The Story of Soap

(Susie, wonderful mother-in-law to my daughter, this is for you.)

Disclaimer: The following may or may not be how it actually happened, but I like the story.

Years ago, our homeschool group went to a soap-making company and learned how soap was made. While I'm sure the chemical process is somewhat more complicated, the basic process is that lye and tallow heated together become soap. That's all the chemistry you need to know for the story.

While we were there, I wondered aloud to the proprietor, "How did people ever figure out how to make soap in the first place?" This is what she told me.

Long ago, people used to go up to the mountaintop to make animal sacrfices to God. They would build altars of stone and build fires with wood underneath, and burn the animals. Much of the flesh would be burned off, but the fat would melt and drip down into the ashes. We get lye from wood ash. So over time, lye would develop, then the fat would drop down into the warm ashes and get stirred up and make a rudimentary soap. When the rain came, the soapy run-off would get into the streams and the people living downstream noticed that things got cleaner with water closer to the altars. Eventually they figured out why and refined the soap-making process.

Granted, this might be a stretch. BUT it does not change the fact that soap to cleanse the body is a by-product of the process God gave man to cleanse the soul. Years ago, when I related this story to my friend Dr. Root, he commented that it was very typical of God to be concerned about the WHOLE person.

I don't think of soap as just soap anymore. Whenever I wash my hands, I consider that the product I am using to stay healthy in the body is derived from a process that God designed to keep us healthy in the soul.

At this time of year, we celebrate the birth of Jesus. Hebrews 10 tells us that the priests had to make sacrifices again and again, year after year, because the blood of bulls and goats cannot take away our sins, but we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all. Because of this, God says of us, "Their sins and lawless acts I will remember no more."

We do not belong to those who shrink back and are destroyed, but to those who have faith and are saved.

Now, I dare you to wash your hands with soap and NOT think about the One who was sacrificed for you. and I dare you to wash your hands without giving thanks That because of His sacrifice, God remembers our sins no more!!

Walking by Faith versus Walking by Sight

As I was walking across my leaf-coverd path today, I realized that Iwas walking by faith. . I can't see the uneven ground beneath the leaves, and even the leaves I CAN see are rther blurry in the overcast, almost-evening light. I realize that I literally actuallyhve ben walking by fatih a lot in the past months, because I can't see ground clearly and in the dim light, I can't really see at all. Friends walking with me will often verbally try to guide me, but in the end, they usually just grab my arm and we walk side-by-side.

I read a journal entry I wrote less than a year before I got married, that said roughly, "I don't care what Gordon says, I don['t believe God has anyone for me." Gordon is always teling us that when we pray for each other, we have faith for what the other might not have faith for. Twenty-three years ago, Gordon had faith for me that I would marry. And I did. Having faith for each other is kinda like walking arm-in-arm, lending sight (or perhaps vision) to the one who doesn't have it.

Another aspect that occurred to me was that when we can see clearly, we walk confidently and often directly and quckly from place to place. But when we walk by fatih, we often stumble, don't know exactly where we are headed, perhaps wander a bit, and walk more sloly and tentatively.

We often compare outselves to others, our lives to others' lives, our work to others' work, our homes to others' homes--and we often fall short. But you know, getting a lot done, having a perfect home, having a neat-tidy life, doesn't necessarily mean that a person is on the right path. Perhaps they are walking more by sight than by faith.

But you know (spoken from one who by nature is competetive), life's not a race. Close your eyes so you don't see you neighbors's life to compare to your own. Close your eyes and take God's arm and walk by faith. Who cares wher w end up or how meandering the path is--it's the company that counts.

Gary speaks cat!

We have been cleaning, sorting and boxing things to kind of make up for not having built a closet yet or even finished our bathroom remodel. Gary has gone through and repacked just about everything and the wall is lined neatly, nearly to the ceiling with boxes. Apparently, Mermott was overseeing all of this.

When Gary came out for dinner, he inadvertently left Mermott in there, fast asleep on the shelf on the wall. When we heard an enormous crash and the sound of fragile items smashing, he remembered Mermott was in there. When we went to check it out, boxes were overturned and there was almost no entry into the room, and though I called, Mermott was nowhere to be seen.

