty. His plot then unravels his characters in a dramatic style we know as tragedy. We did not get to watch the end of Othello — the murder and the suicide — because a thunderstorm came through the city near the end of the evening and they called the show. It is just as well, the puppets' version was disturbing enough.

Othello's frailty, by the way, was a lack of faith in his love, Desdemona. If he had trusted her, the outcome would have been better for all, mocking green-eyed monsters notwithstanding. Desdemona's frailty was her lack of faith in her father, Brabantio. Brabantio's frailty may have been racism, and he sets the tragedy in motion when he tells Othello, "Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: She has deceived her father, and may thee." To which Othello fatefully replies, "My life upon her faith." Desdemona was faithful to Othello, but Othello lost faith in her in part because she deceived her father. Of course, Othello still would have been a happily-ever-after story without the villainous, Iago; but Shakespeare did not write many happy endings. Shakespeare's tragedies unfold from the varied frailties of the ensemble and not by the fault of one character.

I have been thinking lately about the relationship between faith and faithfulness. I have decided that in six or seven years, when I finish studying Kingdom in Context, I will have to study Faith in Context. Just as I hope to understand eventually what meaning Scripture encapsulates in "kingdom," I will also understand eventually what Scripture means by "believe", "faith", "faithful", and "faithfulness." All these words derive from the same Greek root. Until such a time as I can study every appearance and context exhaustively, I will have to take shortcuts and draw upon what I can glean from surveys and what I already know.

I do not recommend studying Christianity from Dictionary.com, but their definition of faith as it applies to Christian theology reads, "[Faith is] the trust in God and in His promises as made through Christ and the Scriptures by which humans are justified or saved." That is not bad for an online dictionary. When we define faithful, it appears that its meaning diverges from that of faith. Dictionary.com does not have a definition of "faithful" from the perspective of Christian theology but still they capture the essence of how we perceive faithful, "[Faithful means] true to one's word, promises, vows, etc.," and "reliable, trusted, or believed." It appears that faith addresses what we believe while faithful implies that we continue doing something. Faith is a noun. Faithful is an adjective; faithfulness is the noun form of faithful. When we refer to faith as a verb, we use the word believe.

We have four words mentioned in this context: believe, faith, faithful, and faithfulness. They are of type verb, noun, adjective, and noun. Faith (n.) encapsulates what we believe (v.), while faithful (adj.) and faithfulness (n.) define the quality of continuing in whatever we believe or do. That almost sounds tidy, but is it right? Jesus told the Pharisees, "You have neglected the more important matters of the law - justice, mercy, and faithfulness," (Matthew 23:23 NIV) Jesus was referring to Micah 6:8.

He has showed you,

O man, what is good.

And what does the LORD require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy

 and to walk humbly with your God.

(NIV)

Faithfulness then, according to Jesus, is walking humbly with God; is it not? Consequently, faith tells us what we believe, faithful and faithfulness describes our commitment to walk with God. We understand that we are saved by faith — by what we believe. Paul quotes Joel 2:32 when he says, "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved." (Romans 10:13). Moreover Paul tells the Ephesians, "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith — and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God — not by works, so that no one can boast."

Faith describes our beliefs. Faithful and faithfulness describe our commitment. Am I right? The trouble with this theory is that there is no word in Greek specifically meaning faithfulness. Pistis, meaning faithfulness, is exactly the same word we translate as faith. Faith among evangelicals has come to mean a momentary decision — a conversion. Moreover, faith as it relates to prayer seems to have little correlation to the faith that saves us. Either way, faith is momentary while faithfulness is an enduring quality. Are we right in making this distinction?

Othello did not swear on Desdemona's faithfulness; he said, "My life upon her faith." In another Shakespeare title, Pericles, the character Antiochus addresses Thaliard saying, "For your faithfulness we advance you." Shakespeare uses both words to mean the same thing! In 17th century English, consequently, there does not appear to be a distinction between faith and faithfulness. Likewise, when we quote Jesus saying "justice, mercy, and faithfulness" an equivalent translation is simply "justice, mercy, and faith." Yet in modern Christianity, we seem to make a distinction between faith and faithfulness against the evidence in the Greek and even the history of the English language. By doing so, we distort the plain meaning of Scripture.

Would we quote Ephesians 2:8 to say, "By grace you have been saved through faithfulness?" If not, why not? Even in Shakespeare's day, the word faith demonstrated the same endurance as we now ascribe to faithfulness. If we are saved by faithfulness, then the rest of the verse is still true: our faithfulness is not from within us, but is rather a gift of God. Our faithfulness is not by works so that no one can boast.

When we realize there is no distinction between faith and faithfulness, then the word "believe" takes upon itself a connotation of commitment and not merely intellectual acceptance or emotional trust. This correlates very well with the book of James. James was the brother of Jesus and he was an elder among the church in Jerusalem. He writes, "You believe that God is one. You do well; the demons also believe, and shudder." Intellectual assent is not enough. God requires faithfulness. The heroes of faith in Hebrews 11 exhibited constancy because while they persevered in faith through hardship, "none of them received what was promised."

If we referred to a prayer of faithfulness rather than a prayer of faith, it might change our attitudes regarding our conversations with God. We seem to think that faith in prayer is the mere belief that God is going to do something whereas if we substituted faithfulness we might remember that for our prayers to be faithful, they must be offerred according to his will. Understanding that faith is faithfulness unifies the meaning of faith in Scripture. When we consider faith to be the same as faithfulness it no longer sounds momentary. It sounds like commitment.

Lisa chuckled more than once when she read a blog about the cost of discipleship. The line that captured her was, "Sure, it cost them everything, but they budgeted for that." Such is our faith. Saving faith is not merely simple belief; it is commitment. God requires faithfulness; yet according to Ephesians 2:8, faithfulness is what he provides to us by his grace.

When we look to Jesus' definition of faith and faithfulness in Micah 6:8 we understand the simplicity of God's request. God wants us to walk humbly with him. We cannot do so apart from trusting him. Sure, it will cost us everything, but we have nothing (other than our sin) that he has not already given us. What God wants from us is for us to live humbly in relationship with him. For us, what is the downside? Christ bore our frailty on his body upon the cross so that we might live with him in glory. God offers the gift of eternal life freely; we cannot earn it.

