Holding On

Holding On

Some of you dear servants of Christ have just put your son or daughter on a plane, to fly to a boarding school far away. You won’t see them for three months. You will repeat this two more times this year: first, the giddy anticipation of their arrival and straining for your first glimpse of them coming down the exit ramp. Few joys compare!

And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.

Secondly, the unfolding joys of being together again. Please, please lay aside a few of your “ministry” appointments for this short month. Revel in your mothering ministry. You won’t regret time spent diffusing the light of the gospel to the disciples you birthed.

Then there’s the third, and necessary strand to make the picture complete: seeing the back of her as she turns to face her future.

 

Holding On

She plays her music.
I quilt and listen
to the chords I hear
one month in four.

I let her music roll around in my heart
Because I know the moment will end –
How long can I cling,
hold on?
Not too long, lest I rob her of joy.

Unbearably hot, this weather.
I prepare iced coffee
which we share together –
a favorite of hers.

Conversation flows happily from serious to hilarious,
My daughter, my friend,
How long can I cling,
hold on?
Just short of “too long” lest she suspect my heart.

We stroll downtown
admiring the latest facelifts in our African city.
She is slender and strong
But I am not too old beside her!

Our feet in step, our hearts growing closer
as she becomes a woman.
How long can I cling,
hold on?
Not too long, lest she be forced to tear herself away.

It’s time.
She, anxious to put the long, bumpy miles behind her.
Me, anxious about the inevitable pain.
We embrace. I snatch at my breath
that escapes in a sob.
How long can I cling to her,
hold on?
Oh, mother, not too long – but long enough
to express what our hearts already know.
My daughter, I must let you slide easily,
Gently from my grasp.

How long can I cling to You,
hold on?

“Oh, daughter, cling to Me,
hold on.
I will never let you go.
You will never turn around to find Me gone.

Blessed are the mothers who let go …
and cling.”

January 3, 1999

 

Oh, don’t forget the rest of the verse. It’s the promise Jesus made to all those who carry His gospel to wherever He sends them – you to your village, your son and daughter to their dorm:

And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.“

“I am with you to bear you up, to plead your cause; with you in all your services, in all your sufferings, to bring you through them with comfort and honor.” Matthew Henry

“I will not leave you or forsake you. I Am, the One with all authority in heaven and earth, your Friend who sticks closer to you than the sweetest relation —will forever hold on to you.

Matthew 28:18-20; Joshua 1:5; Proverbs 18:24

Feasting in the Wilderness

Feasting in the Wilderness

“What keeps you going?”, he asked. It’s a canned question, but meant to give veterans the chance to encourage young missionaries, I suppose. How do I answer that? What remarkable, memorable statement could I utter that would make a lasting impression, maybe even change him forever? My genuine answer, the one my heart immediately trumpeted, was just one very loud word: “Jesus!”. But that’s so expected. I’m a missionary after all, and that’s what you’d expect me to say. How boring. “Jesus, literally, truly, absolutely, keeps me going.” I told him that, not because he expected me to (he didn’t), but because this is one, true thing I know for sure-without-a-doubt.

The sun has set on our Namibia assignment. There was a day, or a week here and there, where I was able to exercise my gifts to teach and encourage others to follow Jesus Christ and know His word. Mostly though, it has been twenty-one months of isolation, of a life un-peopled, of being invisible. So, during our end-of-term review, I had to answer another question posed by my leadership: How has your emotional health been this term? I wrote one word: fragile.

The multiplied hardships that characterize a missionary life, and this assignment in particular, look like a recipe for emotional meltdown. Too often we respond to such a recipe by fighting back, demanding attention, and becoming self-focused. Our soul grows bitter, depressed and rebellious. And I could see it coming. I wasn’t immune.  But meltdown didn’t happen. My soul is healthy!

Most of my needs for friendship, companionship and to be useful (other than within my precious marriage) went unmet month after long month. But my heart danced!  How is that? I am not hardier of character or a “stronger Christian” than other people. A friend once marveled at how I could “just leave my family” for years on end and live far over the ocean. She comforted herself by telling me she supposes I don’t have the same emotions she has so being a missionary comes easy for me. I wanted to punch her, (which is proof that I’m not a “stronger Christian”). It is precisely because of my weakness that Jesus, and only Jesus, is “what keeps me going”. He is my satisfaction, my joy, my salvation, my peace, my Redeemer, my everything.