Gary and I started in immediately on cleaning up and after about 10 minutes, Mermottt appeared from some hiding hole, apparently satisfied that the crashing was now over. I picked her up and petted her and asked her if she was okay. She chirped at me and Gary translated confidently, "Milk please, and make it a double!"

Mermott and Cain

My cat Mermott, eldest daughter of Queen Nermal, only kitten in her litter. has been a little haughty lately. She has this household figured out. She sits on my desk every morning for her pets. After the dog is put away for the night, she calls me into the kitchen, chirping as she leads me along, looking back frequently to make sure I am following, and when we get to the kitchen, looking at the refrigerator and very politely and clearly saying, "Milk?" She is comfortable. She has my attention.

The problem is that she thinks her position is a one-cat-only position. Nermal, always sits at my feet. That's okay with Mermott, because she has a "higher" spot, on my desk. The other day after petting WrongWay (Mermott's niece), I put her on the back of my office chair, and when Mermott entered the room and saw that there was someone occupying a position as high as hers, oh the tone of voice she used! I'm sure I don't have the vocabulary to translate THAT.

But from MY standpoint, I enjoy all my cats. I feed them all. I care for them all. So why does Mermott think she needs to have something no one else has? The truth is, each relationship with each cat is unique, simply because each cat is unique. Susie comes in, eats, and goes out as if this were a fast-food joint. She will allow me to hold her and pet her outside, especially int he hay barn, but not so much in the house. Nermal is at my feet no matter where I go. Mermott is the only one who asks for milk. Buster keeps my chair warm. So why does Mermott think no one else should get pets or a spot by me, it doesn't take anything away from her uniqueness. There is no shortage of attention for Mermott because of any of the other cats, no shortage of food....What's up with wanting to be high mucky-muck?

“Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? ⁷ If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.”

I suppose no one, not even me, expects a cat to overcome the sin crouching at the door. But I find it interesting that most of MY relationship problems come directly from my similarity to Cain. When my friend is favored by God, I should rejoice, but instead, I'm jealous. I am SO Cain. How do I get out of THAT?

Focus! (Dancing with God)

For the past two years, my five-year-old gelding, Pablo, has lived a life of ease, spending time with his herd (his sister and the pony-boss), having meals provided to him, and just being a pet. His sister recently left us and now that the herd is more manageable, my son and I have been spending more time with them. This has brought to my attention some lapses in manners that Pablo has slipped into, which needed remedying. So I invited Laura out to give Pablo a little brush-up course.

First, Pablo did not want to be caught, and before Laura got here, we spent an hour doing laps around the "barn" until he finally tired and consented to be caught. He was not much better for Laura, either, and over the course of another hour, she worked him up into a lather. She backed and ran him and taught him to focus on her. Over and over, she had to remind him that he needed to pay attention to her and her only, and when he didn't, boy was he in trouble. By the end, they were dancing. When she would step forward, he would step back; when she would step back, he would step forward; when she would take a step toward his shoulder, he would take a step away. It looked like a graceful waltz. But he was paying attention to her and her only. Even his head was lowered so that his eyes were at the level of her eyes.

Later that day, I heard a song on the radio, and part of lyrics reminded me very much of the dance that Laura and Pablo did. "I won't speak until You speak. I won't move until You move." And I have to think, am I the horse who is looking at and listening to everything that is going on around me, and sometimes walking into my master, or sometimes refusing to move; or am I the horse who is so focused on my master that I don't hear anything else? I want to be so focused on my Master that when He speaks, I speak His words and when He moves, I also move.

But this takes FOCUS. I have to admit that my first thought of every day is more likely to be "What am I going to do today?" rather than, "Lord, what do You want me to do today?". I have been living a life of ease, a quiet life in a pasture with my herd. A lovely life. But not a Servant's life. I need to focus!!

A Righteous Anger

One day at K’s baseball practice, while I was waiting for my walking partner to arrive. I noticed K not playing catch with the other boys, but lying face down in the grass, off to the side. I figured he was doing a “drama king’ thing because he didn't: get his way about something, but after it had gone on for a few minutes, I thought it was overdone and went to talk to him about it. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wet with tears and his cheeks were streaked. I asked what had happened and he said one of the other boys had said no one liked him and no one wanted to be his friend. My heart sank. I gave him a big hug and told him it simply wasn’t true and that was a very unkind thing to say to him. But I also told him that he was here to learn to play baseball, and he needed to take a deep breath, be brave and go back and do his best. About that time the coach called the boys in and Keary rather glumly sauntered over. I heard the coach ask Keary what was wrong, and I heard Keary say that someone had said no one liked him, but I kept walking away and did not hear the rest.

