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Sunny Summer Salutes, Dear Blog-Nog Friends,

Today’s old rhyme was actually one of numerous market day rhymes, where villagers set out off to buy pantry potpourri, from a pig to a plum bun and the miscellany of mankind.

My sister, Sadie, and I always went to the open-air market at Abergele, North Wales, whenever I went back home for a visit.  So, today, here in Oklahoma, the fine bone china egg cups (holding our fine local Fisher eggs), are happy reminders of those market days of fun and bargain hunting.

The words Wibbleton to Wobbleton roll off the tongue in playful fashion, so I rendered this old rhyme as a parable in the Christian Mother Goose series. Here it is with a telling question at the end.

The dawning of Wobbleton could fit very nicely in Genesis 3.  And it appears the town didn’t take long to arise.  Adam and Eve quickly became the first residents of Wobbleton when they wobbled in unbelief, choosing to believe the words of the tempter (Satan) instead of the words of The Lord God. (Unbelief always makes us wobble)  Paradise was lost, and Adam became Governor of Wobbleton instead.

Wobbleton sat perched on the edge of a great divide.  And so began the long line of citizen wobblers huddled there, afraid to cross the bridge The Lord God had mercifully provided.  “It might not hold,” they said, as they viewed the fairer hills and fields on the other side.  And as their doubt increased, so did their wobbling.

Nevertheless, a handful of men in Wobbleton began to call upon The Lord, and set out one day., albeit in fear and trembling to cross the bridge.  The canyon was terrifying, but the bridge held strong and secure.  Hallelujah!  The town of Wibbleton was born.

Then, from that day to this, the Wibbletonians cross the bridge to rally the Wobbleton wobblers and sing to them on their way out of Wobbleton and across the bridge to the joyous town of Wibbleton.

It was known thereafter as, “The City which hath foundations, whose Builder and Maker is God.”

At this point we join the 1981 Oscar-winning film, “Chariots of Fire.”  My son, Kevin and I watched it last week.  What a great movie featuring the true life story of the Scottish missionary/Olympian, Eric Liddell.  He was no wobbler! – on the mission field or the running track.

Eric was born in 1902 to veteran Scottish missionary parents, James and Mary Liddell in Tientsin, North China.  He was born to run!  A line from Chariots of Fire expressed this eloquently: “I believe God made me for a purpose.  He also made me fast!  And when I run I feel His pleasure.”

During his years at Edinburgh University, Scotland, he distinguished himself as Scotland’s  best sprinter, setting new records in spite of an unorthodox, awkward running style.  He was followed by adoring crowds who loved him not only for his “miracle” races, but also for his humility, sportsmanship and gentle nature.  On weekends he could be found sharing the Gospel of Christ with sports-loving men.

In 1924 the Olympics were to be held in Paris.  Eric Liddell set his sights to be on Great Britain’s Olympic team for the 100 and 200 meter race  events.  He won both races in the trials held in England; even setting a new British record that held for 35 years.

After the Olympic team was announced, newspapers all over Great Britain were filled with stories of Liddell as Britain’s best hope for the coveted 100-meter gold medal.

And here’s where the heart of the film, “Chariots of Fire,” comes in; as well as the test of “wobbling”for the heart of young Liddell.

All his life he believed and honored Sunday as a day of rest and a day to reverence fellowship with God.  The Scottish athletic community and his coach knew he did not run races on Sunday.  But the 100-meter Paris heat was set for a Sunday.  His heart sank, but he did not wobble.  He would not run for the prized Olympic gold on Sunday,

Despite British intervention, the Olympic rules stood firm – so did Eric in his Christian belief.  No wobbling here – no even in the face of harsh public condemnation for “letting his country down.”

Now in national rejection, Eric was asked if he would run the 400-meter race set for a Friday.  This race was certainly not Eric’s specialty, but he eagerly accepted and managed to inch into the finals.

At 7 p.m. Friday, the stadium was packed with an excited crowd there to see the American runner, Horatio Fitch, bring home the gold.  He held the new world record.  Six runners drew numbers for their lane position. Eric drew the undesirable number six outside lane, but in his pocket was a note from the British team masseur: “In the old Book it says:  ‘He who honours Me, I will honour.’  Wishing you the best of success.”

The runners took position.  The pistol fired.  Five of the world’s best quarter-milers shot forward, plus one untrained newcomer to that distance.  All eyes were on the deftly-styled Fitch, but it was the unorthodox-styled Eric Liddell who burst through the finish line to win, setting a new world record of 47.6 seconds, and leaving Fitch in a distant second place.  The crowd went wild!  Liddell had done it again!

They didn’t know that at the height of his running career, he would soon be dedicating the rest of his life as a missionary/teacher to China.  The greatest race of all was before him.

Eric Liddell died at age 43 in a Japanese internment camp in China, during World War II; beloved and greatly mourned by thousands of Chinese souls he had gently guided across the Jesus Bridge to that “City whose Builder and Maker is God.”  God was waiting to hand him the gold.

And for now, dear readers, whatever course may tempt us to wobble in this wobbly world, look up!  “God is our refuge and strength, a very  present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46:1)

Because Jesus is the “forever” Bridge over all troubled waters, let’s walk that way together in His blessings.

Cheerio for now,

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Christian Mother Goose®

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Hello again dear friends of the Fellowship of the Blog,

I’ve gone fishing!  I never thought I’d say those words again, after my misadventures in trout fishing. But today, I’m bobbing about in my blog-boat on the Internet Ocean, fishing for Jesus.

Have you ever noticed how many times in Scripture we find Jesus walking by the seashore, teaching by the seashore, and blessing the multitudes who came to Him by the Galilee seashore.  So many times Jesus and the sea are pictured together that He could be called the “Seashore Savior.”  And, again, it is Jesus walking by the sea of Galilee where He calls His first disciples (two fishermen) Peter and Andrew, to “…Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.“  In a great step of faith, the two fishermen left the source of their living immediately.  But how do you catch men, and where is the sea for such a specialty?

Such questions are asked in this rhyme from the Christian Mother Goose Rock-A-Bye Bible:

In the waters of the five great oceans of the world, the Atlantic, Pacific, Indian, Arctic and Antarctic (Southern), there are marvels of God’s magnificent, creative artistry that leave us cheering in praise and awe of such an Almighty Creator.  From oyster pearls to playful dolphins, colorful coral reefs, gargantuan Galapagos turtles and giant whales, there’s no end to the fascinating creatures who live in the sea.

Yet, there is another sea that Jesus looked out upon:  the great Sea of Humanity – filled with a treasure so dear to the heart of God, that when it was lost in the deep ocean of sin’s dark waters, the Son of God Himself came to save that treasure and bring it safely back to Heaven’s shores.  It is to this Sea of Humanity that Jesus called Peter and Andrew to “go fishing!”  But it takes God’s own fishing gear to catch the heart of men, women, boys and girls.  Psalm 18:16 says: “He drew me out of many waters.“  Jeremiah 31:3 tells us how: “…”Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.“  God’s fishing line is His love: strong, unbreakable, everlasting, and from an endless reel which is cast into our troubled waters from the Hand of Jesus.  He guarantees He will bring us safely to shore.

