What is that smell? - An Analogy

        Last night we were out at my in laws' farm unloading some hay into the barn. I walked through the pasture to get to the old barn and I choked, What is that smell? I thought. It wasn't just ordinary pasture smell that assailed my senses. Horses don't smell that bad. I looked around and I identified some black stuff under the oak tree. I don't know what that black substance was, but it was super stinky. I quickly walked past it and continued on my path to the barn.
        After the hay was unloaded we needed to take the trailer out of the pasture. My father in law (I will call him "Dad," because that is how I address him) asked me to open the gate for him to leave. As I approached the gate my senses were once again aggravated by that horrid smell. What is that smell?!, I thought again. I stood by the gate waiting for my dad to pull the truck around. He stopped to hook up a cattle gate to keep the horses out of the fresh hay and I waited a few moments. While I waited, I let my eyes drift here and there. I thought about the cows next door, the animals that might be living in the old barn, and the poisonous water snakes that we saw in the pond last year. Meanwhile my eyes came back to the old oak tree and I saw that black stuff.
         I thought, as I looked at the black stuff, that it was odd that I was no longer bothered by the awful smell. Then, it hit me. Isn't that just like sin?! 
         When we first approach sin we see it for what it is - stinky black stuff that we should not want to be around. But, the longer we linger, the less we are bothered by the smell. We get desensitized to sin. Whether it is that person that we ought not be spending time with, that certain kind of music that we just won't let go of, or our favorite television shows. We need to try to keep our distance from the filth so that we can smell the stink when we approach it.
         Lastly, we need to check our hearts often for dirt, the same way I check my boots when I step out of the pasture. We need to make sure that if we have allowed ourselves to be dirtied by the World, that we let God clean us off again.

 If we confess our sins, 

He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins 

and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 

I John 1:9  

By: Bethany Woods, Author at Seeds of Promise, Harvest of Hope blog

Driving Blind

An Analogy for Christian Living

          My husband has a nephew who, as a result of an accident, became blind in young adulthood. This injury happened after Jay* had learned to drive. A few years after the accident Jay and his father were out at my in-laws farm. It was a hay day and Jay went along to feel like part of the action. We came to a point in the day's operation when I was not of much use throwing the bales onto the trailer. I had strength limitations that the men did not suffer from. I could only set the bales two to three layers high. The men, however, can throw bales up several layers high. (The highest load I can remember was seven-high, but I digress.)

          Since I could not throw the bales, someone suggested that I drive the truck that pulled the trailer. That would have been a great idea . . . if I had known how to drive a manual transmission vehicle. After some good-natured teasing at my expense someone joked, “It's too bad Jay can't drive. He knew how to drive a stick.”

          Jay's reply was serious, “I still know how to drive.” I told Jay that he could probably drive the truck better than I could even without the use of his eyes. That's how the idea came about.

          Jay and I worked in tandem to drive the truck (much to the consternation of Jay's father). Jay sat behind the wheel looking like the cat that got the canary. He was ready. And oddly, I was not nervous either. I had faith in Jay, and Jay had faith in me. Somehow it worked! I gave Jay detailed directions about speed, braking, and steering. Jay obeyed my directions as well as he could have and better than most of the workers expected.

          Riding in the truck with Jay has become a legendary memory to me. I was tremendously proud of both him and myself that day. I was pleased that I spoke in a way to direct Jay's path. And, I was astounded that a blind man could drive a truck pulling a hay trailer with such ease. 

           Directing Jay's driving is a good metaphor for how we ought to place our faith in the Lord. All of us Christians are driving blind to some extent. We generally know what we want to accomplish, but we don't know the best way to steer ourselves to get there. Happily, my metaphor is flawed. Unlike me, God can see the whole picture. He will plainly guide us if we trust in Him. He knows that if we heed his warnings and directions that we will stay on the right path. But, if we disregard his cautions we might end up stuck in a rut.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
And do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him,
And He will make your paths straight.

Proverbs 3:5-6 NASB

*not his real name

By: Bethany Woods, Author at Seeds of Promise, Harvest of Hope blog

The Old Home - A Short Story

The Old Home 

(A fictional short story written for a writing workshop
 in Arrow Rock, MO, September 2015.)

