Good evening, Samara.
I would have liked to begin with “Good morning.” But it’s way too late for that. This morning is already history.
I took some time to compose a little story this morning surrounding something that happened to me last Sunday. I’ll share it with you as an attachment. Feel free to laugh at me.
Have a good night
Love, Tua.
I like how The Message Translation puts this verse: “Grow a wise heart — you'll do yourself a favor;keep a clear head — you'll find a good life.” I judge this to be very sound and reliable advice. Please agree, Samara. It requires one to not just live for the moment—but to think in terms of the future—calculating the long-range results of one’s short-range choices.
We’ve already established that WISDOM is valuable and important. But how does it happen? How is it acquired? Of course, “The fear of the LORD” is an essential starting point (Proverbs 1:7; 9:10). But verse 20 of this same chapter (Proverbs 19) offers another simple recipe. “Listen to advice and accept instruction, and in the end you will be wise.” It cannot be otherwise.
When one rejects this fundamental advice, verse 27 tells what happens as a result. “Stop listening to instruction, my son, and you will stray from the words of knowledge.” In other words, neglecting the pursuit of WISDOM and UNDERSTANDING causes a serious failure in your guidance system for navigating your life, which causes you to go off course. Once again, it cannot be otherwise.
There may be someone out there needing a good therapeutic laugh. After all, “A merry heart does good, like medicine” (Proverbs 17:22, NKJV). To be sure, this laugh is on me—not on anyone else. This account is true—painfully true. And I have not changed the names of those involved so as to protect the innocent. This laugh is especially NOT on our dear sweet lady, Sandy Casterline, who greeted me after the service this last Sunday while I was sitting in our van waiting for Becki. Sandy’s words were something like this as she handed me a small packet: “Here’s a belated ‘Merry Christmas.’ This is made with goat milk.” “Well, thank you very much, Sandy.” Jim Eller approached me about then. I had just popped a few cashews in my mouth taken from a canister we have stashed in the van and I offered some to him. He declined. His main intent was to ask me about our decision relating to the invitation we had received to cover a 3-month school term in Vanuatu. I told him we had accepted the invite. He expressed confidence that we would. After he left me, and for reasons I’m about to disclose, you will understand why I was glad he left me. As I sat there munching on the cashews, my attention returned to the packet Sandy had given me. She may have told me what it was, but the only thing that stuck in my little bald head was the phrase “goat milk”—a common well-known source of food. And since my past experiences with goat milk in its various forms have all been favorable, I felt no reluctance to try blending a sampling of Sandy’s goat milk “fudge” with my mouth full of cashews. I took a little bite off the corner. That, of course, was a mistake. It didn’t take long for me to realize something was wrong. “Yuck! Aghhh!!” I quickly dispelled the contents of my mouth—at least tried. I also dispelled the notion from my now enlightened mind that Sandy didn’t know much about making fudge—realizing with self-embarrassment that this was not fudge at all! “You big dummy!” I said to myself—“This is SOAP!!!” Spit, gag, spit, gag! I was sure glad no one was there to see me in that frenzy. Spit, gag, spit, gag! Thankfully we had a bottle of water in the van. Gargle, swish, spit. Gargle, swish, spit. Foamy spit! Whew! In spite of my self-inflicted misery, the whole scene tickled me. It became a case of miserable giggling—or giggling misery. Once again, I was glad no one was watching. When Becki entered the van, I couldn’t very well hide that something was amiss and reluctantly confessed what had just happened. “Don’t tell anyone!” I said. The embarrassment was just too unbearable. But obviously my preference for transparency has since trumped my secret shame, as evidenced by the fact that I’m hereby going public—with the hope of imparting a sanctified laugh. To be sure, my mouth was sanctified—washed out with soap—even though I hadn’t been cussing—at least not till then. Just kidding. I didn’t even cuss then. It was just toooooo funny for that!! But now I also have to wonder: Do I need more prayer than I know? I’ll leave you free to answer that question—and to pray accordingly.