Unmerited Grace

Wednesday evening one of our church members shared a message that was on his heart for over a year. It took him that long to figure out exactly what and how he wanted to share it. This young man came to our church initially brought by a relative. He wasn’t keen about church stuff, but despite his reluctance, God caught hold of his heart and because of the conviction of the Lord, he accepted Jesus as Savior and became saved. I’ve watched this young man grow in faith and enjoyed seeing God smooth his rough edges to now I believe he may one day enter the ministry.

There was a lot of hard work on his part. He didn’t graduate high school, but since then found teachers who were willing to tutor him. With their help he earned his GED. From that point on, he blossomed. His manner of speech and knowledge grew exponentially. It was a blessing to see the changes.

His message was from the book of Luke, chapter 18 where the Pharisee prayed in the temple, bragging about how wonderful he was. The Pharisee seemed to tell God that God was blessed to have him as a follower. After all, he was extremely religious following the tenets of fasting and tithing. He was “thankful” that he was not like other sinful men, almost as to say he was not being constrained by sins of others. He felt that he was better than the lowly publican. While the publican recognized himself as a sinner and asked God for mercy, expecting nothing, but praying that God might show him grace.

Now comes the coincidence, I was driving home after the service and a preacher on the radio was explaining the same passage, adding more insight. The minister said that fasting for the Jew was required once per year. Often it was accompanied by the whitening his face and praying. The preacher felt the Pharisee’s fasting would have been on market days, where others knew that he was fasting. Matthew shares about fasting publicly and the reward received is public recognition only.

Fasting is sometimes necessary for the Christian, causing an intense time of prayer and seeking God’s will, but wearing a placard saying “I’m fasting” is wrong.

Tithing is another requirement from God, returning one tenth of finances He has given to us. Even that, the Pharisees made it a badge of righteousness, carrying it out the extreme, where they would shortchange their parents by counting the seeds that were to feed and support the parents in their old age. The Pharisee’s pride of strictly following the tenets replaced the reason behind his worship.

Noses

I was watching one of the wilderness television programs from the Arctic and the captioning for the different characters would display across the television screen the locations of their homes, Kiwalik, Eagle, Huslia, Brushkana, Nenana, etc. But it also gave reference of their homes to the Arctic Circle, So many miles above or below the Circle. It caused me to think of the year that I was stationed in Keflavik, Iceland as a corpsman in the Naval Hospital there.

Keflavik is located 63.9998 degrees north and 22.5583 degrees west between the North Atlantic Ocean and the Norwegian Sea. The Gulf Stream wends its way north becoming the North Atlantic Current. Because of this anomaly, Iceland is much warmer than its location or name would suggest. Winter’s average temperature is 32 degrees Fahrenheit and summer’s average 55 to 60 degrees Fahrenheit in southern Iceland.

I know someone is asking by now where the “Nose” title comes into the story. No, the people of Iceland are not Eskimo and don’t rub noses, but travelers who cross the Arctic Circle can earn the title of “blue nose” in the Navy. I’m not sure if the same holds true to the other branches of the military.

I was blessed enough to have become friends with a doctor who wanted to gain hours to earn his commercial pilot’s license. It was great. Several other corpsmen and I wanted to see more of Iceland and the doctor was willing to fly us for free if we paid for the plane’s rental costs. It was a small plane and if I remember correctly, it carried 4 people, 3 passengers and the pilot. We puddle jumped to many places on the island, flying over huge waterfalls, farmlands, and glaciers. To the south, we flew to the volcanic island of Surtsey. The doctor even enticed us to fly with him to Akueryi at the northern tip of Iceland. The trip up was great and so we could win the “Blue Nose” certificate, he flew over the island of Grimsey. He decided not to attempt a landing because of the huge number of birds. One hit from a bird in a light plane and we’d all have been swimming in the frigid waters of the Greenland Sea.

Our return trip to Keflavik was a bit scary. Clouds rolled in thick and low enough to limit our visual flight. The doctor was learning the controls each time he flew. Several times we flew low enough to spot and follow a road below us. He knew we were heading south and knew the road would eventually lead us to habitation. We made it back safely, but politely refused to fly to Scotland when he suggested that.

Doing the Can Can

The small amount of canning that I still do is finished for the year. Because of the generosity of friends of tomatoes and peppers, I canned 20 quarts of salsa. I did them in two batches. Because I cook and can by the seat of my pants, I adjust each recipe by taste. Mrs. Wage’s salsa mix and tomatoes are the starting point of both. I’m now more frugal with my time in cutting up the tomatoes. At one time, washing, removing the “bad” spots, blanching, peeling, and then dicing the tomatoes became such a hassle. Several years ago I thought most people don’t get enough fiber in their diet, so I stopped blanching and peeling the tomatoes. It saved so much time and energy.

