Friendships

William James said, "Wherever you are, it is your friends who make your world."

Yesterday this quote arrived in an email from a friend I first met in my home church in New York over 50 years ago. The quote then took flight as I GPSed my way to an 1880 farmhouse on Buffalo Run Road in Friendsville and received a free concert black skirt. Before I left, I also received two squash and a pumpkin, complete with directions for cooking/baking each. Next, a phone call came from three couples, friends from the Annapolis area who "happened" to be driving through Accident (Who drives accidentally through Accident?). They asked, "Could we have lunch together"? Any other day, yes, of course, but we already had lunch plans with friends whom we've known since our 1980s Bible study. The Drakes timed their trip home to Shreeve, Ohio such that we could enjoy a three-hour lunch together. Relaxing at home later that evening, I received a prayer chain phone call from our pastor's wife reminding me to pray for a new friend having surgery today.

In 41 years of marriage we have lived in nine different apartments/houses and moved, if memory serves me right, 14 times. I can testify to the truth of James' quote. Friends have made our world, whether they moved our furniture, babysat for our boys, helped Dave put on a roof, or took care of me after surgery. Faces, as well as stories, fill my mind when I think through the people God has sprinkled throughout our lives. Finally, I drifted off to sleep next to the one who has proven his love and friendship to me since the 1960s. I taught American literature for years and smiled about this remembered quote: "To have a good friend is one of the greatest delights of life." Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Autumn Glory

Garrett County celebrates Autumn Glory the second weekend of October. This year marked the 42nd annual festival. While craft shows, parades, state fiddle championships, quilt shows, turkey dinners and pumpkin races in the white water facilities dominate the weekend, God paints the true beauty.

I think of autumn metaphorically in terms of being wrapped up in down comforter, experiencing a delightful cocoon. Though insulated in warmth, all the senses explode! This season offers the spectacular colors of leaves and mums, chilly morning air, hot chai lattes, my favorite pumpkin cake recipe, the warmth of the gas fireplace, the distinctive crunch of a Granny Smith apple, and the Choral Society's practice of Christmas music.

I love seeing new things in my more leisurely days of retirement. So although I have seen myriads of brown oak leaves, the red ones over on Turkey Run Road got my attention. Dave stopped the car and took the photo above. I captured the more traditional mums, pumpkins, and hay along side of the last of summer's perennials. Both speak to my love of autumn and drw my heart to the Creator.

Psalm 9 says,
"I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart;
I will tell of all your wonders.
I will be glad and rejoice in you;
I will sing praise to your name, O Most High."

Law of Flesh -- Law of Spirit

Currently, a group of women from Grace Reformed Church is studying Paul's letter to the churches in Galatia. Poised in Galatians 4 and 5, I keep thinking my way through the legalism that so easily trips me up. The Pharisees tried diligently to keep the law in the strictest ways. Yet, when they gave 39 lashes instead of the 40 legally prescribed, they actually acknowledged their inability to keep the law flawlessly. Whenever I consider the law of the flesh, I look at things that aren't hard for me to do. Then I mentally chastise others who can't keep my self-made laws while excusing myself from areas of my failure. No wonder I find no rest in trying to be legalistic. One minute I can soar on clouds of arrogant superiority and then quickly crash in the ashes of inferiority! What a mess I am when huddled in the mire of trying to keep laws. By that I don't just mean the Ten Commandments. People who do not prescribe to that biblical code do verbally or tacitly choose some self-imposed standard; any shred of honesty will quickly testify to the fact that we can't keep our own standards.
If we step aside and look at the law of the spirit we find two facts: it's even harder to keep than jot and tittle record keeping, and it's been accomplished for us with perfection.
The spirit of law literally goes to the heart of the matter. Now, not only do my acts condemn me; but my attitudes and thoughts also confirm my guilt. Don't commit adultery really means don't even look at a woman with lust in the mind and heart. Who could ever keep such a standard? Martin Luther tried physical pain as he crawled step by step on his knees while he prayed. No relief or eased conscience followed these acts of contrition and penance. However, the perfect law keeper entered this world and, in my place, met the requirements of the law. Unbelievably, He chose to impute His perfection to me. No wonder Issac Watts wrote about amazing grace! Consider Paul's words from Galatians 4:4-6. "God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under law, to redeem those under law, that we might receive the full rights of sons. Because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, “Abba, Father.'" I'll keep processing the truths of grace as Paul lays them out in Galatians, for I have much to learn before I sleep, much to learn before I sleep.