The beauty of this is that God's grace provides the faith. It is nothing that we can muster, it is the work of the Holy Spirit. Galatians 5:22, 23 reads, "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control." (NASB) Here again is the word faithfulness, e.g. faith. The faith that saves us is the same faithfulness that holds us. Even if we differentiate between them, they are still the work of God in our lives. It is God's faithfulness that saves us and God's faithfulness that holds us. Paul wrote to Timothy saying, "Here is a trustworthy saying,

If we died with him,

we will also live with him;

if we endure, we will also reign with him.

If we disown him,

he will also disown us;

if we are faithless,

he will remain faithful,

for he cannot disown himself."

2 Timothy 2:11-13 (NIV)

Today the faithfulness of God compels us to budget our whole lives to walk humbly with him. Yet in the mystery of our salvation, we commit to this relationship of our own free will. God provides eternal life freely, but it will cost us all that we are. In exchange, God will make us all that he wants us to be. Do we trust him to do it?

Daniel is down

By John D Ramsey

First of all, thanks, Dad, for posting on Monday. I try to post every odd day, and it proves to be a challenge when the schedule gets busy. This weekend was exceptionally full, and I would have certainly missed a post without Dad's help. Thanks again.

Daniel came down from Minnesota this weekend. He met his little sisters and me at Mom and Dad’s house near Jamesport, Missouri. Lisa stayed at home because she was hosting a party for home-school coordinators and volunteers.

At Jamesport, Daniel helped me trim trees and clear brush. We did not do very much, but just enough to help the appearance of the yard. While we did that, Dad and Gabby staked tomatoes in the garden. Claire drove Dad’s lawn tractor around with the trailer attached. She hauled brush to the burn pile near the creek. I think she would have hauled brush all day just for the opportunity to drive the little tractor.

There were many things to do in a short visit, so we worked for a while and then went fishing on my aunt and uncle’s property just west of my parents’ house. The farm I remember was 100 acres. My parents live on the lot east of the creek. My aunt and uncle own the rest. The pond on which we fished replaced a gully in the middle of what was a 40-acre field. I do not remember exactly when my uncle built the pond, but everyone in the family refers to it as the “new pond.” There are two other ponds on the property. There is the shallow “old pond” which is choked by thorny locusts, willows, and cattails; then there is the “pond by the road.” When I was a child, we called it the “big pond.” My grandfather drained an old stock pond and rebuilt it and we called it the “big pond” because it was so much larger than the old pond. The “new pond” is bigger than the “big pond”, so the “big pond” has become the “pond by the road.”

As a youth, I fished, skipped rocks, and shot bullfrogs on the big pond. It was one of my favorite places in the world. The fishing on the new pond this week was a new experience for me. The water was a little cloudy because of all the rain, and the wind was gusting from the south making casting from the north bank unpredictable. I spent much of my time hanging bait on Gabby’s line. I had forgotten to wear my glasses and I fumbled with hook and worm.

Earlier in the morning, Gabby and I had dug worms from our garden and put them in an empty On the Border margarita mix bucket. It seemed as if the worms and the tequila were destined for the same container. The timing of their conjunction suited me just fine.

On the new pond, Claire fished unsuccessfully with my pole. Daniel fished with the pole we sent him for his birthday. We ordered the rod and reel from Cabela’s, and the girls shopped for tackle at Wal-Mart. They boxed the tackle with some treats and sent it to him by UPS. Daniel knew the girls had shopped for the tackle because they chose pink lures.

The crappie on the new pond also favored pink, and Daniel quickly landed several fish that would have yielded plate-sized fillets if we had kept them. He left one monster crappie in the water long enough to let Gabby have the thrill of reeling it in. After I changed her lure to a plastic yellow squid, Claire managed to catch a few nice-sized fish, too. I had nothing in my small tackle box that was pink, but yellow was adequate. Gabby caught a few little fish using worms. I caught nothing. The girls very much enjoyed being with Daniel. That was the prize catch for me.

The farm on which Mom and Dad live has always been a place for building memories. The landscape has changed from my memory. I still see the features that vanished long ago. I realize that I see the place differently than my children do. Nevertheless, the farm is still forming fond memories of earth and family. For that, I am grateful.

Throughout the weekend Daniel worked with us, played with us, and ate with us. His visits are a celebration with or without a holiday on the calendar. Another Missouri thunderstorm blew through Kansas City, and Daniel agreed with me that thunder sounds different here than in Minnesota. My favorite sound of the weekend, however, was not the awesome thunder but rather the laughter of Claire and Gabby as they played with Daniel. When he returns to Minnesota he knows that our hearts and prayers will go with him.

Ezra seven fifteen

by John D Ramsey

I called Mom early Saturday afternoon after the girls and I had finished working in the yard. Mom was standing at the stove frying chicken. I asked her, “What happened to Dad?” She laughed. Ezra, Dad’s Amish friend called him from some remote location and asked Dad to run an errand. Dad left the chicken on the stove and drove off in his van. He returned a few minutes later just as mom was taking up the chicken.

Since Ezra and his wife moved in next door to Mom and Dad, life on the “farm” has been interesting. The Amish in Jamesport, Missouri do not drive cars, though they will ride in one. They do not have electricity at home, although they use rechargeable power tools. The Jamesport Amish do not have telephones although they conduct business by phone frequently, and often early in the day. That is why I nick-named Dad’s neighbor, Ezra Seven Fifteen. Early in their friendship, Ezra got into the habit of making phone calls from Mom and Dad’s phone at 7:15 AM. Dad is usually up and around by then, but Mom felt a little imposed upon by Ezra’s early morning visits.

Ezra is often arranging his work schedule, and he needs to use a phone early in the morning. I do not think that Dad minds when Ezra comes knocking early. If Dad did mind, no one would hear his displeasure anyway. If an old man complains in his kitchen, and no one is there to hear it, does he really make a sound? Like a tree falling in a forest, it depends on your definition of sound. If you define sound as waveform energy between certain frequencies, then your answer is, yes. If you define sound as the perception of that waveform energy, then Dad’s complaining, if there is such a thing, never makes a sound.

