While I’m on vacation, I’ll be posting devotions written two years ago, rather than writing something new each day. Unless I change my mind on some days, and when that happens, I’ll let you know.
Sunday October 15, 2023Â This devotion was originally posted on October 15, 2021.
Heading south
There is nothing concealed that will not be revealed, nor secret that will not be known. Therefore whatever you have said in the darkness will be heard in the light, and what you have whispered behind closed doors will be proclaimed on the housetops.
The alarm woke me with a giant start, right out of a dream that seemed far more important than it was. We left home about 7 and drove straight south 200 miles through Illinois to Cave-in-Rock, where Pam Clevenger was born and lives still.
She and her husband Gary remodeled a home on the bluffs of the Ohio River. Everything in the house was designed by Pam and built either by Gary or Amish woodworkers from across the river in Kentucky. I sat on their new deck, listened to the barges pushing through the river, felt the warm sun, and fell asleep.
Time and space settle into their familiar places when I’m awake, but in the dreams they are like untamed stallions, and I can just barely stay on their back. Ulysses Grant is moving his armies up and down the Ohio River, winning victory after victory. Old political signs decorate the highway. Time races up and down the years. I go along with it, breathing deep. In the dream the diatribes against Lincoln and Grant mush together with “Pritzker Sucks” and “Trump-Pence” and the church bulletin board: “Americans are free and so is salvation.”
Are not five sparrows sold for two small coins?
Yet not one of them has escaped the notice of God.
Even the hairs of your head have all been counted.
Do not be afraid.
You are worth more than many sparrows.”
Down here along the river, pick up trucks belch diesel fumes. Same thing up north, but here I feel more threatened and isolated in our little white Prius. We passed a Jeep 4Ă—4 with all the windows down, completely covered with dried mud. Like it had been plucked by a tow truck out of quicksand, just before it disappeared forever. It sat there on the highway shoulder. Down the road a couple young guys with cowboy hats walked toward the Jeep. I bet they had a story.
I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body but after that can do no more.
I shall show you whom to fear. Be afraid of the one who after killing has the power to cast into Gehenna; yes, I tell you, be afraid of that one.
We left Pam’s and drove to Evansville, to Dorothy and Kay’s house. Margaret’s mom and sister have lived together for several years. Dorothy will be 98 on December 27. The three women linked by blood and history talk three blue streaks, and I remember those Navy Angels, jets streaking through the sky. They are happy to be together, and somehow their conversations do not collide.
Be glad in the Lord and rejoice, you just; exult, all you upright of heart. I turn to you, Lord, in time of trouble, and you fill me with the joy of salvation.