Written in the Sky

Psalm 19 breathes with wonders that my camera cannot begin to capture. The sheer enormity of the skies boggles my finite mind.

Needless to say, terms like sovereignty and providence bounce around in my head, so I relish the Scriptures and other writers who have grappled with these big ideas. Jerry Bridges writes "I define God's providence as 'His constant care for and absolute rule over all His creation for His own glory and the good of His people.'" So I breathe these ideas into a prayer for a family who said an earthly goodbye today to Faye Parkinson. This afternoon they believe, in the midst of their grief, another Bridges' thought: "God, in His love, always wills what is best for us. In His wisdom He always knows what is best, and in His sovereignty, He has the power to bring it about." The Psalmist proclaims.

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.

When death comes to a loved one, Paul writes "but we do not grieve as those who have no hope." How do we finite creatures gain a bit of heavenly perspective as we grieve? Always practical, Bridges says this: "We must see our circumstances through God's love instead of, as we are prone to do, seeing God's love through our circumstances. I rejoice in Faye's safe arrival home and in her family's eternal perspective.

Springs Folk Festival

Dave and I faithfully attend the Springs Folks Festival in Springs, PA each year.
Always the first full weekend in October, this celebration boasts excellent crafts, demonstrations and food. Patiently pushing my wheelchair, my dear husband takes us to Bread from the Hearth where the fresh-baked bread comes slathered generously with butter and/or apple butter. The crusty outside crunches just prior to the squishy warmth exploding on the taste buds. OK, so that's breakfast. Amazing isn't it? Just producing, preserving and cooking food occupied so many hours for a family. Sausage went into the smoke house; tapped maple trees yielded syrup that had to boil for hours.The entire family pitched in to insure enough food occupied the larder to get them through the winter.

After scanning the food exhibits, we headed to the trail, definitely not terrain for a wheelchair. At times, Dave turned me backwards and tipped my heels to the sky so we could make progress. We watched men guide shingles through a saw one at a time, while another man wielded an axe to create split rail fences, a few inches at a time. Native Americans stood at a smoke-filled wigwam, reminding me of the primitive homes people lived in during the harsh winters and humid summers. That led my thoughts to clothing. We buy off racks; settlers started with flax, made linen and then stitched quilts and clothes by hand. Quilts took months but when winter came, people appreciated the layers of quilts
















When time allowed for fun, out came
the fiddles, banjos and guitars. Soon Appalachian Clogging kept up with the beat of the music. Add to that the haunting sounds of the hammer dulcimer, and you can hear the pulse of the woods that calms the heart and draws it toward the Maker of all. This weekend you can find us at the Maryland State Fiddle Championship, just soaking in the culture the surrounds our ridge.

