Author: aflcoker

I am so right-hand dominant that while using a cane with my right hand, I would move the cane to my left hand to pick up something with my right hand. Then my physical therapist had me change and use the cane in my left hand so as to give more support to my weaker right leg. This has made me more conscious about straightening up when I walk. My doctor said that the real purpose of using a cane is balance. When I’m in the house I don’t use the cane much, but I’ve noticed that I check my balance by touching a counter top and even a door frame as I turn a corner. Using the cane in my left hand has freed up my right hand to hold or reach for something. But I’ve had to get used to the switch from right to left when using the cane.

Being dominant right is reflected in my choices also. I want to do what’s right. It’s a good trait for I seldom have to check my balance. I know what’s right and what’s wrong. God has not left us without instruction for daily living. I know “what it is the Lord requires . . . to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God” (Micah 6:8, NIV). Obedience is always the best choice.

However, I have to be careful that being right is not the purpose of my connections with others. Being right is such a dominate trait that I’ve often said I would make a good Pharisee. As I depend too heavily on rules for daily living, it makes me judgmental about others’ decisions. That part about loving mercy is directed toward others. I have the Holy Spirit, a gift to help me concentrate on what is truly dominant in the Lord’s eyes. Daily I surrender to His dominant control. I am His holy temple, His vessel of grace toward others and myself. That’s being dominant right in the way that pleases God.

During an eye exam today I found out that I’m right-eye dominant. Using a piece of cardboard with an open circle in it, the clinical staff person had me look through the circle at the doorstop across the room, first with my left then with my right eye. The doorstop “disappeared” when looking with my left eye but appeared with my right eye. You can do this experiment at home. Select an object across the room; make an open triangle with your hands, overlapping your thumbs. Hold this at arms’ length and close one eye and then the other. Through which eye did you see the object? That is your dominant eye.

Applying this again to my spiritual life, two scriptures come to mind. In Matthew’s gospel Jesus gave this advice about lust: “If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away” (5:29). And a positive note: “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light” (6:22). This reminds me of the children’s song: “Oh be careful little eyes what you see. For the Father up above is looking down in love.” So my eyes, even my dominate right eye, have to be disciplined to follow God’s will.

As a usual summer activity during my teens, I attended church camp. At one such camp I went forward when the counselors asked for those who wanted to be involved in full-time Christian service. Later that night on the top bunk in my cabin, I sensed something was missing. I needed to ask God’s forgiveness. The one sin which loomed large was my habit of “stretching the truth,” as I called it. God took away my sins and gave me new life. I felt clean.

While I put away some bad habits, personal Bible reading and prayer times remained irregular at best. One evening late in my senior year of high school, a former boyfriend called me. Bill and I were married that summer, and I became a pastor’s wife in Mississippi.

We had an old upright piano in that parsonage, and Bill played it frequently, singing hymns with great joy. Again I sensed some­thing missing in my life. The Holy Spirit dealt with me about total surrender. The only way I could keep what I loved dearly was to give everything to the Lord. One Sunday evening after everyone had left the church, I asked Bill to pray with me. I surrendered all. I felt as full as the moon that night.

I’ve struggled off and on with fear. About the time the shuttle Challenger had its fatal acci­dent, the explosion brought fresh meaning about life’s uncertainty. My present circumstances dwarfed my faith.  Fears about travel, health, finances and ministry made me numb. This paralysis of fear showed up in the slightest decisions I’d make, even about what I would eat.

As the Lord had done on numerous other occasions, He spoke to my need through Scripture. While reading a list in Revelation 21 of those who will not gain eternal life, one group stood out–the cowardly–and it headed the list of murderers, idolaters and liars (v.8). I saw myself among the cowardly, the fearful. Was there a cure? In Psalm 38 I read: “I confess my iniquity; I am full of anxiety because of my sin” (v.18). I acted promptly and confessed my anxiety as sin. Then God did His work: “I sought the Lord, and He delivered me from all my fears” (Psalm 34:4).

The by-product of slaying the dragon of fear has been receiving God’s peace. I took hold of God’s promise in Philippians: “Be anxious for nothing . . . and the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, shall guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (4:6-7). Peace must be nurtured, daily. I am confident that the best part of my day is that time I spend alone with God, reading His Word, talking with Him, listening to Him. My life goal is “to know Jesus and the power of His resurrection and the fellow­ship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death” (Phil. 3:10).

