Ornaments on the Tree: What do they remind you of?

Ornaments on the Tree: What do they remind you of?

“Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand.”

—Jeremiah 18:6

When I pulled out the ornaments from the storage box, I smiled as if greeting old friends. I hung the sailing ship on a welcome branch and remembered how I had a part in the History Channel docudrama, Desperate Crossing: The Untold Story of the Mayflower. Next I lifted the theater ornament and found a home for it near the top of the tree. Near it I placed the masks of comedy and tragedy and the red hat lady snow woman. All three reminded me of my years of acting and directing the drama ministry at my church. Then I dangled a food utensil, which made me recall the years I led the First Place 4 Health ministry at my church. I uncovered a colonial caroler, bringing to mind the year I visited Williamsburg several times. I found the teacher ornament and remembered how in my 40s I had switched careers from accounting to teaching, how it required going back to college for education courses and studying hard to pass the teacher certification exam.

Then it struck me, This is not about you and all that you accomplished.

Idioms, Peculiarities, and Personal Satisfaction

Let everyone be sure to do his very best, for then he will have the personal satisfaction of work done well and won’t need to compare himself with someone else.—Galatians 6:4

Okay, I admit it.  That bugs me.  There, I’ve said it.  What I’m talking about are those random spires of sorghum that rise far above the rest of the field.  I can’t help but notice them as I drive past—a peculiar sight that sticks out like a sore thumb. I imagine myself furiously slicing the stalks to line up with their neighbors.  But why?  Why do the overachieving shoots of grain bother me so much?  Is it because I prefer tidiness and clean lines—even, straight lines?  It’s true that a well-groomed lawn without a blade out of place is like a breath of fresh air to me.  And evenly aligned desks in my classroom make my heart sing. But could my annoyance over the perceived anomaly in the sorghum field stem from something much deeper?

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m behind the curve at work.  A few of my colleagues are flaunting cool technology in their classrooms, while I’m still trying to install the software—let alone use it.  They’re head and shoulders above the rest of us.  That bugs me.  But why?  Can I not celebrate their success without getting my nose out of joint?  Do I have to keep up with the Joneses?  Why do I want to be like them?  Is it fear that they will get noticed by the principal and I will not?  “For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man?”—Galatians 1:10

Proud as a Peacock

“For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”—Luke 14:11

There he was staring at his reflection in the glass door of the stripping house, a barn attachment once used for stripping tobacco.  But the irony in the picture was that the peacock had been stripped of his tail feathers…well, he had shed them. 

I had seen him in early summer admiring his reflection in the shine of the car door and had to admit he was stunning, his train of brilliant tail feathers extending four feet or more.  On a different occasion I had watched him shake his tail feathers and then fan them out in a beautiful array of blues and greens, turning around like a supermodel at the end of a runway.  Scientists say this is the peacock’s mating strut, designed to attract the peahen.  But I say he was just showing off for me, for there was not a peahen in sight. Hence, the origin of the saying proud as a peacock?