Jesus. The Holy Spirit took me deeper into the knowledge of Christ through His word. Oh! The depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! [All of the riches of his grace are mine, now, in this situation!] How unsearchable are His judgements. [He, in all His bottomless wisdom, has put me here.] How inscrutable His ways! [Who do I think I am to question His way with me?]

Jesus. God revealed. God is a Spirit, infinite, eternal, and unchangeable in his being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth. [I am humbled before such a matchless Master.]

Jesus. He has loved me with an everlasting love. I am not my own. [I don’t belong to me.] I was bought with a price. [He paid the price for my sin with his own life, his own blood. He bought me back from my old master, sin. So of course He will protect my wobbly faith.] “Therefore, my soul, glorify God!”

Jesus. The Great I AM. He has come to me, seeing me in my rocking boat, and has passed by, in order that I might gaze on His glory. Oh, listen my soul! It’s not that Jesus gets in the boat with me, takes my storm away and says, “It’s ok, we’re good.” He did not get in my boat but has desired to show me his glory. He beckoned me to look long at Him, at His person and identity. And then I was not afraid, or angry, or demanding to be useful. After all, why would I be?

Jesus. The one who I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day. [I have committed the salvation and the preservation of my soul to him. He will keep it. I can stay in my right mind and not give myself up to an attack of doubt or panic.]

Jesus. The one the prophets foretold. The one about whom the Scriptures were written that I might know God and have eternal life. His word is written for our learning, that we through the patience and comfort of the Scriptures might have hope. [The hope and comfort I need each day is to be found in Christ as I learn about Him in the Bible.]

Jesus. According to His mercy [not my usefulness] He saved me, through the washing of regeneration [I am baptized into Christ, He claims me as His own!] and renewing of the Holy Spirit [every day, he is continually renewing my soul, helping me change my mind and think rightly about him and others, and myself.]

Jesus. He daily blessed me with his presence and spooned into me the knowledge of Him. He fed me with Himself through reading His word, meditating, accepting his correction and repenting.

And so, one by one, the days passed in pondering Christ rather than myself. My fragility became my strength and my joy. I learned not to recoil from the ache in my heart, but let Jesus use it to make me more like Him, that He would be shown as glorious.

Having learned more about the measure of faith I’ve been assigned, I won’t put God to the test by seeking a second assignment that entails such isolation, though! I won’t court trouble. Trials will come without my looking for them.

Back in my home culture, where life is comfortable, I let down my guard. I know from experience that I eventually lose the fragility and my sense of utter dependence on Jesus Christ. This frightens me. I have feasted too much on Him in this wilderness to be satisfied with any less of Him in the “land of plenty”.

Romans 11:33-36; I Corinthians 7:23; II Timothy 1:12; Hebrews 1; Titus 3:5

Resources that help me to bring God’s word to bear on my soul: Matthew Henry’s Commentary on the Whole Bible, Unabridged; John Calvin’s Commentary on Psalms; sermons by Aaron Messner  and daily devotion guide .

A Watcher for the Sojourner

A Watcher for the Sojourner

Reading Psalm 146 today, I thought of you, my friends who know what it is to move back and forth between countries, continents and cultures; who experience a life-style of goodbyes. I think of you, the expert at home decorating with whatever is on hand and accomplishing a sense of place inside of two weeks; you who search out local ingredients and invent tasty, once-in-a-lifetime meals that can’t be duplicated in the next location. I think of you, my missionary friend, my military child, who is ever conscious of the truth that we really are pilgrims here, always living in transit.

“The Lord watches over the sojourners.” Sojourner is defined as a person who is living in a place temporarily. What really grabbed my attention in this Psalm is the fact that the sojourner is mentioned right in there with the special attention the Lord pays to the oppressed, the hungry, the prisoners, the blind [and I think we can say the disabled in general], the depressed in spirit, the widow and the orphan. Take another look at this list and we see those who are left behind in the mainstream of social life. They live in the margins, outside of the daily rhythm of public and domestic life. Does that seem like your life? If living is riding a pony on the merry-go-round, these people are the ones sitting on the bench watching, powerless to jump on. We who spend decades of our lives moving from one temporary place to the next are like those who lope alongside the wheel but don’t ever seem to achieve the stride necessary to leap up onto it. And it certainly isn’t going to stop for us. God knows us, my friend. He knows the trials and temptations unique to our sojourner status. He has not forgotten that we are, after all, dust. Our dust is composed of change, uncertainty and temporal transience, never quite fitting in, a part of our heart always someplace where we aren’t. There are trials and temptations that are peculiar to such dust. We are prone to particular sins and weaknesses. Our Father knows this. He knows our dust. And He has a particular promise for us. He will watch over us.