Dad worked out an arrangement with Ezra. It sounds like Old Testament justice with a twist: an hour for an hour, a trip for a tip. Ezra can work off Dad’s driving by working an equal length of time around Mom and Dad’s place. On too many occasions, Ezra has pulled Dad’s riding mower out of the mud. In Dad’s defense, it is not always stuck in the same muddy spot. When Ezra rides by and sees Dad’s mower stuck in a low spot he postpones his journey and wrestles the mower to dry ground. He does not wait for Dad to ask him, and he does not announce his arrival. He just does what he sees needing his attention.

Now Mom and Dad are as dependent upon Ezra as he is upon them. Well, almost. Dad recently had to learn where the Amish midwife lives. That way when Ezra comes knocking excitedly in the middle of the night, Dad can jump in his van and fetch the midwife back to Ezra’s house. I cannot wait to hear that story.

In modern American society, we are famously independent. My neighbor does not mow my grass, but Ezra S. Fifteen mows Mom and Dad’s ditches. I do not drive my neighbor to the doctor’s office, but my Dad drives Ezra and his wife wherever they need to go.

Some families on our block hire landscaping services to mow their grass. Age or allergies prevent some people from doing their own yard work. I am not criticizing people for needing help. Still it would seem strange to the Amish to hire a stranger to mow while surrounded by neighbors with mowers.

In modern society, we insulate ourselves from interdependence by using money. If I pay someone to mow my yard then the transaction is settled. I am not obliged to my neighbor. We might be dependent upon others for help, but we are seldom interdependent. Interdependence is not a transaction; it is a relationship. We deliberately insulate ourselves from relationships even though we know that relationships enhance the quality of our lives. Often times we avoid the needy people because we will not take the time to meet their needs. We prefer transactions to relationships.

Did God call us to rugged independence? On the contrary, God called us into a relationship of dependence upon him and interdependence upon each other. Paul writes about the body of Christ in 1 Corinthians 12:12-31. Read the passage if you can take the time, but one simple point that Paul makes is this, “God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no divisions in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other.”[1]

2 Corinthians 9 is a much-abused passage of Scripture. You might hear it quoted in church just before you hear the offertory. Paul was encouraging the believers in Corinth to set aside each week a gift for the believers in Jerusalem. Paul was not telling them to contribute to their local church. He did not tell them to send money to his tax-deductible charity. He asked them to set aside money for believers who were in need. Paul did not intend to collect the money; he planned to write a letter of introduction so representatives of the Corinthians could deliver it themselves. What we most often ignore in this passage is the reason that Paul told believers they should support others. It is easy to ignore because Paul gives his rationale earlier in chapter 8. He says,

For this is not for the ease of others and for your affliction, but by way of equality—at this present time your abundance being a supply for their need, so that their abundance also may become a supply for your need, that there may be equality.[2]

Paul did not tell the Corinthians to pay up because they were obligated to give. He told them it was for equality. We are to provide for the needy because someday we will be needy. Paul did not say that the Corinthians might be needy. He said they would be, and their needs would be supplied by those to whom they were giving. The lifecycle of a Christian includes mountains and valleys. We all experience degrees of neediness and abundance so that through all we come to realize that indeed we are all equal.

We are equally dependent upon God because all that we have comes from him. We are equal and interdependent among each other because we are one body with many parts. Too often, we attempt to live our lives independently. Just as we insulate ourselves from our neighbors by hiring professionals, we insulate ourselves from our brothers in need by putting our giving in the offering plate. We do not learn the joy of supplying a need, nor do we learn the joy of having a need supplied. We live our lives in a charade of self-sufficiency. Did not God call us to so much more?

By the way, Ezra 7:15 falls in the middle of Artaxerxes’s letter to Ezra. Artaxerxes, King of Persia, wrote a letter commending the resources of the kingdom of Persia to supply what Ezra and the Jews needed to rebuild the temple. In Ezra 7, Artaxerxes and his advisers gave freely of their silver and gold because they saw the power of God in Ezra. Artaxerxes ordered Ezra to teach the Law of God to all the peoples west of the Euphrates. In the New Covenant, our bodies are the temple of God (not “temples built by hands.”). If we are to supply what is needed to build up the temple, we will supply the needs of one another. We will live lives of dependence upon God, and interdependence within the body of Christ.

[1] Corinthians 12:24 (NIV)
[2] Corinthians 8:13, 14 (NASB)

Ora et labora

by John D Ramsey

A couple years ago, after I had begun writing For Your Names’ Sake, I was explaining to Claire the meaning of her name. Claire means “bright” or “shining one”. Maddison means “warrior”. Claire paused to absorb that for a minute and then asked, “What does Ramsey mean?” I explained to her that Ramsey was a surname. She asked again, “But what does it mean?” I told her that the Ramseys originally had come from Scotland, but that our family had been in the United States for a long time. She was not satisfied, “What does it mean?”

The only Ramseys I know hail from Jamesport, Missouri. I am told that we came by way of Virginia sometime in the nineteenth century. Whatever our connection to the Isle, it was lost to the wind many years ago. We are not much of a clan. In six generations there has been only one male heir in this branch of the Ramseys. Half of those are still living: my father, my son, and me. We are not many, nor are we very Scottish. We do not wear kilts, drink Scotch whiskey, or play bagpipes. I do remember walking across the Capitol Mall in St. Paul while the pipers were practicing. It was a wonderful sound. Still, the sound of bagpipes does not awaken any ancient memory within my soul.

Scotland casts an invisible shadow upon me now. I do not see the influence of my Norman or Celtic ancestors in my daily life. I am who I am without pride or shame of whence I have come, but my contentment did not extinguish Claire's curiosity.

We sat down with Google to learn the history of the Ramseys. As we read about the clan, so removed from us by space and time, suddenly something looked familiar, Ora et Labora. I double-checked with an online Latin to English translator, and immediately I realized: I know what “Ramsey” means. Ora et Labora describes my father perfectly. Three thousand words could not describe him better than this simple Latin phrase which means “Pray and work.” English translations of Ora et Labora might read, “work and pray”. They do this because it sounds better to end a phrase with an open-mouth vowel than to end it with a guttural consonant; nevertheless, “pray and work” best describes my dad.

