My Dad, the Farmer

My dad was Irish. He had a temper. He drank. So did his father.  Dad dropped out of school after fourth grade to support his parents. In his late twenties.he charmed the farm girl, my mother and married her.  Her dad died; her mother was left alone.  My dad took over the farm. He didn't know how to farm but he figured it out. He taught himself math, and clerked cattle auctions on Saturdays.  His name was Garnett. My mother's was Zema.

From sunrise to sunset my dad drove his four-horse team between the furrows of his corn and wheat fields. Every spring he planted seeds in hard gumbo and hoped too much rain wouldn't wash them out or too little rain wouldn't cook them. He sold some steers and bought a tractor. One day a man came walking toward him down the corn row. "Mr. Flynn, I understand you're the only farmer in this community who refuses to take a government subsidy for not planting wheat."  Dad slowly climbed down off his tractor, walked toward the fellow and yelled in his face:   "You college educated jackass! Get off my land and don't you ever set foot on it again!"  That night at suppertime, and until I left home at seventeen I was taught how to recognize the lies about the benefits of socialism. Dad had never read the Bible, but he knew that if a governmen paid people for doing nothing, it would be just a matter of time before the country was finished. My dad had common sense. .

At seventy, my parents were crippled and dying from brutal farm work.  Ted and I brought them to Palo Alto, California. where we were in ministry with Ray Stedman. Fabulous man, that Ray Stedman. Fabulous church. Fabulous people. Some were rich. Some were not. It didn't matter. They loved the Lord, each other and my parents. Wil Johnson, retired farmer from Illinois was one of those people. Wil and Dad went into business together.  Wil had the money; Dad had the know-how to handle it.  Dad had a keen sense of character.  He didn't trust many people, but he trusted Wil Johnson. He called him a "straight shooter".

Dad got sick with pneumonia and nearly died. My Ted and Ray Stedman went to see him in the hospital. When  Dad wasn't blowing his Irish top he was a man who reasoned. He had concluded that Somebody had organized the cycles of plant and animal life. He just didn't know His Name. Ray and Ted dropped in the final Piece of the Puzzle: Jesus, Maker of Heaven and Earth. Dad asked Him in. Mother wasn't far behind. Both were seventy-five years old. Dad quit drinking, smoking and cussing. Nobody told him to. He just figured it was the right thing to do. They both lived many more years. Maybe next week I will continue the Saga of Garnett and Zema Flynn. Maybe.

In the year, 1787 as Ben Franklin left the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia on the last day of the sequestered meetings  a woman named Mrs. Powel approached him. "Well, Doctor, what do we have?   A monarchy or a Republic?. "He answered: "A Republic, if you can keep it.!"

Requested Song of Judy S. in Burton, Texas: "In His Time".

In His Time, In His Time
He makes all things beautiful in His Time
Lord, please show me every day
As You're teaching me Your way
That You do just what You say
In Your time.

In Your time; In Your time
You make all things beautiful
In Your time
Lord, my life to You I bring
May each song I have to sing
Be to You a lovely thing
In Your time.

What song do you want me to print?

Love, Jo

WETSUIT SAGA

Genesis 1:27-28: Then God said, "Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness...and God created man in His own image,  in the image of God He created him, male and female He created.  

 I will not vote for a candidate who does not value human life; life created in the Image of God, whether murdered in the womb or murdered by a terrorist whose satanic god rewards him for killing innocent people created in the Image of God. Down through human history the scriptures reveal that satan always overplays his hand. The horrors of terrorism have awakened many Muslims to the truth that they are sacrificing themselves and the lives of countless people to satan himself.  Many Muslims do not read the Koran. Sadly, many professing Christians do not read the Word of God. He leads us very clearly from scripture regarding the decisions we are yet privileged to make in America.