That fishing line of God’s love reached a long way to bring me to the shores of America, where Jesus gently drew me in, then even let me go fishing with Him for more treasured souls.

Commercial fishing was big business in the seaport city of Liverpool, England, where I grew up.  So it would seem I might have tried my hand at least once at the noble skill of fishing.  Not at all – that sport awaited my married life in America, years later.  But gathering cockles and mussels along the River Mersey seashore always made for fun, frolic and a good batch of shellfish to take home.

Still, living in a seaport, I grew up on a fish-laden diet, with a menu of everything from plaice, cod, fluke, kippers (herring) and salmon, to fish-and-chips and soft-bellied bloaters!  (The last one may sound horrible, but being soft-bellied meant it was also called the “poor man’s caviar,” from the abundant roe it contained.)

Sunday morning’s fish was always an unnamed salt fish, with the tail portion being the most choice.  That serving was designated by my mother as indisputably, and without question, my father’s, and it was heavily guarded by her to make sure of its delivery to Dad’s plate.  However, that never stopped me from asking for the tail, in endless hope, as I grew up. It was not until my Dad passed away – suddenly, and I made the trip home, that the weekend I arrived from Colorado, and came downstairs Sunday morning – that I saw the symbol of honor had passed to my plate – the salt fish tail!  It was a touching, bittersweet moment, eased by my mother’s smile remembering all my childhood pleadings for what I really knew was my Dad’s own privileged portion.

So, it remained for my Colorado husband, Dale, to attempt to teach his city-born wife the perplexing pleasures of fishing in the “trout-filled” streams of the Rockies.  Beware of that term “trout-filled,” for if those streams were filled when we got there, they were still filled when we left!

Our meager catch never even made a dent in their elusive numbers.  But Dale went on happily tying his own fishing flies, full of Galilean-style miracle fishing dreams, every time we went out to those trout-filled streams.  The scenery near the Black Canyon was gorgeous and, since our lines usually lay un-nibbled by the fish, we could bask in the sunshine while pondering the mysterious virtues of having the patience of Job that fishing required.

In all my fishing days I caught only two fish, neither of which were reeled in by “traditional” methods. The first time Dale took me fishing he coached me in the fine art of “casting.”  I leaned back and threw out my line with all 108 pounds of my British might behind it.  My attempt was wobbly, so Dale shook his head and said:  “No, sweetheart, not  that way, try again.”  I reeled my line back in, and presto! – a  rainbow trout was dangling on the end!  We laughed so hard we must have scared the rest of the fish.  The quote, “God can bless a blunder, but He can’t bless nothing!” fit that occasion perfectly.

With all due respect to Dale’s colorful, hand-tied fishing flies, the other fish I caught came from doing a typical womanly thing.  I snipped off a small piece of bright red corduroy from the inside of my jacket, and replaced Dale’s fly, just to see if it would fool the fish I’d been watching all afternoon. In a flash, he took the useless bait and became my fish number two.

For just a split second, I smiled and let myself wonder if it was really a small bite of red apple that Eve gave Adam.  I gave no answer when Dale asked, “What’s the funny smile for?”

Finally, to cast a net ’round my fishing stories, just this week, after all these years, I was given a fishing confession by Kevin, corroborated by Keith and Bradley (their Dad, who is now in Heaven, will have to sort things out up there).  On a 3-day fishing trip to the Grand Mesa, my dear husband and three brave sons produced nothing but three nibbles!  Meanwhile, I was eagerly waiting at home to admire and cook their bountiful catch. Upon their return, yes, I did admire and cook their lovely rainbow trout, never knowing they had just removed the price tag from the local fish market’s purchase before they came triumphantly through the door – what fibbers they were!

I think I should write a blog on “forgiveness!”  Do you agree?

May The Lord Jesus find many “fishers of men” in the good readers of The Fellowship of the Blog.

Good fishing and Cheerio!

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Christian Mother Goose®

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A very good Independence Day to You, Friends of the Fellowship of the Blog,

My hearty thanks to those who have written to say you are forwarding our blog address on to your friends.  You are helping me keep my promise to my dear husband who encouraged me, as he stepped into Heaven, to “Keep on writing, my love; the whole world needs Jesus.”  Thank you for reading and sharing today’s Christian Mother Goose blog:

Anyone who has raised a young boy knows that if you put a trumpet in his hands he’ll soon wake everyone within earshot (if not the whole town!).  Having raised not one, but four young boys, I can see what a  “nuclear” asset they would have been, as willing trumpet-blasters, rallying help for Nehemiah’s great cause of re-building the walls of Jerusalem.

In the Old Testament book of Nehemiah, we find a great story of a Godly leader with a Godly mission.  In the 5th century B.C., at the same time that Plato was founding his institution of higher learning (the Academy in Athens), Nehemiah – a Jew – occupied a high and trusted position in the Persian King Artaxerxes I’s court.  He was the highly favored king’s cup-bearer.

Although far from his homeland, Nehemiah’s prayers continued for Jerusalem and his fellow Israelites.  One hundred years earlier, Babylon’s armies had destroyed Jerusalem and its walls – the walls which were a symbol of its strength and prosperity.  Over that century, Jerusalem’s affairs grew increasingly desolate, capped with deadly spiritual apathy.  And not a capable leader in sight – until Nehemiah.

When news of the appalling conditions of Jerusalem’s citizens reached Nehemiah, he rose up mightily in prayer, asking God to grant him favor with the king to go and re-build the Walls of Jerusalem.  Not only was Nehemiah given permission, the king appointed him governor over Jerusalem with authority to carry out his mission.  Such is the power of prayer to our faithful God!

In just 52 days, in spite of intense opposition, threats and mockery (sounds like today’s media), Nehemiah led the people to a victory for Jerusalem’s walls that had waited over 100 years to be re-built.  Built by an awakened people with a Godly leader who encouraged them: “In whatever place ye hear the sound of the trumpet, resort ye there unto us.  Our God will fight for us!”  (Nehemiah 4:20)  And God has never lost a fight!

And so they built with a stone in one hand and swords and shields in the other.  Even a young boy could “build” by blowing the trumpet.  (Perhaps there’s a “Jeremiah Obadiah” in your family today.)

As Governor for 12 years, Nehemiah refused a governor’s salary.  He did away with high interest.  At his own expense, he kept a table for 150 Jews at a time, who returned to Jerusalem from captivity.  What a statesman!  What a day of Independence for God’s people!

This week, flags and fireworks across America’s azure skies will celebrate our country’s own Independence Day of July 4th, 1776.  I remember after one particular July 4th, my mother came from England to visit us.

There was much for her to see in our vastly different lifestyle from what she knew in Liverpool.

To begin with, everything here seemed vastly bigger to her: the cars, roads, homes, refrigerators, even the tomatoes!  And look at the size of America itself!  Considering that England is just about the size of Western Colorado where we lived, you can understand her amazement.