I showed Claire the Ramsey crest and told her, “Ramsey means ‘pray and work.’”

With or without the Latin, my dad prays and works. He is retired now. He has been retired for over a decade, but he is not idle. Retirement means that Social Security pays Dad a little bit to do the work he would be doing anyway. He preaches every Sunday morning at Mount Pleasant Baptist Church between Trenton and Bethany, Missouri. On Sunday evening, he teaches at Olive Baptist Church down the road from Mom and Dad's house. On Monday morning, he meets with area pastors for a prayer breakfast. They pray together and then he teaches them. On Wednesday evening, Mom and Dad are back at Olive for prayer meeting.

Dad does not wait for meetings to pray. He maintains a list of prayer requests on his laptop and synchronizes it to his Palm TX. He carries the Palm with him nearly everywhere. His Palm has Bible software installed, too. When Dad is not praying, or studying, or teaching, he is mowing, cooking, or cleaning. Dad has also recently begun shuttling his Amish neighbors on trips too distant for horse and buggy. They repay him generously in a neighborly fashion. When Dad is waiting for his neighbor at the doctor’s office or chiropractic clinic, he takes out his Palm TX and opens his prayer request list. He prays for people in the local churches in which he serves. He prays for his children and his grandchildren. If he finishes praying, he reads the Bible until it occurs to him to pray again.

When the Ramseys from several hundred years ago encapsulated their most valued character qualities into the simple phrase, Ora et Labora, they must have been thinking forward to my Dad. Surely, even if they were not thinking of Dad, they still wanted future generations to know what it meant to be a Ramsey. Their world became a better place when they did two things: pray and work. Ora et Labora was a blessing they handed down through the generations. Among my clan it resonates louder than bagpipes.

Claire Maddison Ramsey, take a moment to reflect upon the blessing of your name. You are a bright and shining warrior in prayer and work.

They saw us waving

by John D Ramsey

Last summer the International Space Station (ISS) flew over our house with Space Shuttle Atlantis following close behind. Atlantis had undocked and was preparing for return to earth within a day or two. It was evening after sunset, but the western sky was not dark. The ISS appeared north-northwest from Raymore as if it were coming from Kansas City, Missouri. It was on time and it appeared exactly where NASA said that it would. I had herded the girls into the front yard. Cara was living at home for a few weeks after graduating from college. She did not know what to expect except that the neighbors would think we were crazy. Nevertheless, Lisa and Cara indulged me out of kindness, but the little girls seemed to be genuinely interested in seeing spaceships.

The reflected light from the ISS moved directly toward us for several seconds before the light from Atlantis also became visible. The two spacecraft moved silently through the sky growing gradually larger, brighter, and faster as they approached. The girls watched intently as the ISS and shuttle drew near. Gabby and Claire began to wave energetically at the light in the sky, but Cara began to chuckle at Gabby and Claire. As the ISS flew directly overhead, it caught a ray of sunshine and flashed brilliance against the darkening sky. Gabby exclaimed, “They saw us waving, and they turned their lights on!” The two craft flew around the ash tree by the driveway and over the garage roof. The little girls dashed into the backyard to watch the ISS and the Atlantis disappear into the night.

I am impressed with rocket scientists and especially their project managers. It is amazing that they can build, launch, and retrieve spacecraft and preserve the life onboard. I was enthralled with the spectacular view of the ISS from my front yard. I am glad that the dazzling lights captivated Gabby’s imagination. Nevertheless, neither the ISS nor the Space Shuttle is the most spectacular object in the summer-night sky. In fact, the ISS is amazing to me primarily because it is manmade.

The moon orbits the earth every 29½ days. It rotates as it revolves keeping its dark side hidden from Earth’s view. It reflects the sunlight in a cycle that signals to some the arrival of seasons. As it orbits the earth, it pulls the ocean tides in concert with the sun. The gravitational attractions of earth, moon, and sun comprise a machine that helps keep the ocean currents flowing. Along with the sun’s heat, the ocean currents also influence the earth’s winds bringing both rain and clear skies in season.

While we are enthralled on summer nights by manmade satellites sailing silently in space, they are less amazing than the moon which is visible nearly every day. The ISS will help men learn about the earth it floats above, but life on earth is not directly dependent upon its orbiting on a schedule. Nevertheless, the sky follows an intricate if unfathomable schedule that directly contributes to life on earth.

When Daniel was a little guy, we camped near a pond along with my brother-in-law, Steve. Mars hung out over the water low on the horizon. It appeared to be so close that you could almost see its spherical shape with the naked eye. The next time Mars and Earth were in perihelic opposition was the week that we took Cara to college. Lisa and I walked the beach on Assateague Island and saw Mars hanging in the Atlantic mist. It appeared to be not too far out nor too high up, but rather just beyond breaking waves and over the open water. When I saw Mars at its brightest from the beach at Assateague, I remembered that sixteen years had passed since I had seen it with Daniel as it hovered over Uncle Paul’s pond. Gabby will be a teenager before we see Mars nearly so close again. Earth has never observed a closer approach to Mars as in 2003. It was sublime and it was fleeting, none of us will see it quite the same way in our lifetimes.

While the earth repeats a daily pattern of night and day, and the moon repeats its cycle from new to full, the planets and other celestial objects follow their choreography in such a way that no night sky is exactly like another. We might confuse the heavens’ complexity with randomness, yet each object follows its course with precision. In each day’s concert, together they play subtle variations of their repertoire.

The sky is an orchestration of infinite design and complexity in which man, by virtue of rocket science, now plays a cowbell. When we glimpse spacecraft sailing above the margin of night and day we exult, “Look, there is the Space Shuttle!” or “Wow, see the ISS?” In comparison with the beauty of space, it is like saying, “More cowbell!” We want more cowbell because men like us play cowbells. We cannot understand, let alone control, all the physics of the sun, moon, planets, and stars; however, some brilliant among us can play cowbell: “More cowbell!” That is all right; it takes a lot of human skill and effort to play cowbell in the symphony of the sky.

