A September Medley

Psalm 81:3

"Blow the trumpet at the New Moon, at the full moon, on our feast day."

Trumpet

A trumpet sounds:

A royal din:

Our long-awaited

Groom steps in.

A joyful wedding

song now plays

and we will love Him

all our days.

***

End Times Tales: Every Little Bit Counts.

Lisa's father pointed his teaspoon in her direction as his brows drew together gloomily. "What's the point? There are masses of lost people in the city. What can one girl do? Besides," he added more gently. I don't want you getting hurt. People are just plain mean these days." He waved the spoon as Lisa quietly placed her books in her backpack. "It's not the old days anymore. Just like the Bible says, people are proud and boastful; scoffers, arrogant..."

"I know, Dad, but I have to try. It's what Jesus wants me to do. There's so little time left before the Rapture."

"Like shovelling sand with a teaspoon." Her Dad grumbled.

Lisa shook her head as she added a bundle of Gospel tracts to her bag. "Maybe so, Dad. But every little bit counts. And I'm going to start filling my teaspoon today."

***

How will you fill your teaspoon today?

****

NORWEGIAN NOSTALGIA

Abby opened the little wooden gate and paused, not sure whether she had the strength to walk up the path, let alone through the front door. It wasn't the task itself that scared her: rather, it was the emptiness that awaited her beyond the bright blue door. So she lingered for some moments in the pretty garden. She reached out to pick a salmon pink geranium and a wave of sorrow engulfed her. Then gathering her courage, she popped the flower in her buttonhole and unlocked the door.

Standing in the hallway, she marveled once more at its welcoming spaciousness. The cottage seemed to hold its arms open to her in Grandpa's absence. Grandpa. How she'd loved him. Her Norwegian Grandpa. Tears blurred her vision as she instinctively made her way to his favourite chair. She'd offered to help sort through Grandpa's things; Mom couldn't be expected to bear the burden alone. Not knowing how or where to start, she did the only thing she knew to do: she went to Grandpa's kitchen and made coffee.

Grandpa had been a minimalist. Unashamedly: but in the nicest way. He believed that a Christian shouldn't have too many possessions. Earthly treasures, he had called them, referring to the Bible. Grandpa had always kept a give-away box. Abby looked for it now, but couldn't find it. Had Grandpa known something? Could he have done a final declutter? She took a sip of the familiar coffee and took a closer look at the kitchen. The counters were nearly bare and held only a vase of brave roses from the garden and a couple of carved wooden cats. When Abby opened the cupboards, she discovered a few bare essentials. Three extra cups hung from hooks above the kettle but there were no stockpiles of food. Abby walked back to the lounge. It too, seemed extra pared down. Most of Grandpa's books were gone, except a coffee table book on Norway. Tears threatening once more, Abby carried it to Grandpa's armchair. The book was no longer glossy: it was worn and well-loved. When she was little, she and Grandpa would sit together, the big book open on their laps. And he would tell her about the city of Bergen where he grew up as well as his countryside adventures. She'd listen in awe as he'd tell about wonders like the northern lights, mountains, spring-time flower carpets and jewel-coloured water. Abby revisited those memories now as she paged through the special book. When she flipped back to the front, a lump formed in her throat. Grandpa had written a note to her there. Surprised, she noticed how recent the date was.

"My dearest Abby," he'd written. "Most of my things are gone now honey. I didn't want you and your mom to have to sort through a bunch of things. I thought you might like to keep our special book though. :) Who knows, maybe you will go to Norway one day. Please visit all our favourite places if you do. Remember, honey, stuff is not important; it is God who must have first place. The wooden box in my bedroom is for your mom. Love you to the northern lights and back. Grandpa."

Abby wiped at her eyes and swallowed. Dear, dear Grandpa. Clasping the book, she gazed out of the window at Table Mountain. The sky above it was as blue as Grandpa's eyes and seemed to beckon her to new adventures. One day soon, God willing she would go to Norway. Maybe mom would go too. And seeing as Grandpa had left so little to do, she decided to start decluttering her own house right away. It seemed as though Grandpa was ever so near as she walked down the garden path, with his book held close to her heart.

****