Right off, our boys were thrilled that their Grandma Ainsborough loved sports, so Bradley’s High School cross-country meet made a scenic trip through the BIG mountains to Leadville.

It was the highest 2-mile cross-country run in the world at that time – over a BIG 10,000 feet of elevation.

So off we went, with mother faithfully adding to her American “BIG ” list.  Along the way, huge TV antennas and jumbo ice cream cones were added.

Continuing up the highway, we soon became part of a small “international incident” that occurred at a country fruit stand we had stopped at to buy tree-ripened pears – also beautiful and BIG.  Looking at the pears, my Mother just shook her head and proceeded to recite some of her “bigger” list to the friendly farmer.  He grinned at her Liverpool accent, and teased, “Well, Ma’am, what do you have in England that we don’t have here?”

Mother plucked off his cowboy hat, plopped it on her head, put one hand on her port-side hip, the other on her starboard side, and saucily quipped, “Personality!”

The “cross-country run” road trip brought even more laughter at the museum home of Leadville’s silver mine heiress, the “Unsinkable Molly Brown.”

Then we drove our car on a grueling ascent to the top of Independence Pass.  It was there that Mother’s laughter gave way to tears as we stood on the 12,095 foot summit.

Before us, we saw graves marked  “July 4th – Independence Day.”  We assumed they were pioneers, trying to cross this formidable mountain divide. “What kind of people were they?” Mother asked through her tears.  Then she whispered, “BIG and brave.”

The big and brave Founding Fathers of America knew another “Independence Pass” in Jerusalem, called Calvary.  They knew the kind of Person Who died there:  Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God, the risen Savior of the world.

They knew the only lasting liberty for their new country was to build its foundations on the truth of God’s Word: “If the Son, therefore, shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.” (John 8:36)

Yes, our nation has a “Birth Certificate” called The Declaration of Independence, with its Father – Almighty God, gratefully mentioned several times.  “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free….” Galatians 5:1.

Jeremiah Obadiah is blowing the trumpet for us today.  It’s time to meet on the walls of America to rebuild, and to declare, our Christian foundation.  I’ll bring the crumpets; you bring the trumpets!

Many Freedom blessings,

Cheerio, for now….and keep singing “God Bless America”!

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Christian Mother Goose®

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“Take Me Out to the Ball Game” Greetings to My Dear Friends of the Blog,

The great American season of baseball is in full swing (pardon the pun)!  And from diminutive Little League hopefuls to the giants of Major League fame, the baseball world is filled this summer with wild and wonderful stories – from the deserved and ubiquitous praise for last year’s number one draft pick, Stephen Strasburg, to the nobody-to-somebody feel good stories such as Daniel Nava.

Last week, though, a great inspirational story stirred all those who love the game. Our son, Keith (who manages and designs our CMG blog) couldn’t wait to phone us about baseball player Daniel Nava – unknown, unsung, and unbelievable at his first time up to bat for the Boston Red Sox.  With the bases loaded, Nava came to the plate for his major league debut at Fenway Park, swung at the first pitch – a fast ball – and hit a grand slam home run the first time he faced a Major League pitcher!  “It was so surreal, so special,” said Daniel’s father, Don Nava, who was in the stands with wife Becky. “We just believe that God touched our son and touched our family at that moment on one swing. And life has not been the same ever since.”

“His biggest quality is he’s a man of faith,” his father said. “His relationship with God is the most important thing in his life. He’s a man of God and everything in his life is run though that filter. Period. End of story. And then after that, baseball and everything else is in second place.  That’s a determining factor in Daniel’s life and that’s why he’s been so successful.”

Yet hardly a soul knew of the many naysayers, the disappointments and the set-backs that threatened to derail Daniel’s dream of playing big league baseball at Fenway.

What an amazing, dramatic moment for a player who, like Abraham of the Old Testament, “… against hope believed in hope….” (Romans 4:18) Abraham’s challenge of faith was God’s promise that he would bear a son (Isaac) at almost a hundred years of age.  Daniel Nava’s challenge was his small stature.  As a High School freshman he was only 4-feet, 8-inches tall, weighing only 70 pounds – but with a big baseball dream in his heart and quiet determination to someday play professional baseball.

“Ipsey Wipsey Spider” in my Christian Mother Goose Big Book, portrays what “inching” along will finally accomplish….

Like the Ipsey Wipsey Spider – inching along, literally, Daniel sprouted to 5-feet 5-inches, as he entered Santa Clara University.  After failing to make the baseball team, he became the team’s equipment manager (which included washing all the uniforms in a laundromat) because it kept him near the game he loved.  And in spite of getting cut from Santa Clara’s team, he later went on to a Junior College and played so well that Santa Clara took him back for his senior year where he hit an outstanding .395 in 54 games.

Upon graduation, he was not drafted, so the patient Daniel chose the lowly, independent Golden Baseball League, as he said, “trying anything to play somewhere.”  His steady, increasing batting performance won him the title of “Baseball America’s” top Independent League Prospect.  Yet, the doors of opportunity for advancement seemed to be getting heavier and even harder to open.

But as Abraham Lincoln once said, “I will prepare and someday my chance will come.”  That chance did come to the then 24-year old, 5-feet, 10-inches tall outfielder.  Boston bought his contract for merely one dollar!  What a bargain! And after a few years of stellar play in the minor leagues, Daniel’s dream came true!

Reading his interview, I was struck with his modesty and good-natured attitude towards the rejections and disappointments that constantly blocked his way.  Then came the last-minute call to substitute for an injured outfielder for the Red Sox.  And with one “gorgeous swing” he became part of Major League Baseball history!

Billy Sunday, the great American evangelist of the early 20th century, would smile at Daniel’s response to what he enjoyed doing in his spare time.  Daniel said, “I love playing the guitar, and I’m really connected to my church. My faith is really important to me.”  Billy Sunday, himself, had pitched professionally for the Chicago White Sox before turning to evangelism, and leading over a million souls to Christ.  At one Boston Revival he drew an overflow crowd of seventy thousand!

Within two years of Billy Sunday’s “promotion” to Heaven, another preacher named Billy came “from out of left field” – Billy Graham.  This Billy also originally wanted to be a professional ballplayer and actually played a few semi-pro games for ten to fifteen dollars each.  Then he went on to perform in the game of his life, preaching the Good News of the Gospel of The Lord Jesus Christ to the millions of precious souls saved at his crusades.

We thank God for the many baseball players who use their talent to show-case their Lord and live as a shining example to the admiring Little Leaguers and the Old Timers Association players – the two organizations for youth baseball.

Baseball legend, Bobby Richardson, was a great favorite.  I remember buying 100 Bobby Richardson evangelistic tracts each year to give to scores of O.T.A. boys.  It chronicled not only Bobby’s star-studded baseball career as second baseman for the New York Yankees, but also his personal testimony of his faith in Christ.