God our Father watches over the sojourner. To watch is to observe attentively over a period of time. He watches without blinking. He doesn’t watch like a casual observer; waiting to see what will happen, or for his entertainment. He is a Watcher who goes before, removing obstacles we don’t even notice. He guards our back from innumerable spiritual attacks which he knows we aren’t ready to face today. He watches for the pit carved out by the enemy to swallow up our restless soul. He watches as our guard, to protect us from misunderstandings or irreparable cultural faux pas . He watches; he sees what you, and I, don’t because we can never completely understand the culture where we are or the assignment we have. There are too many unknowns in our lives; too many blind spots. He knows the unknowns, sees what we never will and Watches out for us, you and I. He watches with intent – the intent to comfort and preserve our souls.

My friends, if our God works justice for the oppressed, frees prisoners, opens blind eyes, lifts up those who are bowed down, relieves the orphan and the widow, you can be sure that He watches you, a sojourner. And you can be confident that His watching is exactly what you need. Trust yourself to his vision and view of things. Rest your soul today, because God is your Watcher and Preserver.

Is That ALL?

Is That ALL?

“Is that ALL?”, I fairly shouted at God. After asking Him, beseeching Him earnestly for rain; after days of watching the storms come close but then skirt our town, the thunderheads rolled in. I had been watching them all day as they slowly crawled up to us. Before evening they arrived, and the rain did fall, hard and promising. I stood at the kitchen window to watch this answer to prayer unfold. Audibly, I thanked the God who sent it our way this time. However, the yard of sand was barely wet before the clouds released just one, final dribble, thus ending what had barely begun. And I was incredulous. I heard a loud whine – “Really, God? Is that all you’re giving us after such a long and hopeful wait?” Oops. That voice was mine. …

“Is that all?” It’s December 26th. Maybe you heard the whine from a child. Or maybe you thought it. The post-Christmas let down. Then there’s a hazy, nagging disappointment at the close of a happy event, meeting or conversation. You had somehow expected — more. And then there are the large and looming disappointments, like:

the end of a relationship – “Is this it, then? After all these years is this ALL?”,
or looking back on years of living in hard-to-be places so that some might come to know Christ Jesus, and asking “Is this it? All my life for this small handful of fruit? Really, God?”
or studying hard for that one degree that will get you that job that will get you that career …but it doesn’t work out that way and you sputter “Really, God? Is this ALL I’m to expect?”

Ah, you and I, once young, rising stars who could go anywhere and do anything. The older, wiser ones nodded and smiled, and waited to see what we’d become. The brightness has now faded into a glow. We are ordinary after all. Are you tempted to disappointment? “Is this all, Lord?” Had we expected more fruit, or more affirmation, or to be more cherished, or for more in our 401K? Let’s be careful that the questions we pose, silently or audibly, do not stem from a bitter root of chronic disappointment.

A chronically disappointed person is, at the root, a person in rebellion against God. Pow. Pretty strong statement there, but I didn’t make it up. From Genesis (or at least Exodus 16) all the way through to the apostles’ specific teachings (especially Hebrews 3:7-19) to those of faith in Christ we are warned: ungratefulness = unbelief = disobedience = rebellion = sin (= death). A chronically disappointed heart is a complaining heart. Complaining isn’t really against other people or circumstances; it is really ultimately against God. It is saying, “I am not getting my due, so therefore God isn’t really good. I would do it differently, better. I would be a better god than God.” Does this ring a bell? Know of anyone who has taken action on that premise? So, yes, this is serious stuff. My innocent outburst against the rain stopping may not have been so innocent. Our spontaneous expressions of exasperating disappointment are red flags that direct us to peer into our own hearts and identify sin that may be hiding there. Due to the eternal goodness of God, He is eager to grant us repentance.