And now for a story: There has been a man in my life for several weeks. His name is "Henry"  He lives in the city of  Cebu in the Philippines. Here is how this affair began: I am determined to continue with water aerobics into the late fall. I will need a wetsuit to keep from catching pneumonia. STEPS OF ACTION:  Measure every part of my body.  Go into funk. Go online to order wetsuit. Discover overwhelming choices. Download pictures of wetsuits from all companies. Brain scrambles.  Call daughter. Dee helps whittle down options. Orders a top and bottom from two different companies.  The March of the Daily Emails begins. "Bottom on the way". Next Email: "Top on the way".  One week later: no Bottom; no Top.  Call Mother Company:  Amazon. Henry in Cebu, Philippines answers. Understand every third word. Henry's advise: "I'm on it!  Wait two days. I will track down both Bottom and Top". I wait. Meanwhile: March of the Emails continues from unidentified sources. "Product has been delivered". I  search the flat parts of the nine acres on which I live. No Bottom.  No Top. Tired. Go to bed in midday. More Emails: "Top has been delivered". Check with local post office. No Bottom. No Top. Get in truck. Begin Search of the Mailboxes, one eye watching for the Mailbox Police.  Eureka! The Bottom!  No Top! A picture forms of me in a topless wetsuit. Not pretty. Squash thought. Then, the March of the Phone Calls begins. A guy named Jim: "Top has been delivered".  Back to the post office. Stops along the way back home to examine the mailboxes. No Top. Phone ringing as I enter home. "Top has been delivered". No Top. Grocery run into town, twelve miles away. Pass "Big 5".  In a prior call had been told  "We have no wetsuits." I enter "Big 5". Rack of Men's Wetsuits. Grab one. Try on. Fits. Pay and run. Time spent:  Ten minutes. Home. Send online for shipping label to return Bottom.  Printer stalls. Call daughter. Computer prints. Label affixed. Speed down mountain to post office. Postmistress and I do a high five.  Home. Phone ringing. It's Henry.  From the Philippines. "Henry, our relationship is over."  Two Emails  from Bottom People: " Price of Wetsuit Bottom will be credited to your card".  Two Emails from Top People. : "Price of Wetsuit Top will be credited to your card.".

The post 0ffice is not responsible. FedEx is not responsible. UPS is not responsible. NObody seems to be responsible, Not unlike our current government. Conservatively speaking the wetsuit that I will never wear has cost the companies in the vicinity of a thousand dollars.. The cost of the one I bought at Big 5? One hundred and nineteen. I am wearing it as I write.  My fellow exercisers will cheer as I lower my body into our pool. These people who know something about everything advised me to put on panty hose first so the suit will slide on. . "Don't use talcum powder. It causes cancer." But then, what doesn't? Thus ends, I hope, "The Saga of the Wetsuit".

Requested Hymn:  AND CAN IT BE?   Beautiful!!!

And can it that I should gain an interest in the Savior's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain?
For me, who Him to death pursued?

He left His Father's throne above; so free, so infinite His grace!
Emptied Himself of all but love, and bled for Adam's helpless race.

No condemnation now I dread; I am my Lord's and He is mine.
Alive in Him, my living Head; and clothed in righteousness divine.

AMAZING LOVE! HOW CAN IT BE 
THAT THOU, MY GOD, SHOULDST DIE FOR ME?
AMAZING LOVE! HOW CAN IT BE
THAT THOU, MY GOD, SHOULDST DIE FOR ME?

What hymn would you like me to print?

Love,  Jo

MORNING

I wish early mornings lasted all day. Heaven will be one grand early morning for all of eternity! Here on Earth I wake up with new strength and feel like soaring like an eagle. "Hooty" the Owl softly tells me "Goodnight" as First Light creeps over the eastern mountain. Bats swoop over in one last fly-by. Pussn' Cat stirs at my feet.  Swarms of sparrows dart about in wide arcs,  then two loud fussing crows break into the day's peaceful beginnings. Hillary and Donald are awake!

"It was the best and worst of times".  Our efforts to control the world with our money and power did not, after all buy friendships. As our nation passes off the prophetic scene as a world leader a hunger for God's Word is emerging. Just in time, technology is broadcasting the Gospel around the world.

How are you doing with bringing hope to your friends who have no hope? Are you holed up in your Holy Huddle, enjoying the fellowship?  That "ship" may very well be forced underground. If you have no church or pastor to take them to are you prepared to show them The Way? 

My  Ted made many Christians uncomfortable when he asked them: "How many non-Christians friends do you have?'" Well, how many do you have? What is your "connector"? Everyone has one. Paul asked the Colossians to "pray for a door for the Gospel" for him.  Paul asked that small gathering of new believes in Colossae to pray that he would "know how to answer the questions asked of him".  The presupposition:  He had earned the right to be heard by listening and not talking until the Holy Spirit prompted him to do so.

How is your plan for evangelism working for you? One of God's "plans":  Be a friend to the publican and sinner. All that is different about us is that we received as payment for our sin the Blood of Jesus Christ Who died and rose again to take away the penalty and power of our sin. Soon, when Morning comes, even the presence of sin will be forever gone!  The people in the world are searching for exoneration from the sin that will not go away.  My spin is this: They will be frantically searching for it soon.

My dear friend, Char in Bakersfield has patiently waited for me to print "Day by Day".  Here it is:

Day by day and through each passing moment; strength I find to meet my trials here.
Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment; I've no cause for worry or for fear.
He whose heart is kind beyond all measure gives unto each day what He deems best
Lovingly its part of pain and pleasure, mingling toil with peace and rest. 

Every day the Lord Himself is near me with a special mercy for each hour.
All my cares He fain would bear and cheer me; He whose Name is "Counsellor"  and "Power".
The protection of His child and treasure is a charge that He Himself has laid.
"As thy days thy strength shall be in measure";  this the pledge to me He made.