Years later, Bobby appeared with me in the Christian Mother Goose hot-air balloon at the Christian Booksellers Convention in Los Angeles.  What an enjoyable, dear Christian man!

Our boys played each summer in the Old Timers’ Association baseball league, or OTA as we called it, and then years later in Little League when we moved to a larger community.  OTA is much like Little League baseball, but OTA operates in rural America where we lived at the time in Colorado.  It was mainly the mothers who spent the hot summer months driving young boys many distances to play baseball.  Yes, you have to be a sports-loving mom to survive OTA summer baseball.

I remember returning home from shopping one day.  As I entered the living room, I found Kevin, age eleven, and Keith, age seven, hovering suspiciously against the far wall.  They were both wearing baseball mitts.  Then they took the bull by the horns and in great excitement showed me a perfect dent in the living room wall -  just the size of a baseball.

“Keith was pitching and threw a fast ball into the wall, and he’s only seven!” Kevin exclaimed proudly.

“What!” I exclaimed, “Keith has the velocity to pitch the ball twenty feet and put a dent in the drywall.  Wow!  And he’s only seven!”  I was as excited as they were.  Never mind the dent.  We were impressed by Keith’s left arm!  So off they went to see the coach who had Keith try out, enlisting him right away as a pitcher for Kevin’s team, the Expos.  Kevin backed him up at shortstop.  The dent could wait, or should we save it as a souvenir? Kevin and Keith went on to do very well in OTA, Little League and beyond.

Another more tender story of OTA days, is one I call “Bradley’s brown bag of faith.”  Bradley was on an OTA team for 9-year-olds that had been picked via a television selection.  He had garnered the shortstop position.  From where we lived, however, it meant driving a 120-mile roundtrip to all the practices and games several times a week.  I have to say it again: only a sports-loving mom would add such a schedule to an already full household of demands.

So off we went – Mom, Bradley and baby Keith, who was only 18 months old at that time.  And daily, the miles grew longer; the summer grew hotter; and baby Keith grew heavier to carry.  Finally, even a sports-loving mom had to face reality.  It was all too much to continue.  The grueling trek would have to stop.  When I told him that the next day would be the last trip, Bradley was broken-hearted (so was I, looking at him).  “And we’re undefeated,” he whispered.

On the Friday I loaded the station wagon with the usual baby supplies and picnic food for the day, Bradley sat in the back clutching a big brown grocery bag stuffed full of something.  “What’s in the bag?” I asked.  “Clothes – someone might keep me, so I can play.” a tearful voice answered.  I could have wept.

Later, after practice, I explained to the coach’s wife the reason for Bradley’s withdrawal.  She was astonished to hear how far we had been driving, and within minutes she and the coach offered a solution.  They would love to have Bradley stay with them to finish the season.  Their own two boys were on the team, too, so three happy teammates ran to the car to get the “brown bag of faith,” – “…the substance of things hoped for….” (Hebrews 11:1)

And the happy summer ending was that they finished undefeated, with Bradley capping a triple play to seal the win.

Now to finish – dear reader, all of us are in the real game of life.  All will step up to the plate to face the blinding speed of sin’s fastball – low and inside!  We may get on base, but we’ll never reach “home plate” without Jesus batting us in.  Two thousand years ago He appeared in the real World Series as our Substitute, ripping apart the deadly force of sin’s fastball, crushing a victorious “grand slam” over the daunting deep center field wall of humanity, to bring us in safely as we “cross” home plate.

Heaven is cheering each one who stays on the narrow path around the bases of life! (Luke 15:10)

Batter up, Blog-Nog friends, and Play Ball!

Cheering for you,

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Christian Mother Goose®

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Good Tidings My Dear Friends of the Blog on this Sunny Day,

Just think, we are receiving all the wonderful benefits of Vitamin ‘D’ – free!  Brought to us at the speed of light by Fusion Express from 93 million miles away, courtesy of our Creator God’s miracle sun!

Just the other day, in a very old book, I read a beautiful passage about the sun, written by William Law (1686-1761) a Cambridge professor and English minister and writer: “Never rise without saluting the rising sun in the Name of God, as if it had just been created, and sent up into your sky to let you see to serve God and your neighbor for another day.”  What inspiring treasures we find in the writings of these great authors of the Faith.

While William Law was writing such Christian books as An Appeal to All Who Doubt the Truths of The Gospel, the general English public of the 1700’s was singing the popular words to the old nursery rhyme, “There was a Jolly Miller who lived by the River Dee.”

Actually, there had been a mill on the bridge of the River Dee at Chester since the eleventh century – but the old Dee Mill of Jolly Miller fame burned down in May, 1895, one year after the last descendant of the legendary miller died.

The beautiful small city of Chester is not far from where I grew up in England.  The graceful, stone Old Dee Bridge dates back to 1387.  Little did I know then, standing on the old bridge, that someday in America the Jolly Miller and the River Dee would find their way into the rhymes and stories of the Christian Mother Goose books I would write.

Here is the “Jolly Miller” from my first book:

It was King Solomon who wrote in Ecclesiastes 11:1 the words, “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.”

He was encouraging generosity, especially to the poor and needy.  He pictured the acts of compassion, kindness and benevolence as an adventure, cast upon “the waters of need.”

And even as a ship returns after long voyages and ports of call, the bread cast upon the waters would also return to its home port.  And what stories of blessings it would bring.

I’m sure many of you reader-friends out in Blog-land know of times when someone cast bread upon the waters of your need.  It may have been a contribution of time, talent or treasure.  Every hamlet and city holds such stories – if we only knew.

As for our own small town, I’ll mention just a few.  There was the Jeep given  to a missionary friend in a primitive, mountainous country, who had only a bicycle for transport.  The Jeep saved her life in the revolution that ensued….  A commercial oven someone gave to a small start-up bakery, aptly named The Jolly Miller….  The senior citizen who gave free baby-sitting for a single mom to hold down a job.…  The month’s worth of choice groceries that, unexpectedly, filled an empty pantry – King Solomon would be proud.  But here’s a rather humorous personal tale:

It happened when we moved to another house in Western Colorado.  I was sad when I had to leave my dining room chandelier behind me, and the new house didn’t have one.  Then one day I received an envelope addressed to me without the sender’s name.  It contained two hundred dollars in cash.  It was in the depths of an icy Colorado winter.

Later that day I phoned Anne, my English friend, and found that, as sick as she was, she was determined to keep a speaking engagement over a hundred miles away.  She planned to drive through the hazardous wintry conditions, rather than let down a Christian Women’s Conference in Southern Colorado.  I knew better than to try to change her mind.

Looking at the cash in the envelope, I had a plan.  I phoned the local private air service which assured me they did indeed fly a small plane to Anne’s destination – and at a perfect arrival time, too.  The cost was 160 dollars and everything worked out fine.

A few days later, I took the remaining forty dollars out of the envelope and noticed a little note that simply said, “For a chandelier.”  Oh, dear….My good intentions had spoiled someone’s chandelier gift.  Or had it?

