The Greatest of These is Love

This song below, based on I Corinthians 13, the Love Chapter from the Bible, is in honor of my husband on our 16th Anniversary today. Here is the passage of Scripture first.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Emmy Gets Domestic

Emmy received her birthday present early this year. She won’t turn 2 until July 22, but I found this play kitchen on Craig’s List for $45 and couldn’t pass it up. The mom threw in two buckets of play dishes, pans, and play food, so Emmy is in little girl heaven. From the time Tom brought it in the door at 11am, she didn’t move from her new kitchen until 1pm when I had to force the issue of lunch and a nap. She went down for her nap slightly mollified by taking a few new play dishes and a plastic eggplant with her.

My Furry Angel, Cricket

I once had a dog named Cricket. She was a husky-shepherd mix picked up from the dog shelter in McAllen, Texas where I lived. The shelter was a warehouse that was packed with dogs of every description. The noise in there was deafening as I walked down each aisle and looked into the chain link enclosures to find my dog.

I knew I had found the right furry friend when l leaned forward towards one enclosure where a medium-sized black and tan dog pressed her nose against the wire and wagged her tail. Unlike the other dogs, she wasn’t hurtling herself at the fence and barking. She didn’t bark at all and her eyes were friendly.

My dog sense was right on target. She was a gentle female who became the best friend I had at that time. I lived in a neighborhood seven miles from the Mexican border. It was not a great area and as an English-speaking anglo, I stuck out. I often felt vulnerable in that small house. But Cricket became my protector.

One day I heard her barking wildly at the gate of the house where I lived. It was unlike her to bark much at all. (In fact, the only other time she had shown such spirit was when a wild peacock flew off the roof and landed in the yard. It barely made it up and out before Cricket had it for dinner.)

Cricket was going insane barking, and I looked out to see a very dirty man trying to get in the gate into the yard. My gentle mutt became a ferocious beast that day, literally throwing herself at the fence snapping with all of her teeth bared. I don’t know what the man wanted, but after standing at the gate for several minutes, he took off.

Cricket stayed right by the gate, the hair on her neck still up, and she continued to growl long afterward. When I called her to come to me she growled loudly as if to say, “Don’t bother me, I’m on duty here.” She sat there at the gate for an hour afterwards in the hot sun, unwilling to move. I never did figure out who that man was, but I had been home alone, and to say I was vulnerable was an understatement. Thanks to Cricket, he never returned.

That was a bad time in my life, but Cricket was an angel to me. God sometimes sends angels with fur on, I think. She curled up next to me when I lay on the floor sometimes, always loving, always a companion. We had an unspoken sympathy between us. We went through some hair-raising times together, including one situation where she had to be rescued from under the shed when flood waters rose in the yard. Under the shed she had just enough of an air pocket to get her head out of the water. The floor of the shed had to be torn up to get to her.

The poor dog was shaking from fear and chilled from being in the water so long when I got her into the enclosed back porch. We wrapped her in an old bedspread where she lay for the entire night without moving. I gave her an extra big breakfast in the morning which she disposed of in record time. After a bath, she was back to normal. Adversity only strengthened our bond.

I had Cricket for five years and brought her with me when I moved to Milwaukee. After my youngest little boy developed asthma, I had to find another home for her. I was heartbroken, and sadly put an ad in the paper. How do you summarize a dear friend like Cricket in a few terse words? I cried as I wrote out a short description. “Wanted: a family for the most wonderful, loyal dog ever.”

I prayed for a good owner to come along who wouldn’t ever mistreat her. When a family came to visit her to see if they would adopt her, I couldn’t believe my eyes as they came up the walk. It was Sean, his wife and two little boys. Sean was a man I had babysat for years before as a teenager! Out of all the people in a city of 1.7 million, Sean was the only one who saw the ad and responded. They were a wonderful family, and they took Cricket after a few minutes of playing with her. I knew that my friend would be in good hands.