So what does repentance look like in this case? Romans 2:4 is a good start. First, you and I must own up to our unbelief. This is called confession. Repentance means to stop going one way, to turn and go a different direction. God’s goodness is meant to turn us. We want to choose the road of chronic gratefulness instead.

… I clapped my hand over my mouth, and went to study my wall map, which is a visual tool I’ve created to help me cultivate gratefulness. This is where I note the ways God’s goodness is clearly visible to me. The map is quickly filling with notes of gracious over-and-above blessings, the sequence and timing of each one truly remarkable, gifts with my name on it from my Heavenly Father. The little “overflowing bowl” icons I draw by each note far outnumber the little icons identifying activities and outcomes that might be in the “Is this all?” category. Clearly, then, God is more interested in sustaining, supporting and encouraging me than he is in waving successes and fruits of my labor before my eyes. His will for you and me is to believe Him with a thankful heart. “As you therefore have received Christ Jesus the Lord [have you?], so walk in Him, rooted and built up in Him and established in the faith, as you have been taught, abounding in it with thanksgiving [italics mine].” Col. 2:6, 7  I am amazed, humbled. How dare I not believe in His sovereign goodness. How dare I not overflow with thanksgiving?

“It this all, then? That’s IT?” Yes, for some things it is. The time comes to recognize the end of some events, some seasons. It is with thankfulness that we do so because we know that God is good in all He does. “Oh, that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men! [That would be you and me.] For He satisfies the longing soul, and fills the hungry soul with goodness.” Ps. 107:8

At the edge of my map I have written these verses:
My counsel shall stand, and I will do all My pleasure. … Indeed I have spoken it; I will also bring it to pass. I have purposed it; I will also do it. Is. 46:10, 11

This is NOT all!, the Only Just, Righteous, Good God has declared! There is more! He is not finished! No one, nothing, will derail or stop Him from completing His good plan for you and me, and all His creation. So, hold your tongue when the rain stops – unless it speaks from a grateful heart.

Will You Not Play?

Will You Not Play?

“Will you play cello in the small orchestra I’m assembling?” the music director asked. It was 1987, in Lisbon, where we were immersed in language learning for two years in preparation for work in Lusophone Africa. I had left my cello behind at the urging of a well-known ethnomusicologist who warned me that if the “indigenous people are exposed to western tone structure and instruments they will lose their own music”. The inference was that I would be committing an unpardonable anthropological crime if I took my cello to Africa. But I received the exhortation as godly wisdom and relinquished my hobby for the higher calling on my life: to take the word of God to a people who did not yet have it. I believed that my God would provide anything he knew I had to have to thrive in our new place. And so, I gave my regrets to the director – who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

“…but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him; in those who hope in his steadfast love.” Psalm 147:11

“I think I have a cello for you!” responded this persistent one. Sure enough, stashed away in someone’s attic languished a cello. It had been purchased years earlier at the flea market but the owner left it when she returned to her home country. It was in poor condition from lack of care and full of wood-worm holes. My heart sank as I considered the fortune required to have it repaired. The owner, knowing this, sent me the message that if I could bear the cost of repair, it was mine. I didn’t have to pray about it. This was no coincidence. God knew more about my future location than the ethnomusicologist and I received his gift with two hands (the African way of receiving with a full and thankful heart). I felt the pleasure my heavenly Father took in returning music to me. What’s more, the cost of repair turned out to be minimal, due to the exchange rate at the time. My precious Lord brought to new life what I had put to death for his sake. He gave back the part of me that gave him pleasure. I became a cellist once again. And this cello made it to Africa.

I did not commit the unpardonable, anthropological crime. Coca-cola and pop music idols from the west had already beaten us to our destination. Our “oldies” were their “newsies” and how they loved them. Rock music blared from every bar (and there are many of those). Would my little ‘ole cello, being played in the house for my family’s benefit, corrupt the homes and neighborhoods where I lived? I thought not. Definitely not.