That evening, I drove to a department store, just to look at their chandeliers.  They were mostly 200 dollars and up.  And I didn’t even like the designs.  However, I asked if there were any other designs perhaps in the warehouse.  The kindly lady clerk took me with her to have a look.  Way up high, covered with dust, were three boxes.  I could see from the illustrations on the sides of the boxes that they looked very promising.  So we carried them to the computer to check the prices.  I was stunned when she said, “Ten dollars each, plus tax.”  “Please check again,” I gasped – but they still rang up at ten dollars!

“Probably because they’ve been off the shelf a long time,” she announced knowingly.  I bought all three and still had a few dollars left!

Still, I needed only one chandelier.  The next week, while visiting a Christian bookstore, I heard our friend, the manager, say he wished he had a chandelier for his home remodeling job.  Right then, I cast chandelier number two upon the waters.  Then, a few days later, number three was sent sailing to a little house in the country where it fulfilled a lonely pioneer lady’s dream.

How that anonymous sender’s chandelier “bread” had multiplied!

On a higher, more noble note than chandeliers, I think of those devoted, compassionate men and women, who left home and country, to be cast upon the waters that took them to far off foreign lands to share the True Bread of Life – The Lord Jesus Christ.

Time and again we read in the Bible that “Jesus had compassion on” – and filled the needs of: the hungry multitude; the leper; the blind man; even resurrecting the bereaved widow’s dead son.  On and on He …”went about doing good.” (Acts 10:38) – all the way to Calvary.

And there, on the Cross, He cast Himself upon the sea of humanity – the True Bread of Life God gave to save and fill every need of this fallen, helpless world.

The banquet of Heaven awaits all who are hungry and Jesus is calling, “Come and dine!”

Blessings in Him,

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

And a very Happy Father’s Day to every special person called “Dad.”

Christian Mother Goose®

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Dear Friends of the Fellowship of the Blog,

Today’s particular choice of Christian Mother Goose rhymes is because of a Harley Davidson motorcycle that roared up alongside of our car at a stop light last evening.

The sturdy young man, clothed in leather, looked full of purpose; as if on some gallant mission.  While the rest of the traffic fidgeted, he remained resolutely focused straight ahead on his goal.  He may have been a local cowboy accustomed to the dust and grime of an Oklahoma cattle ranch, but in contrast, his chrome-plated Harley absolutely glistened with the immaculate authority of a true “Knight of the road.”

Then, first out of the shoot as the light turned green, the leather-clad Knight showed his loyalty to his country:  a Purple Heart stood out on his license plate and, along with his black marine boots, spoke of exploits for the cause of freedom.  As the Harley roared off into the misty, moisty evening, I immediately thought of the old rhyme, “One Misty, Moisty Morning,” and that this 1680 A.D. rhyme should be the centerpiece for the “Fellowship of the Blog” today.

A misty, moisty morning comes often in England, especially in the North West where I grew up.  Weather vanes were interesting, but for children, it was more fun to check old Mrs. Reilly’s man and woman weather house.  It was a cuckoo clock, with a cheery woman coming out indicating good weather, and a forlorn man coming out for just the opposite.  Especially in summer, it was the neighborhood children’s ritual to knock politely on Mrs. Reilly’s open door and ask, “Please, Mrs. Reilly, is the woman out today?”  She would let us peek in to see for ourselves what answer the magical weather clock would give.  At least we thought it must be magical, until we learned about barometers!

Here in America, all four of our boys knew of the rainy day rhymes of my childhood in Liverpool.  However, as Colorado was so consistently sunny, the word “umbrella” just hibernated in their vocabulary.  Suddenly, that word was important, except that it was slightly enlarged to “gumbrella”  by four-year-old Keith when he learned half of the family was going to England:  Kevin, Keith and a little-bit-homesick Mom.  He insisted  on taking his very own gumbrella and couldn’t wait to walk in the Liverpool rain.

Upon our arrival, a strange, but marvelous thing happened. The rain disappeared! (Mrs. Reilly’s weather woman must have been locked outside the clock!)  For nearly three weeks, Keith’s gumbrella remained crisp and dry. And not willing to miss the chance to get it wet, he kept it opened up everywhere we went – even on the top deck of the double-decker bus, where it quickly cleared the way for his choice of seat right at the front.  Then, to his dismay, our last day dawned with still no rain in sight.  But, filled with hope right up to the last minute, Keith stood out in his Grandmother’s garden with his gumbrella opened up to the sky.  My mischievous brother, Jimmy, crept up behind him with a bucket of water, and down came the rain drops on a happy boy’s little gumbrella. Ah…sweet satisfaction… a gumbrella baptism!   Now, we could all go back home to Colorado.

Later, I heard that a misty, moisty morning returned the very next day – even as the “Fellowship of the Blog” now returns to our rhyme. I am intrigued why an “old man clothed all in leather” would venture out on such a slippery day.  Yet, with no Harley to speed him on his way; with age against him; regardless of the weather, this 1680 A.D. Knight of the road sets out with just a small child to encourage him on his way.  (What a beautiful picture of the loving bridge between the old and the young!)  But what mission of purpose, passion and courage had thrust him out in the rain?

Considering this rhyme is from the 17^th century, when the King James Version of the Bible was published in English in 1611, I like to think our leather-clad, 1680 Knight had rejoiced to learn the words of Jesus in John 8:32 – “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”   The Holy Scriptures were at last in the language of the common Englishman – the dream of the martyred translator William Tyndale.  Even an old man in the leather clothing of the laboring class could understand and know that, “If the Son therefore  shall make you free, you shall be free indeed.” (John 8:36)  Freed unto the freedom of love, joy, peace, kindness, courage and purpose; all found in the Gift of eternal life through faith in our Lord Jesus Christ.

Was this the truth that thrust our elderly hero out in the rain, on a mission for the Gospel of Christ?  Was it a similar mission to that of a modern day “Misty, Moisty, Morning” elderly woman of 85?  Her name was Elizabeth Thompson, and I met her in New York’s Kennedy Airport some years ago.  She was a tiny lady, alone, with obvious poor vision as she tried to find her way through the British Airways section.  I went up to her and said, “Hello, may I help you find your way?”  “Oh, thank you, thank you, love,” she replied in her Birmingham accent.  “Oh, you’re going back to England, too,”  I said smiling.  And, looking at her ticket, I saw we were on the same flight.  So, with over two hours to wait, we linked arms and went for tea to chat like old friends.

I found that Elizabeth was a widow and almost blind, which caused me to ask why she was traveling alone to England. “I’m not alone, love, the Lord is with me.  And He has even sent you to keep me company all the way back home.”

Then she told me the reason for her courage in setting out without assistance.

“My brother and sister are lovely people in their 90′s, but they’re not saved.  I told the Lord if no one else will tell them about Jesus, I’ll go myself to tell them before it’s too late.”

Then, throughout our journey, in what I called “Elizabeth’s Particular Pilgrim’s Progress,”  she told me about the many roads she had traveled without ever leaving home. All the roads of a gentle prayer Warrior – the battles, the triumphs, the joy of restored families and little children’s dreams; and the road to Calvary.  “That’s the road I want to walk with my brother and sister – all the way to the Cross,” she exclaimed.