My walking partner had arrived in the meantime and had been using the port-a-potty and heard the coach’s speech. Unaware of what had preceded it, she said to me, “Boy, I’d hate to be the offending party!” I asked her about it, and she said the coach was saying that all of them were on the same team, on the same side, helping each other, supporting each other, and if he EVER heard anyone talking meanly to another teammate, he would call their parents on the spot and they would be going home.

An hour or so later, when I went to pick K up, he was a smiling, happy child. And I was thankful that my son had a champion.

Don't be afraid

We have this cat, Joe Kitty, who doesn't see very well, and so she pretty much stays indoors. But she still loves fresh air and sunshine. It has been warm and sunny lately, and we have had our office window open. Needless to say, Joe Kitty has been hanging out by it. Yesterday, a really loud plane flew overhead. Of course, because the window was open, it was even louder than planes usually are. It was the kind that make you run to see if they are planning to land on the roof. Joe Kitty was petrified. She couldn't even run. She just made herself as flat as she could and hoped it wouldn't see her. I just kept right on typing. When it was over, Joe Kitty tiptoed over to me and looked at me quizzically, almost as if to say, "You weren't afraid!" So I picked her up and held her close and petted her and said to her, "I wasn't afraid, so you don't need to be either." And I could feel her muscles relax and she started purring.

And I thought, That's how God holds us too, in our times of fear and doubt, and He says to us, "I am not afraid, so you don't need to be either."

A Chair is a Chair

When I was in college, one of my education professors cautioned us not to jump too quickly to a diagnosis of dyslexia in young readers. He went on to explain that up until a child learns to read, position doesn’t matter. For example, a chair is a chair, whether it is facing right or left or if it is upside down. One of my very first memories of reading was that I had written my name on the inside of the lid of my pencil box. It was a light blue cardboard box and I had taken the entire width to write “J o b I e”. (I think the “e” was backwards too.)
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So years later, when I read the book of Job, I felt a special connection, not only because I was a teenager when I read it (and I suspect every teenager thinks his/her life is the hardest, meanest, most stressful life ever lived), but also because I had this memory of my name being written “Jobie”. As an adult, after I had my first miscarriage, I again could relate to Job, only this time taking away the quote, “Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him.” (Job 13:15).

Recently, a friend of mine brought up Job. She said that she felt more like his friends than she would like. This year, through the course of our difficulties, I thought about Job again, but I realize my life does not even hold a candle to his. But after my friend’s comment, I got to thinking. It’s actually true that I have acted more like Job’s friends this year than Job. Early in the year, when I broke my leg and we lost our granddaughter, I was inwardly angry. And I spoke very arrogantly to a friend. And later in the summer, I apparently made a remark (or two) that another friend considered condescending.


My father-in-law is an alcoholic and he has been through many cycles of recovery and relapse. Often, during his recovery, he is arrogant and uncompassionate, as if to say, “If I can get my life right, so can everyone else”, and there is no grace in him. I’m guessing that’s pretty much how I have come off to people. I never meant it that way, but I think it’s been interpreted that way.

Nevertheless, that’s definitely NOT a god-like attitude. And if it takes hard times to produce the fruit of compassion in me, then let them come. I would much rather have hard things in my life, if that’s what it takes for me to reflect God’s heart, than to have everything come easy but be arrogant and condescending.

Chemisty

Boiling points. I remember learning that different liquids had different boiling points. It was in junior high. It's one thing to learn it in your head, but to see someone stick their hand in a boiling pan of alcohol--you expect them to pull their hand out and for it to be painful and blistered and red Not so. Alcohol boils at a temperature not too much above body temperature....

But the most vivid demonstration that sticks in my memory is when Mr. Browning, in Chem I, took a gigantic glass flask (like a 10-gallon flask, with sides at least an inch thick) that was full of ice water and made it boil. Impossible you say? Nope. Even the temperature at which water boils is affected by the pressure over it. By creating a vacuum in the flask, Mr. Browning was able to make the ice-cold slush contained inside it BOIL! Boiling slush. Such an unusual sight, it's still in my memory like it was yesterday, and it was over 30 years ago!