Man’s conquest of space declares his glory, but Psalm 19 begins by saying,

The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language
where their voice is not heard.
Their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world.
Psalm 19:1-4a (NIV)

Man pushes into space in pursuit of scientific knowledge, preferably useful information; yet Psalm 19 says that the purpose of the heavens is to reveal the magnificence of God. Observing the heavens without acknowledging God is like attending a symphony and ignoring the music but rather concentrating merely on the shape of the instruments. Likewise, when we observe man’s creations we should exult not only in man, but also in the God who made us all in his image. When we view the heavens, we should hear the symphony that proclaims to us the glory of God, and we should respond. Psalm 19 concludes,

May the words of my mouth

and the meditation of my heart

be pleasing in your sight,

O LORD,

my Rock and my Redeemer.

Psalm 19:14 (NIV)

The God who created the heavens and choreographed the celestial courses is also aware of the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts. Either they please him, or they do not.

When Gabby saw the ISS move from partial shadow into the full illumination of the sun, she said, “They saw us waving, and they turned their lights on!” I did not tell Gabby that she imagined fiction. Nevertheless, all the lights of the heavens shine for our benefit. They were not turned on in response to our waving, but rather so that we could see the magnificent glory of the Creator. Man is not waiting on God to reveal himself; the heavens declare his glory and “the skies proclaim the work of his hands . . . There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.” Will we thus acknowledge him?

More important than merely acknowledging God, is our relationship to him. David addresses him, “O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.” When we acknowledge God, we should ask him, “Are you my LORD? Are you my Rock? Are you my Redeemer?” Then we should say, “Be my LORD. Be my Rock. Be my Redeemer.” God illuminated the host of heaven to draw our attention to him. God is now watching from heaven awaiting our response. He turned his lights on; will he now see us waving?

Granny's song

by John D Ramsey

Today is the second anniversary of Granny Annie’s death. She was old. She had Alzheimer’s disease. She was tired. She died on Mother’s Day.

Anna Edwards was born in 1910 in a log cabin in the Ozarks. When she was about three-years old, she traveled with her family to Orrick, Missouri by covered wagon. These were the years before World War I, before automobiles were necessities. They were not exactly Pony Express days, but for folks in poverty they might as well have been.

Anna married young and lived with her husband, Jess Colley, and his orphaned brothers on an apple orchard. Her story was not quite like Wendy among the Lost Boys. No, she did not civilize them; instead, Jess gave her a rifle for her birthday and she learned to shoot, skin, clean, and cook things that I would only shoot. Anna was a good shot, although not always a successful huntress. Family legend has it that soon after receiving the rifle she saw a critter skulking around by the outhouse. She killed it with a single shot; only then did Anna discover that the critter was the family's cat.

Anna and Jess raised three children, and Anna buried Jess when he was 45. She married Reuben McKim a few years later and buried him in 1980. Soon after, she moved to North Dakota to be near her youngest grandchildren. The complaint I heard was that she could not buy grits in North Dakota, so I sent her some. Granny liked grits for breakfast, but she was a completely capable cook nonetheless. Everyone who knew Granny had special memories from her kitchen. I remember her gingersnap cookies.

Granny lived many places in her latter years. She always lived with or near one of her children. Near the end of her life, she lived with my parents. Alzheimer’s disease made that arrangement impossible, and Granny moved into a nursing home.

A couple years before Granny died, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about my daughter, Claire. Lisa had just begun to home-school Claire and I woke up wondering how to teach Claire history. Seems strange for a middle of the night awakening, but it seemed urgent at the time.

To me, history is delicious except when over-baked. I imagined that a literary approach to history might interest Claire. It occurred to me that telling a family history might enlighten an entire era. My mind wandered to the story of Granny Annie as a three-year old riding in a covered wagon from the hills of Camden County to the silted earth of Orrick, Missouri. I imagined my girls in a similar situation. If I could convey Granny's story in an interesting fashion, perhaps I would capture their imaginations. I began to write:

My Anna

My Anna, are you hiding in the damp springhouse?
Do you sip cold milk with kittens from the barn?
Time is short, my Anna, don’t dilly-dally long.
We’re moving to a large and friendly farm.

My Anna, are you hiding in the corner of the cabin?
I can see you in the chinking between the logs.
Time is short, my Anna, the wagon’s loaded now.
We’ll set out by the early morning fog.

My Anna, are you hiding behind the dogwood trees?
We can’t stay here in the mountains anymore.
I know you’ll miss your springhouse, your corner, and your blossoms.
Our hearts cling to earth in ways we can’t ignore.

My Anna, are you crying, underneath the darkened sky?
I see your teardrops sparkle like the stars.
While the embers glow and crackle, rest calmly in their warmth.
Leaving home and coming home, my Anna--my home is where you are.

My Anna, are you hiding among the daffodils?
I see you’re almost smiling back at me.
We’re close to home, my Anna; we’re coming up the road.
Come sit on top my shoulders and you’ll see.

My Anna, are you nesting in your freshened feather bed?
I can see no sadness on your face.
Sleep tonight, my Anna. Hear heaven singing praise.
By grace we’re home, my Anna . . . by His grace.

When I had finished writing, I realized the poem was not about history, but rather about the future.

My mom read this poem to Granny several times when her mind was strong. There were good days and bad. Nevertheless, when I saw Granny again, she did not recognize me. She recognized Claire and Gabby because she kept their photographs on her night table. When she saw Lisa, she asked her, “Now, who are you?” Lisa explained, “I’m Lisa, John’s wife.” Granny exclaimed, “Oh, I know you!” She then turned to me and asked bluntly, “And who are you?”

Granny told my little girls that day, “I just thank God that I've lived to be over 100, and I can still get around.” Granny was 95, and she could only take a few steps using a walker or cane. I am certain that Granny was thankful for something; she just could not remember for what.

I saw Granny Annie again on the day she died. I was in the process of finding a job in Kansas City and moving from Minnesota. Lisa had taken Claire back to the northland to clean and pack, while I waited with Gabby in Kansas City for a recruiter to call. The call was scheduled for Monday morning, but I had become anxious. I decided to stage my retreat to Minnesota from my parent’s home. If the call came, I was only two hours from a face-to-face interview. If the call did not come, then I was two hours closer to Minnesota.