I was amazed.  “Elizabeth, you are a walking testimony of Psalm 71:18,” I told her: “Now also when I am old and greyheaded, O God, forsake me not; until I have shewed thy strength unto this generation, and thy power to every one that is to come.”

What an example she is to the more able-bodied amongst us!

God grant us an army of such road Warriors and Knights.

Until next time, thank you for your kind visit today.

With warmest regards and blessings.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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Greetings My Dear Friends of the Blog,

At exactly this moment (4:13 p.m.) two years ago, my beloved husband, Dale, bid us an earthly farewell.  While Kevin and I held him in our arms, he gave us the O.K. sign, with a finger and thumb together, and a faint smile as he stepped into Heaven.  It took a great effort on Dale’s part to use his last breath to complete his promise (made when he still could fully communicate) that, “As the evidence of my faith that Jesus is real and Heaven is real, I will smile and give you the O.K. sign as I leave.”  And he did indeed see the reality of Jesus and Heaven.  Praise The Lord for this gracious comfort.

I wrote Dale’s story of courage and endurance in a blog called “The Story behind the CMG Blog,” archived on January 24, 2009.  Since then, throughout these blogs, you may have come to know Dale as our own “Edison-inventor-Dad.”  But our four sons say they remember him best for showing them, “How a man should love his wife!”  What a lovely remembrance!

“Remembrance” will be the key word heard throughout this week as we approach America’s Memorial Day, or “Poppy Day,” as it is also known.  How much we owe to those who gave their lives in battle for the freedom of us all and the future of our children; such children as those in this rhyme from the Christian Mother Goose Prayers.

As radio talk-show host Laura Ingraham said this Memorial week, “We need to fall in love with America all over again.”

As I stood in our flag garden today, I thought of the many times Dale and I talked together there, reminiscing about stories and scenes along life’s journey.  Some of those stories are what I call “Poppy Day” Pages.  And so for this Memorial week blog, I share a few stories that wear a “remembrance poppy.”

In 1997 Dale and I were visiting the picturesque town of Canterbury, England.  There is an unfolding mystery there, involving Christian Mother Goose, that has drawn me to Canterbury several times.  I hope to tell you that tale some day.

This particular day, we were strolling around the magnificent, ancient Canterbury Cathedral, named Christ Church.  Its architecture is breathtaking, ornately embellishing its long history of being the site of Christian worship continuously since at least 602 A.D.

In one of the gardens I noticed a stone slab in a wall, etched with a soldier’s image and these words: “When you return, tell them of us and say: “‘For your tomorrow, we gave our today.’”

What a powerful message from the vast armada of men and women who gave their “today” for the rest of us to gain life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  Those words seemed a “remembrance poppy” of the shed blood of those we must never forget!

Poppy Day is now commemorated throughout the world in honor of fallen heroes.  It was an American lady, Moina Michael who, in 1918, caught the significance of a picture of red field poppies growing between a multitude of crosses in the battlefields of Flanders in France.  It was two days before the Armistice of November 11, 1918 – the end of World War I –

Moina vowed to always wear the red poppy of Flanders’s field as a sign “for keeping the faith of all who died.”  After tirelessly campaigning, this Christian lady finally saw Memorial Day established in honor of all who died defending America’s freedom.

On Poppy Day in England, the Girl Guides sold red silk poppies to raise funds for the benefit of disabled veterans.  I was a Guide, about twelve, at the time of my story and was given the post to sell poppies on the steps of the Liverpool Museum.  Now, it so happens that the museum was one of my supreme treats – I loved feasting on the fascinating treasures inside.  But I was standing outside, with four hours to wish I could be inside!

Then, like Adam’s Eve, a tempting thought occurred to me.  I could place my poppy tray and cylinder money-holder on the top step of the museum near the door.  (Surely, museum lovers were honest and patriotic.)  So I left my now-self-dispensing poppy stand and disappeared into a world of knights in armor, treasures of ancient Egypt, tropical birds and other wonders.

A sailing ship’s large log book had several pages of people listed as “Indentured Servants.”  They were sailing from Liverpool in the 17th century to far off America.  Little did I know that America lay in my own future!

About three hours later, my conscience prevailed, and I ran back to my previously deserted post.  To my relief, the money cylinder was still there, with many of the silk poppies gone!  I shook the cylinder and it gave a nice, full sound.  Ah! honesty and patriotic generosity had  reigned that Poppy Day, but my Girl Guide heart felt ashamed that I had left my post.

Thank God for those who didn’t leave their posts in battle, regardless of the high cost of courage.

My Grandmother Turton used to say, “War took all my sons.”  She had five sons and three daughters.  My mother, Sarah, was the youngest, and she would tell me stories of her soldier brothers.  David gassed in the Battle of Gallipoli; John killed on the Khyber Pass; handsome “Gentleman” Bill who, although being a conscientious objector, volunteered to serve his country by cooking for the soldiers on the frontline.  He was killed in the Battle of the Somme in 1916.  Brother Thomas tried to find him – a soldier without a gun – one of 58,000 British troops who were lost the very first day of battle.  How Heaven must weep!

The Lord Jesus said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)  But in the greatest war of all, the war for the souls of lost earthlings, the Bible records in Romans 5:13 this marvel: “But God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

Jesus never left His post; He willingly allowed Himself to be nailed to it – the Cross of Calvary – where His shed blood drenched the scene of the greatest battlefield of all time and eternity.  The scene of the great Conqueror of sin and death; The Son of God and Savior of the world; yet, also the Gentle Jesus Who said, “I am the Good Shepherd: the Good Shepherd giveth His life for the sheep.  (John 10:11)

It was at the Last Supper that The Lord Jesus raised the cup and said, “This cup is the new testament in my blood; this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of Me.” (1.Corinthians 11:25)  Remembrance of His sacrifice for all of us, the price of our redemption.  All praise and honor to Him, The Prince of Peace!

May the Creator of the Memorial Day poppies soon return to bring this world true peace.

Blessings in Him,

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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Decker Hills Survivor Greeting to My Dear Friends of the Blog,

It’s been a turbulent week of tornadoes here in Oklahoma and I am so glad to see the sun again today.  For the first time since we came to live on Decker Hills twelve years ago, we were caught in the live imagery of a “Wizard of Oz” saga.

It was in the middle of the night.  A rapidly moving storm (that we found out later had already produced an F-3 tornado a short distance away), suddenly slammed our hillside without warning and took the entire roof off of one of our neighbor’s barns – sending it flying through the air for 150 feet.

As the tremendous winds whipped the outside of the house, we could actually feel the change in air pressure inside!  Electricity was soon lost, so Kevin and I took refuge in the dark of the safest room in the house – with a lantern, weather radio, and Psalm 91.  The roar outside sounded like a massive vacuum cleaner!