We use the same principle in pressure cookers. Just as water boils at a lower temperature under less pressure (which is why you have to cook things longer at higher altitudes, by the way-less atmospheric pressure); it boils at a higher temperature under pressure. That is why we use a pressure cooker for canning starchy vegetable snd meats, so they will "boil" at a higher temperature, a temperature high enough to kill the dangerous bacteria, like botulism, which can withstand normal boiling temperatures.

But an interesting thing happens as a jar of water is boiled in a pressure canner. As the water boils inside the jar at hotter-than-normal boiling temperatures, air is forced out of the jar. As the jar then cools, the lid seals before it has reached room temperature, creating less pressure inside the jar than there is on the outside. That's why when you open the jar, you hear that characteristic "shoop" as air rushes in to equalize the pressure.

The interesting thing is this. because the water inside the jar is under less pressure, it will now "boil" at a lower temperature than water under normal atmospheric pressure.

I think that is why Joy bubbles up through all kinds of circumstances. It may look odd to us to see people joyfully worshiping God on the streets of Haiti, amid hunger and stench and unknown futures. But it's really the same thing as seeing a boy put his hand in a boiling kettle of alcohol or ice-cold slush boiling. They have been "cooked" under pressure, and their boiling points have been lowered. Joy bubbles up through it all.

I "listen" to my teenage friends on Facebook struggling under the pressures of their lives, and I remember being a teenager, and how hard it was; and yet, being an adult is so much harder. But we don't get there overnight--most of us. We are boiled in the pressure cooker of life over and over, hotter and hotter, under more pressure each time, until we get to the point where we bubble at room temperature.

Juxtaposition

I just love the sound of that word. Do you ever come across a word that is just fun to say? In medical transcription, my fun phrase is "popliteal fossa". It's just fun to say. Same with "juxtaposition". But I like the meaning of the word too. I think it pretty much describes my faith.

I have from time to time, tongue-in-cheek, and with all apologies to those suffering from mental illness in earnest, said that God must be schizophrenic, or of two minds. How else could He grieve at the horrors going on the world and at the same rejoice with those who are rejoicing?

How is it that the very God whose "fingerwork" is the galaxies that we see as stars could care to count the hairs on my head? How is it that this God would take the form of man and die on a cross so that the relationship between Him and me could be restored? How can God, who is so big (gigantic, monstrous, enormous, immense, powerful, immeasurable, unfathomable) be concerned about what is so small? How is it that He can rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn, all at the same time?

And how is it that despite my circumstances,the long uphill journey I have laid out before me, I can still be filled with Joy? It's as if no amount of pressure can keep the surface of the deep from bubbling. Thankfulness and joy cannot be contained........you can clothe them will illness and dark circumstances, but they persist.

The Hope that I was looking for last fall isn't related to any circumstances or feelings. My hope is in my redeemer....and He, whose fingerwork is the stars, even cares for me. How can I not find Joy in that?

Juxtaposition....

Eew, gross!!

We have been watching M.A.S.H. lately. We just saw the episode where BJ Hunnicut arrives. The trip from Kempo to M.A.S.H. 4077 inducts him fairly well, as they meet a patrol on the way that has been wounded and needs assistance. BJ's first look at the shredded abdomen of a soldier leaves him heaving in the dirt.

My mom recently had carpal tunnel surgery, and I looked up pictures on Google Images, to get a better idea of what took place during the surgery. Keary came in the room and looking over my shoulder said, "Is that a REAL hand? EEW GROSS!"

My friend, Sue, who had a below-the-knee amputation years ago, sometimes takes her prosthesis off in church, when it is uncomfortable, but she is very careful to cover her stump, especially from the view of children, as the view to people is often shocking.

I feel the same way about my own incisions. Though they are nothing really gross to look at, they are not they way God intended my foot to look, and I always have the reaction, "Eew, gross" when I catch sight of them, and then sadness comes, and then thankfulness that I still have my foot.

But all this converging got me to wondering if that isn't God's immediate reaction to the sin in our lives. I mean, He created us in His image. I'm pretty sure He intended us to be sinless. And so when He looks at us, I wonder if the first reaction in His heart is, "Eew, gross." Followed by sadness. Followed by thankfulness, that we have chosen relationship with Him.