By 2010, this instrument had done a good bit of traveling. Finally, it returned to the U.S. with me. But it had literally come unglued during the flight. The extreme climates I’d exposed it to and that final journey had done a number. I had it repaired by a master and it’s probably a better specimen than it’s ever been. “Farmboy” (affectionately named in honor of its supposed origins – but that’s another story) is fragile, though. So, when my husband and I took this recent assignment in Namibia, I left it home. With the confidence of a “seasoned missionary”, well accustomed to necessary sacrifices, I didn’t think twice about living for two years without a cello. For a “seasoned missionary” with open-ended assignments lasting a decade or more under my belt, a two-year assignment is “nothing”. I actually convinced myself, and glibly declared to my friends, “I can do anything for two years! Why, that’s a drop in the bucket of life!” Not. Almost immediately the short-term assignment took on a plodding, endless character. Clearly, the God who gave his life to save me from such pride had more to teach me regarding being “seasoned” – mainly that it’s less about my history and more about him.

My perceptive husband was noticing that I just wasn’t “the gal I used to be”. After all, I had been attached to a cello when he met me. I was “M—E—who-played-the-cello”. Turns out, “cellist” is a part of me that also delights him, even as it delights my Lord. So my man was determined to find a cello for me here. It is true that in my uncertain moments before we left for Namibia I researched “travel cello” online. I actually found one, but didn’t pursue it. My husband, possibly fearing I would go the way of Farmboy and become unglued, directed me to put in an order for the “practice cello designed for air travel”, called Prakticello. This was risky. No cellist of my acquaintance had ever heard of this “instrument”. I had never seen it nor played it in person. Hubby was blessedly insistent, though, so we took the plunge and ordered. We found a traveler willing to hand carry it to the capitol. We drove a day (each way) to retrieve it. And now, I am a cellist — again. And once again, my heart leaps at the joy my heavenly Father has over me. As if his joy over saving and redeeming me from sin’s powerful grip, and forgiving me of my pride isn’t enough, he gives me a cello too! — again! I am not really a seasoned anything. But I am seasoned by God’s presence; daily sprinkled with his loving kindness, spiced up by his generosity and perfect gifts; growing older in the certainty that it delights him to season me so.

“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness, he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” Zephaniah 3:17

 

One of Those Days

One of Those Days

I’m wandering slowly, aimlessly thoughout the house, trying to think of an activity that will get my limbs moving. But not so much as to whip up all the hot air around me, making the heat even harder to ignore. I’d been sitting for quite some time, writing out long-hand my notes for the presentation I’m scheduled to give at a women’s conference later this week. I was tired of sitting so, after peeling my glowing arm off the paper, I stood. And made my way to … where? Oh my, it’s that 3 p.m. slump that presents itself most days at exactly this time. I usually weather it pretty well but when it’s this hot, I don’t weather much well. I’ll begin this sweaty, slump with a cup of coffee. A small one, because I don’t really yearn to drink it as much as I crave the ritual. Now, at least, I can wander slowly and aimlessly with coffee in hand.

Maybe I should go online, again, for the sixth time today, or the tenth. I lost track. I go online about as often as my husband dashes into the shower for a quick cooling. I have given up on that method of feeling good because the lovely, cool feeling doesn’t last long enough to get me from one side of our modest house to the other, making me feel quite cheated. Back to my idea of checking email again – I must exercise a bit of self-discipline. I pick up my Kindle instead, which doesn’t require hardly any effort to turn a page, and open to Colossians. I’m putting the text to music – for my personal benefit only. No one else would want to sing it as I’m certainly no composer.  I review a few “stanzas”.  There. That has reset my soul and I’m in a good place. What shall I do next?

Dust the sills. This doesn’t require hardly any energy and it always needs doing. The window sills are particularly disgusting. When the sand pit we call our yard blows daily into the house, I think 50% of it must make its landing on the sills before the remainder hits the floor. On my “full steam ahead” days, when I sweep and mop and do laundry and dust and bake and write and everything – I scorn the sills. They are speed bumps that curb my domestic enthusiasm. I have to actually slow down to dust them because of all the burglar bars that interfere. It is a tedious chore. Mindless. And just the thing for this hour.

Next? Here I sit, obviously. It really tells you something when a body is too languid to do anything but dust the sills and a mind too fried to do anything but write about it.

But behold! What is this? The wind is picking up! Do I hear thunder in the distance? Might this oppressive heat be a portent of a refreshing shower?