Help me, Lord in every tribulation, so to trust thy promises, O Lord.
I lose not faith's sweet consolation offered me within Thy Holy Word.
Help me, Lord when toil and trouble meeting, e'er to take as from a father's hand
One by one, the days, the moments fleeting 'til I reach the promised land.

Love, Jo

The Age of Confusion

...but God is not the author of it. Those who are hardwired into a secular/humanist worldview have no discernment about satan's tricks to confuse us. They will be seduced by anyone who promises to bring peace and safety. There will be no "peace" until Christ is on the Throne and every knee bows before Him.  Safety? ...only in Jesus, "Blessed are they who take refuge in Him."  Here's the good news: The very technology that is driving us nuts is taking the Gospel around the world. "Some from every tribe and nation will be there!" I wondered all my life how that promise would be made good by the Lord. ...and now I know. I have lived long enough to see many promises come true. Growing old is good!

O.K.. You tell me you want my stories. Here's another.  Ted's and my firstborn interrupted our honeymoon after ten months. Ted's home -of- origin had been one from which he fled from the time he was an adolescent.  He continued to flee...into ministry.  Read on. .

It was a hot, miserable day in Bakersfield, California.  Our sons were 15 and 11. School had just come to summer break the day before.  ...but it was no "break" for us moms who were stuck in our houses with bored kids.  Doug, our oldest,  big and muscular was beating up Jeff, his slighter- built brother.  In a few years Doug would become an NCAA wrestling champion, second and third in his weight class in the nation.  Jeff would become a high ranking Marine Physical Fitness contender, competing against other athletes from across the nation in Washington D.C.,  ...not once but twice, As they were duking it out on this summer afternoon I knew that those guys needed a dad who was bigger than both of them.  I called Ted at his church office.  Nita,  his secretary answered: "He's in a meeting". "I don't care. Put me through!" She did.  "I can't raise these three kids by myself!" He came home; he began to help parent our three highly motivated children. Ships turn slowly.

In order to lift some responsibility from my hard working husband I had honestly thought I could and should do it all.  Because taking charge came naturally for me, my virtue had become my vice. I was frustrated, couldn't sleep at night, had body pain that kept me going to a chiropractor.  Ministry continued to dominate Ted's life. We had no Sabbath Day rest. Our church had grown from a handful of faithful people to a moving forward crowd.  ...but our salary didn't "move" with it.  We had to accept  a new pastorate in order to launch our three children into their lifework.  In between those pastorates we went to East and Southeast Asia. It was there that both of us became more convinced than ever about what we were willing to die for. We were about to be severely tested.  We returned to a new pastorate in the Bible belt, surrounded by enormous churches. Our California ministries had been built upon "discipleship", and were doctrinally healthy and were "going into all the world to teach the Gospel". Our new leaders did not understand the true meaning of "discipleship"; ...slow and personal and reproductive.  Ted was warned not to mention the word.   We were thrown under the bus. Together, we hopped on another bus, shocked, hurt, but not destroyed. 

Ted was a visionary. I had lost count of the ministries he pioneered; I was weary.  After launching a few more ministries I simply quit. I left for several weeks to get my head and my heart on straight. I walked, cried, prayed, wrote pages and pages and soaked myself in His promises. I didn't know what my husband would do about the current ministry he had started. After a few weeks, he announced to the people that he was pulling the plug. With mustard-seed faith I was trusting that God would do more than I could ask or think....and He did,  and He continues to do exactly that.

...back to the years when our kids were at home. I was watching as other women across this land were taking up the slack for husbands that were too busy struggling to make a living to take the spiritual leadership of their families. I became motivated by anger as I watched Christian marriages falling apart.  I struggled to understand scripture for today's world. I wrote books; I lectured.  I was called "old fashioned" by Christian women in our town. Women whined:  " My husband isn't the spiritual leader." ...but they wouldn't listen when I told them they couldn't force him to be the "spiritual leader", but they could stick to what God had called them to do: create a nurturing home of peace and safety for their family. ..not exciting, you say? ...depends upon whether you want short-term or long-term "excitement".

Finally I quit speaking for women's and college student's conferences. On what would be my last flight into Houston after an exhausting week of conferences here in California I knew what I was to do: ... join my husband for the rest of our lives in ministry to couples.  Since Ted is in Heaven I continue to teach women,  always doing my best to get their husbands under the leadership of a man's man. No woman alone, not even a tough-raised farm girl like me can raise a boy into a man's man. When there is either too much mom and not enough dad, or too much dad and not enough mom, kids will pay.  There are reasons young people turn to homosexuality, and every other sin. I have just written down one of them. I must say, however that a set of parents can do everything mostly right and one or more of their kids may still screw up!  You might think upon God the Father and his kids, if you parents who are reading this are beating yourself up for thinking you're a failure. Young people all across this nation are running around looking for a place to plug in their umbilical cord. ...so they plug it into one another,  or to some politician who can't deliver.