But our home held!  And although we lost some beautiful trees and had various amounts of outdoor damage, all lives were safe on Decker Hills.  Praise The Lord!  Curiously, five dozen eggs, which were stored in our fruit and vegetable refrigerator on the back porch, survived intact – even though the mighty winds flung the refrigerator across the porch and tore the door off its hinges.

How wonderful that one of our favorite staples, Fisher Eggs, survived the chaos.  The eggs are from the local Fisher Farm, raised and produced all-naturally.  They have earned the admiration of all of us who enjoy their wide range of health benefits (at only 70 calories, or so, per large egg).  We never get tired of poached eggs for breakfast. Hickety, Pickety would be proud!

When I humorously paraphrased this old nursery rhyme, I had in mind the Scripture from Job 12:7 – “But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee.”  So Hickety’s quill and pen gave added meaning to her eggs.

There was another meaning to “Seek” regarding eggs during World War II in England.  Our food rations allowed just one egg per month and I remember my little brother, Peter, and I decided to save our eggs for two months so we could have four eggs to make a custard pie.  Alas! when we broke them open for mother to make the great treat, they were smelly and spoiled. What sadness!

However, sadness turned to gladness that same day, when five-year-old Peter came racing through the garden gate shouting “Bananas are at the shops!”  He had never actually seen bananas (due to war rationing restrictions since his birth), so I asked him what a banana looked like.  He said, “It’s yellow and looks like the moon when it first comes out.”  “That’s a banana,” I shouted, as mother handed me a silver shilling to race across the road to the shops before the golden treasure ran out.  Bananas were not a restricted staple food item, so it was “first come, first served.”

Crossing Princess Drive, where we lived, I caught up with our local “Olympic Runner,” a sure sign there was something special for the pantry at the shops.  Actually, the “Olympic Runner” was an affectionate nickname for a neighbor lady who, although in her eighties, could still physically run to our local shops for such unexpected rarities as bananas.

And, yes, we both got four bananas!  Hurrah, for the sailors who brought them!

Fast forward to the early nineteen-eighties when our son Kevin suggested we contact the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) to see if we could launch a Christian Mother Goose “egg” from their Space Shuttle into geosynchronous orbit.

The idea was to collect the prayers and letters to God from children around the world, then put that collection onto microfilm and into a giant egg, prototyped by hubby Dale.  This time-capsule egg would circle the earth continuously in space, with prayers for the children of tomorrow.  All the Decker family heartily agreed on the project, so Dale and number four son, Keith, began building the prototype, while Kevin spoke with NASA.

To say the least, the Space Administration was astonished by such a request from our Christian Mother Goose Book Company.  They wanted to know how we found out that, just that same week, they had considered allowing the launching of non-scientific payloads from their Space Shuttle.

Well, we hadn’t found out at all!  It just seemed like a good idea whose time had come in this space age, reminding earthlings of the precious prayers of children everywhere. Coincidentally, our Christian Mother Goose children’s prayer egg request arrived at the same time the giant Coca Cola Company applied to launch a coke machine in space!

After several interesting conversations about our application between Kevin and amused, but respectful officials, NASA decided against circling the earth with a time-capsule egg filled with children’s prayers.

However, the “down to earth” inscriptions on Hickety Pickety’s eggs were derived from some practical experiences.  The “Leaving things behind” theme came from a young married couple.  This was their story…Their marriage was hopelessly floundering with far too many complications and arguments to solve.  Then they found wisdom to “seek” and “find” the only One Who can solve and heal the wounded relationships and hearts of needy earthlings.

I will always remember the words of that young husband who said: “Our lives were so bitter and tangled with disputes, until we saw the answer and beauty of the words of Philippians 3:13,14; ‘…forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.’  So, stepping into our new life in Christ, we shut the door to the past, leaving those things behind.”

My favorite Hickety egg-inscription is “Coming back again!”  What a thrilling event when The Lord Jesus Christ, The King of Kings and Lord of Lords, returns to earth to complete the great, glorious finale to the Bible story of redemption.  “Even so, come, Lord Jesus.” (Revelation 22.20)

For now, keep looking up, dear reader friends.  The Lord’s footsteps are at the door and the storms of life will all be left behind!  Hallelujah!

Blessings in Him,

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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A Sunny Day Greeting to My Blog-Nog Reader Friends,

Thinking it’s a lovely day for a walk led my thoughts to hiking paths, picturesque vistas, country lanes in England, and wild, twisting paths in the mountains of Colorado.

Then I mused on the other possibilities of simply “going for a walk” – stirring up memories of dead-ends, misdirections, faulty short-cuts and many other circuitous happenings lurking in simply “going for a walk.”

On a day when I went visiting a neighbor across the high mesa in Colorado (where we lived at that time), I decided to take a shortcut across a field rather than the long walk around.  But shortcuts can be dangerous as I would soon find out!  I was almost across the field when, seemingly out of nowhere, a snorting bull came charging after me (and I was no toreador, even though I was wearing a red jacket!).  And I didn’t need an “Olé” from a cheering crowd before racing to the fence and diving under it.  It was a barbed wire fence at that!  A ripped red jacket and scraped hands and knees were the reward of my shortcut walking decision that day.

As I think back to walks in England, I chuckle at the contrast you would find in asking directions to your destination.  Never once was I given directions of “go north, south, east or west,” as is the mode of the America in which I came to live (which might have required a compass now that I think about it).  Asking directions in England, you would be given “time and turns.”  For instance, “It’s five minutes walk, turn left, walk two more minutes, turn right” – (and then the always cheerful assurance of) – “You can’t miss it!”  Strangely, you would nearly always miss it!

Such was the case when my husband Dale and I were looking for a church to visit one Sunday morning in North Wales.  We were traveling north to my “growing up” home in Liverpool.  Having completed the “You can’t miss it,” directions, and yet totally “missing it,” we spotted a lady walking with a Bible in her hand.  That was good enough direction for us, so we followed her, chuckling at our modern day “show and tell” experience of Psalm 119:105:  “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”  And we didn’t miss it!  The Bible led us to a small church with a banner flying that read, “Jesus is Lord!”

I have often wondered if Enoch, of Old Testament times, had any idea of the amazing walk he would take the day God walked him right out of this world at 365 years of age. (Genesis 5:23,24)

And then there was the electrifying first walk in Acts 3, by a man who had been lame from birth.  Begging money from Peter and John at the temple gate, Peter responded with, “Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the Name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk.  …And, leaping up, he stood and walked, and entered with them into the temple, walking and leaping, and praising God.” (Acts 3: 2,6,8.) What power there is in the mighty Name of Jesus!

One of our four sons – Brad – enjoys hiking the hills, crags, crevasses and mountains in his State of Nevada.  I spoke with him today about those walks as he explained the narrow path he must adhere to at all times.  I mentioned that this blog is titled “The Narrow Path,” and that when he reads it in Nevada he will find a confession from his mother.

So, to begin: The precious dictionary I keep at hand is a facsimile first edition of the original 1828 Noah Webster’s American Dictionary of the English Language.   In my opinion, it surpasses all other dictionaries.  What an incalculable educational service this devout Christian lexicographer rendered to the infant American Republic – and even to today.