Gabby, who was three-and-a-half at the time, came with me to the farm on Sunday after church. We settled in Granny's old room. After dinner, my mother asked us to take her to see Granny at the nursing home. It was Mother’s Day. When we arrived, Granny was resting uncomfortably. Her room was hot. My mom adjusted the temperature and gave Granny a drink of water. Granny seemed unaware of me, but she acquiesced to Mom’s care. We did not stay long, but we would have stayed longer had we known.

As we were leaving, Gabby walked up to Granny’s bedside just inches from her face. Granny opened and fixed her eyes on Gabby. Gabby said, “We love you, Granny Annie.” Granny mumbled a response, and drifted to sleep. Those were the last earthly words Granny heard. My cousin, Steve, called from the funeral home early Monday morning to say that Granny had passed.

At Granny’s funeral, my little sister, Marilyn, read My Anna for Granny's friends and family. It was interesting to hear it in a female voice. Suddenly, I pictured my poem as a mother speaking comfort to her daughter. It was as if I had never known it before.

This Mothers Day I remember Granny Annie, I know that she is missed by many people. To Mom, to all those who miss Granny, and to all those who feel lonely for someone today,

[May] our Lord Jesus Christ himself,

and God our Father,

who loved us

and gave us eternal comfort

and good hope through grace,

comfort your hearts . . .

2 Thessalonians 2:16, 17 (WEB)

Happy Mothers Day

Bicycle baby

by John D Ramsey

Claire is the best thing ever to come out of Iowa. That is what I tell her and that is what I believe. Claire does not remember Iowa because we moved to Minnesota when she was 18 months old. I remember moving day. I had been living in an empty house in Hastings. On the day before moving day, I went to the florist a couple blocks way and bought flowers for Lisa and Cara and I bought a stuffed animal for Claire. I had picked up a CD for Daniel. As it turns out, the CD played the wrong Morrison. When the family arrived at the house, Claire entered the kitchen through the mudroom and hugged the stuffed puppy. She was the first of us to feel at home in Minnesota.

A few months into the new job, I splurged on a bicycle, a Giant Farrago DS. It was black and heavy, but its complex suspension system was easy on my tailbone. Before long, I cobbled it up with a bicycle seat for Claire. Claire and I rode everywhere in Hastings. We rode to Vermillion Falls. We rode to the Mississippi. We rode downtown by trails and backstreets. I remember watching kayaks from the footbridge high above the Vermillion River. They would fight their way upstream on the short rapids beneath the falls and then float down into a clear wide basin on the other side of the bridge. It was a workout for them, but it was joy for Claire and me. In Minnesota, it is seldom warm, especially in the mornings and evenings when we would ride. Claire learned that she could warm her hands by wedging them between my bicycle’s gel seat and my rump. When I objected she would remove her hands . . . for a minute.

That arrangement lasted two summers. When Claire was three, we bought a used trailer bike. It was black and matched my Giant. Claire took to it naturally and she pedaled as we rode. We sailed down the bicycle trail on the bluff above Silver Lake and across the levy to Lock and Dam No. 2. We watched barges pass through the lock. We even rode with the trailer bike together downhill from Cannon Falls to Welch Springs. Claire was my bicycle baby.

When Claire was six, I had a whim. Lisa acted upon my whim, and Claire began horseback-riding lessons. She began first on Pony Boy. Her instructor, Margy, noticed that Claire guided Pony Boy by gently leaning where she wanted him to go. Claire was a natural, Margy said. Perhaps she learned this from the sensation of movement while riding the trailer bike. This was fascinating to me until it was time for Claire to learn to ride a bicycle by herself. She tried to lean the bicycle as if it was a pony. She could not quite get the hang of it. Still one of my most pleasant memories of Minnesota was watching Claire on her mount loping along the horizon back toward the arena. Claire was riding a real horse by then; it was spectacular.

Nevertheless, Claire was too big for the trailer bike, so I had to ride the trails of Hastings by myself. All the sites were the same, but the experience was less.

When Gabby was born, I realized that I had gained enough weight that I could barely manage to pull myself up hills. Gabby was not my bicycle baby. Gabby loved to swing in the shade of a box elder tree, but that is another story.

Cara was never my bicycle baby, either. She was my football baby because when she was born I could carry her on my forearm with her head cradled in my palm as if I was a running back and she was the ball. Daniel was 10 ½ pounds when he was born and was too big to be a football baby. Gabby is my football baby now because last fall she watched the Chiefs with me (until they started losing every game and then no one watched them).

When we moved home to Kansas City two years ago, Claire’s horseback-riding instruction stopped. It was not our intent for it to stop. We just never found a new instructor, and the budget just did not allow for riding lessons. The good news is that over the winter, Claire taught herself to ride a bicycle. I am now teaching her the rules of the road. We look forward to a summer of riding. Claire is no longer my bicycle baby. I think she is becoming my bicycle buddy, and I am blessed. Maybe when I am an old man, Claire will ride a tandem with me. Perhaps she will pedal hard enough for the both of us. I will not make her ride up the Mississippi bluffs, but perhaps we will sail down them just once for memories.

Eagle, eagle, eagle

by John D Ramsey

When Daniel was a boy, he loved things that could fly. When he was born, we moved to Westwood, Kansas. It is a little city in the northeast corner of Johnson County. Kansas City, Kansas shares its northern border and Kansas City, Missouri shares its eastern line. It was close to the Country Club Plaza, and we would often drive that direction. When we drove down Ward Parkway approaching 67th Street, Daniel was predictable. He would always shout, “Eagle, eagle, eagle!” He was always surprised to see the sculpture, and his response was often the highlight of our day. If we were feeling stressed, we could strap Daniel in his car seat and drive south. “Eagle, eagle, eagle!” and Lisa and I would feel happy again.

There was much stress in those days. When circumstances settled down, Daniel was in first grade and we moved to Stilwell, Kansas. In Stilwell, the A-10 Warthogs from Richards-Gebaur AFB would fly low directly over our yard. Daniel would run out into the yard waving his ball cap, and the lead pilot of the squadron would tip his wing.