She was in good hands, and lived a long life after that. She had a big fenced in yard in the suburbs where she lived out the rest of her days. Years later, I got a call at the office. It was Sean. “I just wanted you to know that Cricket died,” he said. “I know she meant a lot to you.” They had to put her down because her arthritis rendered her immobile and in constant pain. I was glad that she was no longer suffering.

I’ll always remember that dog who liked to fall asleep on the floor while I stretched out on the sofa and stroked her ears. We were a pair back then, and she was the best friend I’d ever had.

There’s a poem written by Lord Byron that sums up how I feel about Cricket. He wrote this epitaph on the grave of his beloved dog, Boatswain. No better tribute could be given. (I have underlined the lines that say exactly what I think!)

Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferosity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.

This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a DOG,
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead Nov. 18, 1808.

When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
Unknown by Glory, but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth –
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power –
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye, who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on – it honors none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one – and here he lies.

For Father’s Day

To all the loving fathers in the world, God bless you. This beautiful song, Angel’s Lullaby, by Richard Marx, written for his own babies he rocked late at night, expresses the heart of a true father, and is dedicated to the father of our household. Happy Father’s Day.

(See the comment section for the lyrics to this song.)

Bits and Pieces

Rummage sale season is here and our neighborhood has its annual sale beginning tomorrow. I’m on the lookout for fall and winter girl clothes 2T-3T this rummage season. Last year, a mom in the neighborhood gave me a box of girls clothes that were too big for Emmy at the time. When I opened the box up yesterday (I had forgotten I had it), not only were there play clothes for this summer, there were 6 sweet girly dresses. Additionally, there were two warm coats for this fall and winter. You have to love hand-me-downs for children. Em’s only problem will be finding enough occasions to wear all those dresses. I starched them all up, and they look like new. An unexpected blessing.

Tom and I have just learned we are to be grandparents! Sam and his wife Laura informed us this weekend that a grandbaby is on the way. Emily is going to be an auntie! (Yes, Auntie Em…) I made a point of using a little extra Olay Regenerist on my face the last few nights… We are thrilled, of course, at this news. My only sadness is that we live 1,000 miles away, so the baby will have to learn to Skype early.

I’ve been mulling over the content of the next Hopecast. The topic I have chosen is one I have written about in the past here at the Hope Blog. I want to talk about the challenge of raising girls today into women of quality.

Pop culture and the teen (and preteen/tween) subculture destroys the values that our girls need to possess. Even from a secular viewpoint, there is great reason for concern about the sexualization of little girls, the moral filth of Generation Gaga and the ruined lives that result. From a Christian standpoint, it is safe to say that everything in popular culture when it comes to girlhood and womanhood runs counter to the depiction of godly womanhood as found in Holy Scripture. Parents today have to have a mindset to begin early with their daughters. The path of least resistance is the path to destruction. More this weekend on the podcast.

And now I am off to finish some projects that have been started. My desk is startling in its bareness. Gone are the piles of books from publishers, correspondence, press releases and PR materials. I can see actual surface! Em’s closet is organized, Will has tackled his bedroom, and next, I am having Will denude the front porch of Will stuff like golf clubs, super-soakers, bike ramps, basketballs, etc. so I can sweep it down. That’s so Tom can put out my white wicker rocking chair and table. It’s almost the middle of June, so it’s about time!

“Happy to You!” Says Emmy

When Tom Schlueter married me, the man ended up walking into what has seemed like non-stop drama. For nearly 16 years he has weathered every crisis, sometimes weathering multiple crises at one time, and has never complained. Even in the crises (yes, that’s plural) we are presently facing, he remains the same kind, caring and loving man that he is with me, our 6 children and everyone else in our lives.

I want to say Happy Birthday to my husband who has not only my deepest respect, but my love forever and always. Or as Emmy says it, “Happy to you, Daddy!”

Yes, Tom Schlueter. Lots and lots of ‘happy to you.’ You deserve it.

The Only Cure for Sin

Happy 15th Birthday, William – June 3

William is turning 15. He is an honor student with a 98 average who has enjoyed his freshman year of high school. He studies piano, pipe organ and percussion. This year he played with the Youth Wind Orchestra of Wisconsin, played for the performathon at the Conservatory of Music, and won a scholarship for his piano work this spring.