Memories written by my mother, Minnie Eva Burge Laird [1915 – 2006]

I remember when we Burges would go to church and Dad and Mama sat on the second pew and I’d sit on the first row. I would sit on my feet, and most of the time my dress was not pulled down. One lady in the choir would look and motion for me to pull my dress down. Of course, Dad and Mama had seen her and they would talk to me about it when we got home. I’d remember about the dress for the next few weeks. However, the choir ladies would remind me when I would forget.

It was a blessing for the whole family to come to church and all file in together. Our Daddy (who wore a black derby) went in first and Mama came in right afterwards. Then we children filed in. You could tell how happy our parents were. My Daddy was an “Amen” man. I also remember his “Halleluiah” during revivals. My parents had good singing voices and we all loved to sing.

At home my oldest sister played the piano and she had a great voice. My next sister played the violin and the next sister the piano. The sister before me was supposed to learn the piano but she cried and didn’t want to practice. My brother played a horn and he was called on all the time to play taps at someone’s funeral. He may have stammered a lot, but he sure could blow those taps.

When I got older I wanted to sit in the back of the church. My Dad wasn’t too sure about that though and he used to slyly look back at me. I knew I had to behave. Dad was very proud of his “baby girl” and he let everyone know it. He was also very serious about how I behaved.

When I started dating and had a boyfriend come and see me we sat on the porch and talked. One night we didn’t notice the time and Dad called out from his room, “Baby, it’s bed time!” Boy did my face turn red. However, my boyfriend just laughed.

There must have been in my childhood a desire to get to know people’s stories and share them with others. I have always loved to read, and I remember trying off and on to keep a diary. The school newspaper and annual interested me but I never pursued it. English and literature were my favorite classes in high school and college. So back then the seed germinated for this desire to write for others to read.

Should I give up writing? I pursue it even with hazards and weaknesses such as being a not-so-good speller. My dad would have me look up a word in the dictionary when I wanted to know how to spell it. Now Bill does the same. I’ve defended myself by asking how can I look up a word when I don’t know how to spell it.

With my writing there’s also the problem of being good enough, writing unique pieces. Several years back and also for the last several years I’ve tried to be serious about writing for publication. I’ve had some success, but not what I want. I’m not giving up yet unless it’s proven I can’t do it, unless the Lord says I need to spend my time and energy elsewhere. So I press on. I spend more time on it and try new avenues to improve myself.

I need to find the balance between other necessary work – family, house, varied interests – and the work of a writer. At the computer I get caught on a project, like cleaning up my files, and notice that I’ve been at it for hours. Other things don’t get done while I write, so I need to reschedule, re-direct my time, be more organized. This sounds like any occupation.

“The Bible contains the mind of God, the state of man, the way of salvation, the doom of sinners, and the happiness of believers. Its doctrines are holy, its precepts are binding, its histories are true, and its decisions are immutable.

Read it to be wise, believe it to be safe, and practice it to be holy. It contains light to direct you, food to support you, and comfort to cheer you.

It is the traveler’s map, the pilgrim’s staff, the  pilot’s compass, the soldier’s sword and the Christian’s charter. Here too, Heaven is opened and the gates of Hell are disclosed.

Christ is its grand subject, our good its design, and the glory of God its end. It should fill the memory, rule the heart and guide the feet. Read it slowly, frequently and prayerfully. It is a mine of wealth, a paradise of glory, and a river of pleasure.

It is given you in life, will be opened at the judgment, and be remembered forever. It involves the highest responsibility, rewards the greatest labor, and will condemn all who trifle with its sacred contents.”

[This text is found in the introduction of Gideon Bibles. The author is uncertain, but the passage is believed to have been written in the 19th Century England. See bit.ly/GideonsIntroduction.]  —I found this piece in the May 2017 issue of Today’s Christian Living, p. 29 and I thank the editor for including it.

“Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older, and will some day be old.

• Keep me from getting talkative, and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.
• Release me from craving to try to straighten out everybody’s affairs.
• Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details — give me wings to get to the point.
• I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of others’ pains. Help me to endure them with patience.
• But seal my lips on my own aches and pains — they are increasing and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.
• Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken.
• Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint — some of them are so hard to live with — but a sour old woman is one of the crowning works of the devil.
• Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all — but Thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends in the end.”

— From Little Book of Prayers by a Mother Superior who wishes to be anonymous; included in Disciplines for the Inner Life by Bob Benson and Michael W. Benson.