It occurs to me that quite a few people here are wilting under the oppression of the Enemy of their souls. Their spirits are languid, they are floundering, aimless, not knowing which way to turn. They are sheep without a shepherd, seedlings without water. On Friday I am bringing buckets of water to scores of women, many are plants of the Lord Jesus. I’m going to douse them in Colossians. We’re going to jump in, get washed up and stay in the cool water of God’s word for two days straight. I’m hoping to show some how to swim. It might be intolerably hot under the tin roof of the church building. I sure hope not, but if it is, we’ll need the cool water from heaven all the more.

The Silent Talk Show

“Hey, lets get a pizza over at Debonairs and see if their TV is showing the World Series!” (We don’t have TV. If something big happens, like hurricane Matthew, we race over to the 2-counter food court and ask them to flip the channel to BBC News.) It had been a full day and the house was just too hot to even make a sandwich in the kitchen. Besides, Debonairs has air conditioning! It didn’t take me any time at all to convince my husband this was a good plan. He was languishing (did I mention the heat?); he grew up in a Chicago suburb; his baseball team hadn’t won a World Series in over 100 years (he missed that game) and today the final game would be played. The winner would be the champion. So, just maybe, this one game would make world news. The food court it is.

Three men were chatting away on the wall screen. No green field, no ball players, no cheering fans. Just three men flapping their mouths up and down talking about … well, the management had it on mute but we soon surmised that this was a sports talk show, most likely out of neighboring South Africa. Then, suddenly, we were looking at a Cub’s game. “Look! It is the World Series!” But alas, it was just a 5 second Cubs clip followed by an equally short clip of the Bulls in action, and then five seconds of the Bears running a play. Then we were back to the three chatty men. At least they must be talking about Chicago teams! Then there was a clip of a CEO-looking man break dancing on a soccer field, surrounded by the players watching his demonstration. The stands looked empty. Must have been a private party. Or maybe that’s how the players spend their practice time … and maybe these commentators are discussing the rigorous training and discipline characteristic of the Chicago teams … in comparison to the fun and games that comprise soccer training camp … What??? Well, we couldn’t hear a word and we don’t read lips, so we can make up anything we want, right?

Later, I got to thinking about that. Just that morning I had attempted to train several bench-fulls of men and women in a “simple” way to read the Bible for understanding – understanding that leads to application and a transformed life. Several readers of language Lu were identified. There is a Bible published in the Lu language and they had their Bibles with them. The participants were divided into small groups, with a reader in each group. The reader was instructed to read the two verses, aloud, several times to their listeners. I instructed them to identify one thing those verses tell them that God desires, or wants. I smiled to see them lean in, listen to the word being read, then discuss it. Some had the response I was hoping for. However, most gave one of three responses: 1. the reader stood and just reread the verses with no comment, or, 2. if I repeated the question the group attempted to quote the verse from memory, or 3. someone would make a [possibly] true statement about God that was totally unrelated to the verses read.

Were the readers simply decoding the words, unable to recognize punctuation and use voice inflection that lends to accurate communication? Were the listeners hearing the same way I was “hearing” the chatty men on TV? Most of the people we train have not grown up learning to think critically, rather, they are trained to obey instructions from the top, from the big chiefs (or the pastor) whose role it is to do the thinking. Words are read off the page but it is the job of someone in a “higher position” to give the words meaning and explain the sense of it. And so if pressed to answer the question “what does this verse tell us about God?” the field is open for imaginative interpretation in the event there is no answer-man around.

It’s a hallelujah moment for me whenever a woman, especially a woman, catches on. What freedom there is in being able to read the Bible herself, to know God is speaking directly to her in his word, and to learn from God when she’s alone, not being limited by a lack of available “teachers”. But whether she is a critical thinker or not, only the Holy Spirit can open ears that have been deaf to his word. I can’t make this happen. How freeing this is for me! I present the opportunity to hear the word, the Author makes it come alive. He releases the “mute” button and brings up the volume.

We woke up this morning to the online news: “The Cubs did it!!! They won!” Now I wonder what those chatty men are saying. “Wow, can you believe it? I’ve seen a lot of games, and teams and I’ve seen a lot of cities. But Chicago is the best and has the best! .. Maybe we should move there. Maybe their local station would hire us … I can break dance …”