I also learned to wear gloves when I wash, seed, and dice the different peppers I add to the mixture. Green bells, Hungarian banana wax, pablano, and jalapeno peppers were carefully diced and stored in separate containers. Diced onions, garlic, a mixture of the selected peppers judiciously added. I always add a bit more vinegar that the salsa mix calls for. It gives a sharper taste. I bought a three pound can of concentrated tomatoes to make the salsa thicker and less runny.

Instead of my usual cooking and reducing the liquid of the mixture in a stock pot on my stove, I used my electric roaster, stirring frequently. As it cooks, I do taste tests adding cilantro and cumin until I find a pleasing flavor. Once the mixture is thickened and tasty, I scoop the salsa into glass quart jars and then give them a hot water bath to can them.

I start with the same basic recipe, but I finesse the flavor to suit me. My cat Willow doesn’t like salsa, but I did share my bounty with the friends who passed along their extra tomatoes and peppers making the preparation of this year’s salsa possible. Thank you Suzie and Carol, you guys are such a blessing and I appreciate your friendship more than I can say.

I don’t make a garden any longer. I stopped several years ago once my family was gone and had two years in a row where mud rose to my ankles as I attempted to pull weeds from the garden. With only me to feed, I now buy things I need when they’re on sale and stock my pantry without the stress of planting and canning. Willow’s food doesn’t count. She doesn’t like most “people food” and is satisfied with dry cat food, often shunning the moist.

Puddles Ponds and Pools

Somehow there is a fascination for kids and water. Mud puddles are a major drawing power nearly irresistible to children. They enjoy the splashing, wanting to spend as much time as the patient parent will allow. Jumping, dancing, and splashing often leads to the child losing balance falling into the muddy water…unless the parent is near and quick enough to affect a rescue. If rescues don’t happen, the child will most often relish the newfound liquid playground, rolling, kicking, and laughing. The parent stands helplessly by, wondering how in the world they’ll clean the kid or if they will ever get the mud out of the clothes. If they’re away from home, the concern escalates. How can they keep the car seats from being impregnated with the muck? The blissful child only understands the innocent joy of the moment.

With all the backyard swimming pools, does anybody still swim in ponds or dammed up sections of streams? When I was younger…much younger, ponds and streams were the only places to swim, mostly in the streams. Ponds were often muddy and for cattle to drink, not conducive or clean enough for swimming.

One area we swam was in Camp Wildwood, a Boy Scout camp that was abandoned in 1949. I’ve shared many stories other than swimming in my posts. Another spot was at White Bridge just off Rt. 653 near Rogers Mills, Pennsylvania. It was the first time I’d ever seen the Hellbender salamander and it took me quite by surprise. I’ve also mentioned the swimming hole near Indian Head by the field where we boys played impromptu games of baseball, then would skinny dip in the cooling water. Several of my past posts extol the oddities of that dammed up spot on the creek.

The last spot where we swam was the closest to my parent’s place. It was a deep spot beneath a bridge of Route 711 between Normalville and Indian Head, Pennsylvania. The water was always cold, if not frigid. The water of the stream was covered with shade from its beginning as snow melts or from multiple springs that fed the creek. It had little time to warm.

It was a show of bravado to make our first swim before the first of May. Making a fire on the rocky beach was necessary before taking the plunge, a must to thaw us out between plunges of water torture. To one side of the arched span was the deep channel of water and on the other was the beach; the spot for the bonfire and salvation. Snitched snacks of toasted saltines and a slather of oleo were shared as we huddled around the dancing flames.

Anyong Haseyo

Anyong Haseyo, just a greeting that I remembered from a dear friend who passed away about two years ago. He was my pastor for several years and before that, he was a missionary to South Korea. He was invited back to speak at an anniversary to a church he helped to found there. My son Andrew and several other church teens were able to accompany him on the trip.

Initially I learned the greeting from reading a book and Pastor Norman Johnston helped me to get the pronunciation correct. Oddly enough, I have had the chance to use it several times in my life. I was working at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania when I met two young Korean men who were involved in an automobile accident. I was helping in the emergency department helping where I could. I was returning one young man on a cart from the x-ray department and as I settled him with his friend in his cubicle, I said, “Anyong Haseyo.” The surprised looks on both young men’s faces were something for me to behold. I just hoped it made their traumatic experience just a bit more bearable.

Another time, my friend and travelling partner were visiting Pastor Norm and his wife Joy in North Carolina. They took us to Charleston Carolina to show us around. While we were on board the USS Yorktown, I noticed an Oriental couple and inquired where they were from. When they said they were visiting from South Korea, I greeted them. They were excited and began to speak in Korean. I couldn’t understand, but held my finger up to pause them and called Norm over. He spent time conversing with them. Joy was there and she was able to join in as well.

I attended a Pittsburgh Pirate game at PNC Park with a friend. It was a time when Jung-ho Kang was a player for the team. I made a sign with his name and the Korean greeting, hoping I could get his autograph on it. I didn’t accomplish that, but there were several Orientals that sat near us and thought it was a great sign, smiling and pointing to it.

I’m not a linguistic expert by any means and have just enough knowledge in several foreign languages to get me into trouble.