Now, to confess:  I gave this 1828 edition to Bradley when he was a young lad in school.  Then I “borrowed” it.  That was forty years ago, and I still have it!  Not once has Bradley reminded me to return it.  In those early days he was busy collecting four leaf clovers, and just today I found one tucked tightly away in the dictionary.  Perhaps you will exchange it, Brad, for the four decades I’ve kept this wonderful volume.  And since Mother’s Day is this weekend, may I have the gift of another borrowed decade?

Onward now to today’s Christian Mother Goose rhyme: The Narrow Path from the CMG Rock-A-Bye Prayers book.

In this day and age, where many voices claim there are many paths to God, such claims are shattered by the words of The Lord Jesus Himself Who said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life: No man cometh unto the Father, but by Me.” (John 14:6)

Jesus also said, “Strait (narrow) is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” (Matthew 7:14)  The way to God, and the glories of eternal life, is a way that is only as wide as the feet of Jesus.  He is the narrow path of salvation by Divine grace.  That path is exclusive, but not restrictive!  All may come, because God, in the unbounded love of His Father heart “…is not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.”

And on this Mother’s Day, is it not a marvelous thing to consider that the only way a human being can pass into this world’s life is through the narrow path of the womb of a mother!  How honored motherhood is of God!  The Lord Jesus Himself followed His own narrow path into humanity through young Mary’s womb.  How fantastic!

What a parallel!  The narrow path of motherhood to bring us into this mortal life, then the narrow path of our Savior, The Lord Jesus Christ, to bring us into the glories of everlasting life.…“For God, Who is rich in mercy, for His great love wherewith He loved us.”

Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers everywhere!  Heaven is promised, and with the clear directions of the Gospel of Christ, “You can’t miss it!”

Remember – “You are special.”

Blessings and love,

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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Hello Again Dear BlogNog Friends,

Recently, my son, Bradley, reminded me of a “Going to the Fair” souvenir that was stored away in an old trunk.  It is a Colorado State Fair Blue Ribbon Award for first place in strawberries.  How could I have forgotten it!

This imported Liverpudlian (those who hail from Liverpool), who writes this blog – a city dweller who had never raised a strawberry before, and had more of a tea-cup thumb than a green thumb – how could I have possibly won first place at the State Fair?  It sounds like an “Aunt Bea” of Andy Griffith’s Mayberry episode!  I haven’t produced a strawberry since, but it’s a cheerful memory as I write about Fairs today.

“We’re going to the Fair!”  Once a year these happy words ride along State and County highways in cars, trucks, and trailers, all filled with pickles, pies, plants, quilts, pigs, sheep, and bulls – covering the whole range of the American homeland, homemaking, and the livestock industry.

The big parade is on its way to be tasted, smelled, touched, weighed, judged, and then admired by throngs of visitors waiting to applaud the winners donned with blue ribbons like lovely pageant beauties.

It’s hard to believe that the first American Fair was held in Pittsfield, Massachusetts in 1807 under an old elm tree.  It was there that Elkanah Watson, a New England farmer and patriot, displayed a small exhibit of sheep.  He was convinced that his sheep’s wool would compete with the best imported wool from England, much to the excitement of the farmers who attended his inaugural Fair.  And the excitement kept growing.  Three years later, he had 517 assorted animal entries, even without hamburgers or hot dogs in mind!

As we look at the rhyme, “Simple Simon,” he’s also on his way to the Fair.

English Fairs had long been established at the time the name “Simple Simon” first appeared (in 1565 A.D.).  Records exist showing royal charters being granted by the Crown to hold Fairs as far back as 1199 A.D.   However, the Bible records even more ancient Fairs in Ezekiel 26: 27-28 in about 500 B.C.

The British Nottingham Goose Fair has over seven centuries of celebration to its credit, with everything under the sun being sold in its festive atmosphere, including 20,000 geese!  But the 1764 Fair has to chalk up a mis-credit, I’m afraid.  It goes down in history as the “Cheese Riots” Fair.  The price of cheese had increased one-third from the previous year and, with this announcement, outraged citizens launched an attack on the cheese displays.  Huge cheeses were bowled down the street, with frightened owners running after them.  The Dragoons (cavalrymen) were called in for crowd control “after the attempts by the local mayor had resulted in his dignity being flattened by a 100 lb. cheese.”  (“black and blue” cheese no doubt.)

Almost 100 years before the “Cheese Riots” Fair, John Bunyan wrote of a greater and far-reaching riot in “Vanity Fair” – a brilliant section of his famous masterpiece “Pilgrim’s Progress,” published in 1675.

Here, Bunyan masterfully pictures Vanity Fair as a Fair of cunning origin; an ancient Fair fuIl of trickery and lying merchants, enticing unwise and careless customers into their web of darkness and destruction.  Vanity Fair never closes, and lies in the very path that pilgrims must take on their way to the Lord’s Celestial City. Bunyan brings his two pilgrims, Christian and Faithful, into the dangerous Vanity Fair.  And what befalls them there?  You’ll have to read the book.

Simple Simon, as rendered by Christian Mother Goose, asks a simple, but telling, question of a Pieman “going to the Fair.”   Simon may be called Simple, but he knows the words of The Lord Jesus Who, while teaching and encouraging His disciples with the loving detail of God’s watch-care over them, said, “But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.”

Simple Simon left the Pieman with food for thought other than pies!  The questions of children sometimes may sound foolish, but consider I Corinthians 1:27 – “But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty.”

It was to little Samuel in the Old Testament, not to the experienced priest, Eli, that God called and entrusted a specific message.  In Matthew 11:25, Jesus said, “I thank Thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, Thou hast hidden these things from the wise, and hast revealed them unto babes.”  Christian Mother Goose has a crest that reads “A little child shall lead them.”

God bless all the little Simple Simons who witness with a word from Jesus to the wisest of piemen and school masters who still don’t know the way to the Celestial City.  The touch of God through the tongue of a child can topple the wisdom of this world.

Speaking of toppling, I am reminded of “The Thinker.”  This imposing, world-famous bronze statue by Rodin, epitomizes the wisdom of the Ages.  John Bunyan could well have placed it in the town square of Vanity Fair if Rodin had sculpted it in Bunyan’s time.

However, this famous statue did come to my town square one eyebrow-raising day!  With the rest of a hushed crowd, my seven-year-old son, Keith, and I stood in the atrium behind a looped rope, gazing at the “Thinker,” wondering what he was thinking!

Suddenly, my little boy ducked under the looped rope, ran up to the statue and reached to wiggle the big bronze toe!  He barely touched it, and to everyone’s horror “The Thinker” rocked forward.   For a terrifying moment, wisdom was on the brink the day Rodin’s Thinker wobbled! Wise Moms and Dads can guess the rest of this story…

See you at the Fair – and watch out for the big cheese rolls…

Warmly  (and not wobbly),

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Christian Mother Goose®

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