The Playhouse


  "Sunday afternoon will work for us.  Sure, we're excited about seeing your new place."  That was our response to Camea's invitation to check out her newly acquired Clinton address.  She thought it had a lot of perks - she was less than a mile from her campus job, the rental house was large with four generous bedrooms, and she would be dividing the rent with three other girls she had known during her college years.
  The directions led us down a shady street in a quiet neighborhood.  We spotted the Dobbs' van and pulled into the drive.  Camea met us at the door apologizing for the scraggly front yard.  It was obvious that the owner definitely hadn't competed for the yard of the month sign, but I quickly visualized what a weed-eater and my yellow trimmers could do.
  The neighbor's large oak accommodated both yards, and a healthy Bradford pear filled a major section of their rental yard.  The walkway pavers needed some adjustments, and the out-of-control azalea by the front  door screamed for the pruning shears.  I assured Camea that help was on the way.  Her yard wouldn't be scraggly for long!
  The modest house front camouflaged the spacious interior.  We were amazed at the living space - so much that Camea had arranged three separate but roomy seating areas in the den.  That room opened into the kitchen that was large enough to serve the MC football team!  A rambling island stretched across the center tiles and stopped several feet away from a sturdy ten-seater farm table.  The entire back of the kitchen was a wall of windows that looked out on a breezy porch and wandering back yard.
  That kitchen was an entertainer's dream.  A double oven and acres of cooking space had promises for food and fellowship, but the large floor tiles were the downside.  I couldn't get past them to enjoy the variety of amenities.  I squatted to look closer - then grabbed a wet sponge.  The tiles weren't worn or damaged - they were dirty!
  It wasn't my usual Sunday afternoon agenda, but the unsightly floor needed attention.  Tahya grabbed another scrubber and followed me.  CandyLee saw the real floor color and joined us after she laid aside her guitar.  She continued to sing as she scrubbed, bragging on the kitchen's great acoustics.
  I heard Othel ask Kevin if they had cable.  Camea answered and told them the girls hadn't connected it but might later.  Othel stared at the blank screen and helpless remote.  A wave of pity crossed his countenance.
  I located a sponge mop and gave the tiles a real scrub.  Camea couldn't believe it.  They had a new floor!  I was celebrating the fact that we might have saved them from some rare disease hibernating in the discolored tiles.
  As we gathered our things to leave, Camea thanked us again and said she was following us out to run by the grocery.  Their new quarters were settled enough to host a party, and she was inviting her youth group to come to their house after church.  "They're high school age and are looking for places to go, and I want to disciple as many as possible."
  I felt like rinsing the mop and giving my heart a good scrub.  My big concern had been a clean kitchen floor for hygiene reasons.  CandyLee was reveling in the acoustics, Othel was concerned about their being stranded from the news networks, and her parents were probably considering the safety of the neighborhood.  Camea saw their house as a meeting place to steer young people toward Jesus.
  As we pulled out of their driveway, I thanked God for Camea's new home and her passion to disciple.  Suddenly their scraggly yard was no longer a concern for me; it was my scraggly heart.



Sent from my iPad

                                               The Playhouse


   The jitters and anxiety of the first days of school have lost most of their steam as the classrooms begin falling into a pattern.  Our "little ones" will be filling their minds with new knowledge while most parents keep their fingers crossed that take-home-projects won't come early.
   From surface observation it's our expectation that the children enter the classrooms to learn while teachers teach.  As a grandparent I have a unique observation point that allows me to see that the roles can be reversed.  Even the very young can teach - even with limited skills.
   James Wesley, Baby James as his siblings call him, is a year old.  Most would call someone so young anything but a teacher, but don't let his age fool you.  I'm one of his most admiring students.
   He's taught me that a simple smile will open a lot of doors and get a lot of special favors that a frown would never render.  I like it that his young eyes haven't been trained to check out labels or fashion.  He loves his family just the way we are, and his smiles show his love even if it's infantile.
   He makes a variety of sounds but most are non-intelligible  Guess that's because he hasn't learned to talk.  Still, he's a great communicator, and it's because he's mastered a lot of body language skills.
   I've mentioned his smile - that's one of his key "words."  When he plants that smile on his countenance it's guaranteed he'll get one in return.  He's taught me that smiling is a body language that requires no vocabulary but speaks volumes.
   He's not big enough to extend a gentleman's handshake, but he's learned to hug and pat.  He's taught me that we all could use a few more hugs and pats.  They cost nothing but our time.
  He asks for a cup of milk or a snack from the pantry without the first verbal request.  His body language kicks in as he leans toward his need.  He's smart enough to have learned where to find the source.  I need to learn from James Wesley to turn my back to the world's solutions and lean toward my Source and Sustenance.
   Our youngest has mastered walking, but his toddler-size steps often collide with his older siblings.  When that happens he  "calls" for comfort, and his mother is the one he seeks.  If her hands are full doing three things at once, he's not deterred.  He clings to her legs until she can bend over to pick him up.
  He's a great teacher in that, too.  The world will always be filled with pain and tears, but until we cling to the true Comforter we find little consolation.
   James Wesley simply demonstrates what God's Word verbalizes:  A merry heart doeth good like a medicine;  Love one another;  Draw near to God and He will draw near to you;  My soul clings to You.
  Forget the Baby James name; it should be Little Professor.