The Marines flew Chinooks in and out of Richards Gebaur, too. When Daniel heard the rotors in the distance, he would position himself in the open field. When the helicopters appeared, Daniel would wave. Each time he did, the pilots would flash their landing lights (Semper Fi). Not every youngster has an opportunity to command the sky, but Daniel did several times, if only for an instant.

When Daniel was ten, we bought him an Estes rocket kit for his birthday. It was just a cardboard tube with fins and cone, but he assembled it carefully and painted it black. When it was finished, we drove to his grandparents’ house on the other side of Stilwell because they had more space for launch and retrieval. Daniel assembled the launcher behind a hedgerow. His head was down he was attentive to every detail of the launch. The countdown came: five, four, three, two, one. The rocket motor spit and hissed. The rocket flew, but Daniel soared. All the eagle-eagle-eagles rolled into one five-second flight. It was exhilarating.

Daniel’s favorite holiday was always the Fourth of July. He loved fireworks. When we moved to Minnesota, we discovered that fireworks were illegal. We would try to return to a free state (Missouri) to celebrate the holiday. Some fireworks are legal in Minnesota now thanks to former governor, Jesse Ventura.

For a few years, around Christmas we would smuggle mortars from one of the permanent fireworks stands along I-35 in Missouri, through Iowa, back into Minnesota. On New Years Eve, I would synchronize my watch with the USNO master clock and Daniel or I would light the fuse 10 seconds to midnight. Happy New Year! BOOM! I am not sure who enjoyed that more, but Daniel did not complain.

I remember one Fourth of July, when Daniel and I could not stay in Missouri for fireworks. I have forgotten why we could not stay. We drove to Minnesota leaving Kansas City in the afternoon. It was a silent ride. We were both traveling away from where we wanted to be. We arrived at Albert Lea Lake just as they were setting off fireworks in town. I stopped the car on the shoulder of I-35 and we watched the display mirrored in the lake. The sound effects rumbled across the water. It was like a private celebration for just the two of us, but it was not the same as being with everyone.

The joy of childhood is a fragile thing, and it is hard to see when it is fading. We can only retrospectively see that it has passed. When Daniel was in high school, the joy had faded. High school was an artificial place with arbitrary rules favoring some and dismissing others. Daniel grew his hair long; I think it was a way of showing his disapproval with the system that disapproved of him.

When Daniel was a senior, he took action. Without talking to Lisa or to me, he approached the guidance counselor, and said, “Transfer me to the ALC.” The guidance counselor responded that he could not because the ALC was for kids at risk. Daniel asked, “What do I have to do to be at risk?” They transferred him, and Daniel finished graduation requirements in three weeks. He has worked fulltime since, even while attending the Institute of Production and Recording. He is doing well. I am just sorry that we are in Kansas City and he is in Minnesota.

The year after Daniel’s high school graduation, I was reflecting upon his experiences. It was the middle of the night and I remembered his love for flying things and discovery and his antipathy toward school. They took a bright, sensitive young man and suffocated his imagination with their inanity. I began to write. Before reading, you should understand that sarcasm is one of my finer faults.

usd 2oo

dummy down danny
don’t you know it’s time for school
there is no god of rocketry
there’s only you, you see
ambition is a lonely flight so mediocrity
is what you’ll want to learn
so put creation out of mind and be
a normal boy of sports and toys and free
of all allegiances
for heroes there’s no need
dummy down danny
we don’t want you to succeed

Daniel survived high school by escaping high school. I am proud of him for that. Sometimes, he tells me stories from his work, and I know that he has compassion for the downtrodden. I know he has a good sense of fairness. He has some business sense, too. He is a wonderful big brother to Claire and Gabby. He is a wonderful little brother to Cara. The girls love him dearly. His mother’s heart aches when he does not call at least once a week.

Daniel still has a Minnesota accent while the rest of us have recovered our natural twangs. We all feel his absence more than he knows. Daniel has a girlfriend, I hear. There is energy in his voice again. We recently sent him a fishing pole for his 23rd birthday. The little girls baked treats and sent them along with some tackle. He got the treats and tackle first and figured that the pole must be coming. I missed his call on his birthday. He sent me a text message, “Thanks. It’s been the best birthday in years! Miss you.” He sent the same note to his mother. He was planning to come home for Mother’s Day, but in Minnesota, it is fishing opener. Actually, I think he will be working so that others may fish. He is unselfish, too.

When I do see him again in a few weeks, I know my heart will cry, “Eagle, eagle, eagle!” and I will be happy again.

Air roasted

by John D Ramsey

I thought that I would miss Minnesota more than I have. Two years ago, we moved back to the Kansas City area. We have only returned to the northland once since completing our move. Our return trip was a story. I took off work on Friday. Lisa, Claire, Gabby and I left early in the morning. Claire and Gabby were eight and three respectively. Our adult son, Daniel, had stayed behind when we moved. While he had come down often to visit us, I had wanted to make an effort to see him. I did not initially realize what an effort it would be.

As we approached Cameron, Missouri, I noticed a temporary lighted highway sign. MO/DOT was kind enough to inform travelers that Iowa was closed. At this moment, my air card from Sprint seemed, for once, like a great idea. We checked the weather and discovered that blizzard conditions had made Iowa impassible. We drove from Cameron to my parent’s home a half-hour away, and we waited. Lisa used my laptop to check email along the way. She was intrigued with EV-DO until we approached the farm. The signal faded as we left the highway, and we disappeared from the Internet. The air card immediately reverted to the waste of money that it had always been.

Mom and Dad have DSL and a wireless network, so soon after arriving at their place we were browsing again. About 2 o’clock in the afternoon, the highway status in Iowa changed from “closed” to “travel not advised.” I asked myself, when is travel through Iowa actually advisable? I concluded that conditions must be close to normal. We set out again and made good time until Des Moines. From Des Moines to the Minnesota border was a wasteland of wrecked cars and snowdrifts. The roads were in poor condition, and we joined the column of brave souls crawling north toward freedom. When we finally arrived in Minnesota, MN/DOT’s fleet of snowplows was working to clear the shoulders of the highway. The highway driving lanes were in great condition.