Thankfully, my husband was committed to being obedient to God; therefore whatever scripture said, he did it, but I had to make some choices foreign to my personality. Would Ted have changed because I told him to? Of course not! He was a man! 

You want excitement? Scripture is brimming with it! I won't listen to a theologian who is stuck on facts about God, but ignores the heart of God.  ...and with that,  this beautiful old hymn has been pressed into my mind:

                      NEAR TO THE HEART OF GOD

There is a place of quiet rest. 
NEAR TO THE HEART OF GOD
A place where sin cannot molest; 
NEAR TO THE HEART OF GOD.

There is a place of comfort sweet
NEAR TO THE HEART OF GOD
A place where all is joy and peace;
NEAR TO THE HEART OF GOD.

There is a place of full release.
NEAR TO THE HEART OF GOD
A place where all is joy and peace;
NEAR TO THE HEART OF GOD.

CHORUS
OH JESUS, BLEST REDEEMER
SENT FROM THE HEART OF GOD
HOLD US WHO WAIT BEFORE THEE
NEAR TO THE HEART OF GOD.

Your requested hymn will be posted.It was my turn..

Love, Jo

Twice fire has broken out just over the top of our mountain. Twice it has been contained before it succeeded in making it over the top and destroying our homes here in Bear Valley. Praise Him!

His Deep Love

"Jo, nobody wants to hear any more of your war stories. Out of respect for your age nobody tells you the truth." That's the whisper I hear when I sit down to write at my computer. ...but I must write,...so O.K.,  here's another story: Years ago, when in Taiwan I broke away from the missionary meetings and went out on the Taipei streets to explore.  We had no cell phones;  I couldn't speak the language so couldn't ask directions. What was I thinking?  That Kansas farm girl who had no playmates or adults with time to show me the way struck out, looking for whatever was out there that I'd never seen before.  I came up on a Buddhist temple, pushed open the door and went into the dark interior. Across the room, facing a blank wall stood a woman, throwing some kind of clay discs against the wall. ...again and again, then leaning down to observe the way they fell.  Apparently not satisfied, she took a stick in each hand, faced the wall and bowed low each time she lowered the sticks. I stayed silent in the shadows. After a time she sadly shuffled out the door. I left too, walking slowly through the crowded, clamorous streets of Taipei, Taiwan, gradually finding my way to the steep hill that led to our residence for the week. Ted, busy with his meeting with the missionaries and Dr. Ed Murphy, our teaching companion had not noticed that I was gone. Good!

Here on my mountain, at 87 years of age I am on a new-to-me adventure. I have climbed onto the "Bible Bus" with hundreds of thousands of travelling companions from all around our world. The Holy Spirit is driving. J. Vernon McGee, in Heaven now for over thirty years is teaching us. It's a five year trip if I take it slow and easy. ...but that's not my style.  Some days I stay on the bus for hours. ...because now,  I can. I get off to eat, sleep and do stuff. Sometimes in the night when I awaken I turn on my cell phone, dial up "ThruTheBible", punch in "ARCHIVES" then "DAILY PROGRAMS" and away we go. ...back to the future.  (One gets used to J. Vernon's Texas drawl and his gravelly voice.)

I love to slip under the heavy covers on my deck bed and listen to the quiet. The other night when the moon was full,  bright and beautiful,  sleep wouldn't come. All across the still valley below sounded the barking of a half dozen dogs, communicating some urgent message across the miles.  I eavesdropped on their conversation for awhile, then drifted peacefully off to sleep.

Father, help me to blank out the childish need to please people as I write.  You and I know that I am not very theological.  Thank You that Phil W., your seasoned missionary to Africa told me last night: "Jo, I read your blog because it isn't theological." I needed that.  Perhaps I am still a child who needs approval, ...or perhaps just encouragement to keep on doing what I am doing. Father, You are so sweet to me.

Shari in Kansas requests a Welsh hymn, written in 1875: "Oh, the Deep Deep Love of Jesus".

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!
Rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me, is the current of Thy love
Leading onward, leading homeward to Thy glorious rest above!

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, spread His praise from shore to shore!
How He loveth, ever loveth, changeth never, nevermore!
How He watches o'er His loved ones, died to call them all His own.
How for them He intercedeth, watcheth o'er them from the throne!

O the deep, deep love of Jeus, love of every love the best!
'Tis an ocean vast of blessing, 'tis a haven sweet of rest!
O the deep, deep love of Jesus, 'tis a heaven of heavens to me;
And it lifts me up to glory, for it lifts me up to Thee!

Send me your request. There are three ahead of you but I'll get to yours. .

Love,  Jo