Will has an internal drive that is very interesting to watch. He sets goals for himself and reaches them by working hard. His goal for the summer is to improve at something. He is interested in basketball and fitness, so maybe that is what he’ll be working on. You never know.

Will’s passion is the pipe organ right now. I hear him downstairs practicing on his Allen, and it makes me smile. William’s teacher saw him at his first lesson and remembered when he used to carry his Dad’s trumpet case for him when he would go with Tom to concerts and weddings where she played the organ. Now he’s a young man, and is learning the organ himself under her excellent teaching.

Happy Birthday, William. You have brought non-stop joy to our family through being the loving and hard-working son that you are. Godspeed!

Aunt Kris from Oklahoma stopped by for a surprise birthday visit.

When the Enemy Accuses…

Who shall bring a charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is he who condemns? It is Christ who died, and furthermore is also risen, who is even at the right hand of God, who also makes intercession for us. – Romans 8:33-34

No weapon that is formed against you shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against you in judgment you shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and their righteousness is of me, said the LORD. – Isaiah 54:17

And I heard a loud voice in heaven, saying, “Now the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Christ have come, for the accuser of our brothers has been thrown down, who accuses them day and night before our God. ¹¹And they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death. ¹²Therefore, rejoice, O heavens and you who dwell in them! But woe to you, O earth and sea, for the devil has come down to you in great wrath, because he knows that his time is short!”  – Revelation 12:10-12

By the blood of the Lamb we overcome Satan as the accuser of the brethren. The chapter (Revelation 12) expressly tells us that he accuses the brethren day and night; and there is an instructive tradition among the Jews that Satan accuses the elect of God all day and all night long, except on the day of atonement, and then he is quiet. Glory be to the dying Lamb, the atonement shuts the mouth of the lion continually, for the atonement lasts all the year round. Neither in the court of Heaven, nor in the court of conscience, can the enemy’s accusations harm us, for the blood of our Substitute is a bar to all suits against us.

If we by faith are assured that Jesus has put away our sin, what cause have we for alarm? If the punishment due to our sin, and the sin itself have both been carried away by our great Surety, so that sin is plunged into the depths of the sea, and cast behind God’s back, then who is he that shall harm us? Brethren, do but grasp the doctrine of the atonement, and know your own interest in it, and the accuser of the brethren will be silenced by the voice of the blood.

We overcome Satan by the same means as to his craft. He has seven heads, but we tell him Jesus died, and that breaks all the seven heads, and destroys the sevenfold ingenuity of his snares. He would, if it were possible, deceive even the very elect, but the secret of the sprinkled blood is that which prevents the elect from ever being deluded by him. Who shall separate them from the love of Christ? Does not redemption by blood hold them fast to their Redeemer? You cannot be right anywhere if you are wrong upon the atonement, but if you are sound upon the substitutionary sacrifice there is little fear of your falling into any serious error.

As the needle once magnetized continues to seek the pole, so they who are once touched with the love of their dying Surety are sure to remember it and cannot long be turned in any other direction. As for the dragon’s horns of power; the power of the blood is far greater. Since we have been redeemed by Christ from under the power of Satan he cannot regain his hold of us. His power is broken. As to the crowns which he wears, what care we for them? We are delivered from under his power by being redeemed by the blood of Jesus Christ, and Satan can never again have the rule over us.

As for the energetic influence which is figured by his tail, he may quench the very stars of heaven, and pull down the most brilliant professors and make them fall to the earth as apostates, but he cannot harm us, for because of the blood of Jesus we are latest by the power of God through faith unto salvation. Cling to the cross, dear brethren, for there you are out of the reach of the old serpent’s venom; he may hiss, but he can do no more. No wave can ever wash a poor sinner off from the rock of ages, no storm can drive a penitent out of the clefts of the rock. Within the wounds of Jesus we are secure from all the rage of Satan. In our battles with Satan we need no other artillery but the atoning blood, it meets and conquers him at all points.

–Charles H. Spurgeon