The James Challenge

Last June I started memorizing the Book of James—I wanted to challenge my six-decade-old brain and see if it could do it. I’m just a bit shy of my year-end goal.

Why James? Because each chapter had something I really needed to remember. It begins by telling me to have joy when I am struggling. Why joy? Because I will get stronger from the adversity—and hopefully wiser.




Then in chapter two, I’m told not to discriminate. Do I? How about those times when I get uptight if someone doesn’t do things my way, or if someone thinks differently than I do? According to James, discrimination hurts those God loves. Then James tells me it’s not enough to talk about helping others, I need to actually do something.

Chapter Three had me tongue tied—and for good reason. Saying the wrong thing is easy. How many hurt feelings have been caused by my careless words?

Chapter Four dealt with conflicts. Had any quarrels lately? James places the blame on our egos. Guilty again. In a world where it’s easy to criticize others, James tells me there’s only one judge, and it’s not me.

As he finishes, James tries to remind me what’s most important in life—is it my closet full of clothes, a nice home, and the car that will eventually rust? No, those things never last. James also implores me to pray—for everyone and everything.


And finally, in a world that can be confusing, don’t wander off and get lost—but be ready to help others if they do.

So, my 2018 resolution is to live out the words of James. Even though my earthly journey can be hard at times, God promises to be with me throughout, and when the time comes He'll get me Home safe.

Popular posts from this blog

Counting the Cost

Image
Something big is missing in this photo. Let me explain. Here in my hometown, the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe prepared a parcel of land for a new hotel. Plenty of planning and architectural designs were evaluated. A gemstone of a hotel would be built across from the waterfront—a beautiful, restful place welcoming travelers. A true four-star facility.   They cleared the aging brick structures that had been fading away between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Then the pandemic hit, shortages of labor and supplies, add in the costly inflation that followed. Everything stopped.   But this is what I admire about the Elwha Tribe: they have counted the cost. They didn’t want to move forward and take on tremendous debt. They would rather move slowly and be financially ready, rather than begin building and then letting it sit unfinished.   Counting the cost is something I should have done earlier in life when I didn’t know what high interest rates would do to our farming costs and bottom l
Read more

Summertime Music

Image
During the summer months, in an outside seating area, a delightfully painted piano sits with a sign that says, “Play me”.   It was just before 8 pm as I walked past the piano. My bus would be arriving soon, and I still have another ten minutes to walk before reaching my bus stop. But no one is around. It’s a beautiful warm evening. I pulled out the piano bench and sat down. The sun was behind me, and the piano keys reflected its glow. I had no music in front of me, only the songs within me. Notes drifted into the air.  In those brief moments, the magic of music and summer came together. Isn’t that how it is? Summertime music has a way of lingering in our minds and lasting a lifetime. As I stood and grabbed my things, I heard distant clapping—I guess I wasn’t alone, after all.
Read more

Homeless Winslow

Image
A while back I found a left-behind sign at my bus stop. No doubt, it’s a “sign” of our times. Then there’s Winslow*—that’s the name I’ve given her because she’s always in downtown Winslow. As far as I know, she’s been homeless for a few years.  She has grocery carts filled with old toys, shoes, clothes, towels, games, and a wild assortment of cast-off stuff she must have collected from the town’s dumpsters. I’m not sure what she does with it all—if anything. But I’ve never seen her beg. Her nightly “home” is adjacent to the town’s post office—it’s a covered spot, so she parks her carts and pulls blankets over herself. That’s usually where I see her on cold, rainy nights. But this week, she was in the post office—the part that’s left open to the public all night. She had a toaster oven plugged in and was re-heating a foil-wrapped item that looked like something the grocery store might have given her.  I needed to mail a package, so I went to the self-serve machine and began pus
Read more