The conditions we had faced in Iowa had been exacerbated by bureaucratic intransigence. Nevertheless, in their defense, I see this as a marketplace reality. Iowa knows that it is a drive-thru state. In contrast, Illinois, Missouri, and Minnesota are destination states. You could argue that Nebraska is also a destination state, but that would be hard to prove. Regardless, Iowa’s concept of highway safety is to post a message saying, “Travel not advised.” That is cheaper than actually mitigating the effects of bad weather. Who knows, tomorrow it might all melt. To punctuate their hospitality, Iowa also prevents tow trucks from operating during inclement weather. If you dare to journey through Iowa during a storm, and you end up in a ditch, your AAA membership will not save you.

Anyway, when we arrived at the Holiday Inn near Daniel’s place, it was after midnight. We had driven over eleven hours for a seven-hour trip and twice as much Iowa as usual. The layover at my parents’ added to the length of the day, but probably spared us from the worst of the storm. We spent a nice weekend with Daniel.

Every day when he is in Minnesota and I am in Missouri, I miss him. His every visit seems too short and they are ever too seldom. We have come to the conclusion that it is easier, and cheaper, for Daniel to drive to Kansas City, than for the rest of the family to journey to Minnesota, and so that is the way it works. He comes down when he can. While I miss Daniel while we are apart, I also miss Cara while she is in Texas. I miss my kids regardless of where they are, but I find that I do not miss Minnesota as much as I thought I would.

When we left Kansas City, we knew we would be leaving behind great BBQ (Gates, Hayward’s, and Jack Stack are among the most notable), we knew that we would leave behind City Market, the Country Club Plaza, and thousands of familiar landmarks that made us feel at home.

After seven years in Minnesota, I had wondered what I would miss upon leaving. I do not intend to offend Minnesotans. I liked living in Minnesota. I just have not missed it as I thought that I would. Lisa and I have discussed this, and we came up with a short list of things we miss from Minnesota including Tavern on Grand. If you travel to the Twin Cities, you should buy a walleye basket at Tavern on Grand. Initially, we thought that we missed Leinenkugel, too, but Lisa found it at the local Wal-Mart. We do not drink enough beer to claim realistically that we miss it, but we could understand if someone did. Besides, Leinies are brewed and bottled in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.

It is a Minnesota truism that the best things in Minnesota come from Wisconsin. It is true about the beer, it is true about the cheese, and it is true about professional football. Nevertheless, if you do travel to Minnesota, do try the Canadian walleye at Tavern on Grand.

When we first moved back to Kansas City, we did miss Dunn Bros Coffee. While living in Minnesota, Dunn Bros was an important part of our week. Every Wednesday night, we would drop Gabby and Claire at AWANA, and retreat to Dunn Bros. I would order a depth charge, Lisa would order a mocha, latte, or sometimes tea, and we would decide what variety of coffee beans to brew at home until next week.

Lisa and I have been married for almost twenty-seven years, but there are not very many bullet points regarding the secrets of our success. While we may have several habits, we do not have many rules. One rule that we do have is simply this: Do not talk about money at home. Our weekly trip to Dunn Bros became our regular “money meeting.”

We were thrilled to learn that Dunn Bros was opening a couple stores in the Kansas City area; however, the Kansas City mutations were disappointing, and we stopped making the effort. This was a bit of a crisis for Lisa; while we could talk about money anywhere, she struggled to find coffee that I liked.

Lisa is industrious, and it did not take her long to find the best coffee in Kansas City. It comes from The Roasterie, just off the Boulevard in Kansas City. Their coffee is distinctive because it is air roasted. Last summer, Daniel was down for a weekend. Cara was living at home for a few weeks after graduating from college. Lisa arranged for the family to take a tour of The Roasterie on a Saturday morning.

Cupper and master roaster, Norman, talked the small group through the history of western civilization, correlating the growth of liberty with increased coffee consumption. It would have been impolite to tell Norman that correlation does not prove causation, besides his arguments sounded as plausible as most economic theory. In reflection, coffee does exemplify the glory of economic liberty. Lisa now buys The Roasterie’s City of Fountains blend from Costco. Norman and the crew at The Roasterie could trace the route of green coffee beans from the growers on remote mountainsides overland and across oceans and overland again into one of their roasters and on to packaging and distribution. While coffee travels from the harvesters’ fingertips to the cup in my hand, my money traverses a reciprocal route. Such is the beauty of free enterprise. I think that Norman enjoys participating in global commerce almost as much as he enjoys the aroma and flavor of a great cup of coffee.

When I drink coffee, I do not think about global commerce. I think about Lisa. I can, and I sometimes do make my own coffee, but most mornings Lisa makes it for me. She makes an effort each week to make sure that we have good coffee on hand. She relies on Norman, et al, to fill the supply chain, but if Norman did not she would find good coffee somewhere. She watches our bean inventory as closely as she watched the inventory when she managed a coffee bar.

The other day, Lisa entertained several moms in our home. She noticed too late that the grinder had enough beans for only one pot of coffee. Lisa was a day away from her scheduled trip to Costco. Being resourceful, Lisa pulled a bag of The Roasterie’s decaf coffee from the freezer. She let it warm to room temperature before swapping it for the coffee in the grinder.

The women apparently raved about the coffee. One called it the perfect cup. Fortunately, no one asked Lisa how to make the “perfect” cup of coffee because the answer would have been something like this. “Buy a pound of The Roasterie’s decaf, open the package, make one or two pots for a special occasion. Reseal the packaging and store in your freezer for a year. Let the coffee beans warm to room temperature and place in grinder that most recently contained fresh beans (City of Fountains blend preferably). Leave grinder settings adjusted for a small pot, but make a full pot instead.” When Lisa told me this story, I realized that she exerted both effort and some risk for my benefit. She preserved the last pot of real coffee for me. She did not have to; she wanted to.

On some days, I drink other coffee at the office. I do drink other coffee Tuesday morning at a men’s Bible study. Occasionally, Lisa and I go to Dean & Deluca for espresso. A couple weeks ago, we went to Starbucks. Drinking other coffee is a nice reminder to me of Lisa’s efforts to give me the best. Drinking lesser coffee reminds me that I am blessed.

Perhaps the reason that I do not miss Minnesota is simply this: All the best I had in Minnesota is with me still.

Love ya, Honey.