         I used to be normal. I lived in a metropolitan area where I could wade through traffic like a duck through lily pads. I could identify the make of a vehicle by its horn. I knew just how to brush shoulders with hundreds of people on the way from the parking garage to my job without ever making eye contact. I always thought I was a city girl. But, my life changed its course forever the day I decided to visit the old home in Arrow Rock, MO.

Earnest Bradford owned a cottage in Arrow Rock in the 1880's. I won't tell you how many greats of a grandfather he is to me or you'd fall asleep. As a child, my parents would load us all into our old station wagon and we would visit the old home. In those days, Arrow Rock didn't look quite like it does today. Sure, some of the houses had been fixed up, but there were both houses and shacks that were showing their age.

I remember my mama saying, “If I could, I'd buy the old home and give it some much needed TLC.” I thought she was crazy! Back then I thought, “Who would want to live in that dumpy old shack?” Every time we visited Arrow Rock my mama would cry and tell us the story of the old home. My brother and I would sit in the backseat and roll our eyes. We were just killing time until we would stop at the general store and get an ice cream cone. I think those ice cream cones cast some spell over my destiny, though I can't prove it.

Ten years ago I got married. Eight years ago we had our first baby. Then, wouldn't you know it, I started feeling nostalgic. Every year my husband and I talked about visiting the old home, but there never seemed to be enough time. When our first child was five we took a family vacation to Arrow Rock. We enjoyed stepping back in time in a bed and breakfast with no cable and an old rotary phone on the end table. The first day we went down Main Street to see if there was still an ice cream parlor. We didn't see one, but we went back to our bed and breakfast with bags full of trinkets to gather dust when we went home.

The second day of our visit in Arrow Rock we walked by the old home. I cried as I told my children the same story that my mama told me. But, that didn't seem to be enough. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I wander if someone inside would be willing to let us peek in the windows.” The old home was a two story cottage with brown shake shingle siding. It was in terrible disrepair. Squirrels were jumping from the trees into the attic. The paint on the window frames was peeling. The sidewalk was treacherous. But, I was drawn to the house. I stumbled to the door and knocked.

The next door neighbor who just “happened to be” coming outside at that moment hollered over, “No one lives there, Honey. Can I help you with something?” I walked over to the woman and told her that my great, great (oh, never mind how many greats) grandfather used to live in this home. She took interest, and in turn told me of all the other folks who had lived there in the past thirty years.

“In fact,” she went on, “Miss Maude is in the nursing home now, but she is planning to sell that house. Her kids don't want to be bothered with the trouble of keeping it up.”

Something in her tone made me take offense to those children who didn't want to be bothered with the old home. Some seed which had been planted in my mind long ago suddenly sprang to life. On and whim, and totally without my husband's input, I said “I would love to buy this house! Can you give me the phone number of the owner or her children?”

Those two sentences – spoken without a care in the world – have added gray to my hair, wrinkles to my forehead, and years spent in marital  counseling. But, I wouldn't change it for all the world. By buying the old home, I learned more about carpentry and firm foundations, good neighbors and wall-papering parties, drafty windows and fragrant wood stoves, community and hard work than I ever could have imagined in the city. More than that, I learned something about myself. I don't care to hustle and bustle. I like to make eye contact with strangers. I find joy in knowing the birthdays of everyone in town. I love to walk through the silent streets at night. I want my children to grow up in this quiet town. And, lastly, I love ice cream.

We now rent one of the buildings on Main Street and sell burgers, fries, and ice cream. I guess you could call us a Mom and Pop Store. I love meeting all the folks from out of town. And I look forward to seeing the same faces of the town's sixty residents daily as we pick up our mail in the post office. Though, I fear a day is rapidly approaching when even that community icon may fall.

I love every moment, every splinter, every cold night, every morsel of gossip, every pounded nail. This old home was worth it all. And, with any luck, no one will ever think of me as normal again.

By: Bethany Woods, Author at Seeds of Promise, Harvest of Hope blog