Lungs, Technique and Lyrics

Singing has always energized me. As I remember, Martha Kump, a Sunday School teacher, had a group of elementary school children in her living room back in the 50s. There she joyously threw open her arms and encouraged us to bounce the tones off the back of the room. She smiled as she sang, and her pleasure became mine. As a 12-year-old, I joined the junior choir at my home church in New York. Before you think NYC, let me assure you that the tiny hamlet of Otisville sits nestled at the foothills of the Catskill Mountains in a most unassuming way. Nevertheless, a new pastor's wife arrived in town and decided to start a junior choir; immediately, I wanted to sing. Lois taught us to project our little voices and to sing harmony. When the rehearsals ended late Friday afternoon, she drove each of us home, no small task since the rural area encompassed miles! Somehow, between 12 and 18, while Lois patiently led the junior choir, I filled my heart as well as lungs with song. Worship, using words that honored the Lord and melodies that sang themselves into my soul, gave me great joy. The sheer wonder of creating music infused me with strength.
As a college student, I sang with the oratorio society, a group comprised of students, faculty, staff and townspeople. Because the organ majors practiced in the chapel until late, the oratorio rehearsed from 9-11 PM. Yet when I finished singing, I often returned to my dorm and energetically tackled three hours of studying. After college I sang with church choirs and experienced the same burst of energy and fullness of joy at the end of rehearsals and concerts. When the Washington Chamber Players and Singers performed Bach's St. Matthew's Passion, with Jerome Hines singing the part of Jesus, I sang through tears at each performance. Why? One of the centurions on crucifixion duty at the cross looks up toward the dying Christ and sings, "Truly this was the Son of God, the Son of God." Powerful words, plaintive melody, and such anguished understanding.
Currently I sing with the Garrett County Choral Society. Previously I sang with the Arundel Vocal Arts Society, but I have not done any serious singing in about three years. Thankfully, Cindy Bauchspies trained me well. Nevertheless, I find myself practicing daily to regain the soprano range I once had, and to learn the German for Bach's Cantata 140. Rehearsals take place in Oakland, a 40-minute drive from the cabin, and last from 6:30-9:00 PM each Sunday. I still feel the same joy and energy, but last night, on the way to rehearsal, I talked on the cell phone to my two-year-old granddaughter and her Daddy. Brent tells me that Austyn Grace has a new fascination. When she hears the choir at church, she stops in her tracks, determined to hear and watch them. That reminded me of the serendipitious photo I took in August. Hmmmm, her Papa Davenport and Grandma Wolfe may have the makings of a trio!

Good Neighbors

Married in 1968, we lived in six different places during the first 12 years of our marriage. When we moved into our first single-family house in 1980, we landed among some great neighbors. They put up with many College and Career, as well as youth group pool parties, our sons and their friends, summer band rehearsals, and our dogs. Students came by to watch Hamlet or Death of a Salesman; we almost had a revolving door on the place!

And who were these tolerant folks? We had good neighbors all around, but our neighbors right next door watched our house as it they owned it. If anyone strange drove into the driveway, Joe or Geniene strode out and asked some questions. They even stopped my brother and sister-in-law once when Dave and I were away for the weekend. "How do you know the Wolfes?" asked Joe. After explaining the situation, Joe left them alone, but when Dave and I returned on Sunday night, Geniene came over and asked what my brother looked like.

After almost 30 years of suburban living in Arnold, we relocated to our log cabin on Winding Ridge. The mailboxes for the homes here sit in a row at the end of Bearfoot Road. Getting the mail involves a .4 mile walk each way in all kinds of weather, as Dave discovered last winter. But we have again found outstanding neighbors, folks who tell us about the activities going on in the county, take in our mail when we're gone, and keep an eye on our house. Beyond that, they share extra flowering bulbs, dig up spreading perennials and give them to us, and offer us fresh flowers and veggies from their gardens. The local UPS man gave his cell number to Dave the first week we lived here. Randy thoughtfully leaves packages where they'll be dry and safe from our local critters if we're not home. Then we get a call saying that he's delivered a package.


An NIV concordance uses the word neighbor 78 times; I find some worthy reminders there about being a good neighbor:

Do not say to your neighbor, “Come back later; I’ll give it tomorrow”— when you now have it with you. Do not plot harm against your neighbor, who lives trustfully near you. Prov. 3:28-29

Each of us should please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. Romans 15:2

Love does no harm to its neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfillment of the law. Romans 13:10

Yet, perhaps Jesus' command to "Love your neighbor as yourself," gives us the clearest reminder.