While counseling at the Crisis Pregnancy Centers in Terre Haute and Brazil, IN, I would tell clients about my happy marriage, trying to encourage them in that chosen lifestyle. I told them how long I’d been married – 30/40/50 years. More than once I’d have clients immediately ask, “To the same man?” It was inconceivable for these girls to comprehend that someone could be married that long to one man. My thoughts at the time would propose an answer (not spoken out loud). Perhaps I could be married to one man for 15 years and to another 15 years. That was inconceivable to me.

Today I celebrate 60 years of married life to one man – Bill Coker.

When I look back to our wedding and honeymoon, it was not the usual custom. I had no attendants but two ministers who performed the ceremony in my home church in Mobile, AL. Bill drove from North Biloxi, MS, where he pastored a small Methodist church. His family came from New Orleans, LA. The ceremony was held on Saturday, August 24, 1957 in the chapel, not the large sanctuary of Springhill Ave. Methodist Church. The reception was in my parents’ home. Mother prepared the treats along with lunch. Bill and I traveled back to his parsonage where we spent the night after dinner in a local restaurant. The next morning, Sunday, Bill preached and I met some of the church members for the first time. I found out later that the ladies disputed about inviting us to dinner. The older ladies wanted us to come home with them, but the younger ones insisted that this couple needed to be alone. We went back to the parsonage where I fried chicken and Bill taught me how to make gravy. That evening the church held quarterly conference with the district superintendent presiding. We have no regrets.

Today Bill and I will have some alone time at a local motel where we will enjoy their pool. We plan to eat dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant. We return to our three-generation home in Indianapolis tomorrow. On Saturday some of the out-of-town family gather to celebrate with us. Since we’ll have some great-grandkids here, we plan to picnic at a nearby park. This is quite the downsize from our 50^th anniversary celebration, but it’s what we want now.

I close with praise to our God and thanksgiving for these years with one man of integrity. The God of love has shared His love for us and between us. His love and our love have kept us together for these 60 good years. Amen.

Visiting my parents, our daughter Becky commented how much she liked their clear coffee cups in the shape of a globe with the world etched in white on each. At a later date, either when my dad was sick or after his death, Becky received the two cups as a gift. She felt honored to have something from her grandparents, something she liked.

Forward several years later. Becky’s friend Mike visited her and her family. Mike is a missionary to Africa. Becky served him coffee in one of the globe cups. He said that he really liked the cup. Becky thought to give the cups to him, but she struggled with her own desire to keep these cups, a gift she truly treasured. But after all, Mike was a friend and a missionary. She gave him the two cups.

Forward again. While shopping at a Good Will store, Becky spied clear globe cups on a shelf. Not two but four. She bought them with delight, thanking God for doubling the gift from her grandparents.

During the months of May through July I experienced two types of moving. Both physical in nature, but each had its own particulars. The first began surgically and hampered my usual movement. The second move meant more changes as we moved from one city to another, downsizing.

On May 5th I had posterior lumbar fusion to correct stenosis. The surgery went fine, placing two titanium rods in my back. The recuperation period is the longest of any surgery I’ve had, about one year before I can tell if I’ve gained back what I lost – a reduction in pain and an increase in movement. The main restriction is that I am not supposed to bend. I say “supposed to” since I’m not always obedient, nor have I been consistent with the prescribed leg exercises.

My only exercise now is walking and that with assistance, first with a walker, now with a cane. At my four-week check-up I received permission to drive and do stairs. Being able to move means that I learn how to depend on others to pick-up things I’ve dropped and to reach for items on lower shelves. And it seems that I’ve developed a good case of the dropsies, for whatever is placed in my hand I drop.

At the 12-week check-up I got a good report but still with restrictions.  I’m now assigned to physical therapy and to walk, walk, walk. I’m not anticipating a return to what I consider normal activity, but I want improvement in mobility. Not being able to bend has made me more dependent on others and that’s not easy.

The second move involved more people. Because of my surgery the preparation and progress of moving became more of directing traffic. Our retired son helped the most, coming twice to our home in Terre Haute. He not only packed, lifted boxes, and ran errands to get more supplies, but he also assisted with decisions. We had a running exchange of what could be discarded and what would be moved. He quoted the comic strip Lockhorns: “Can you say yes or no in less than 24 words?” I would explain who gave me something during what event. He cited that most everything we own had been given to us, making these decisions difficult but needful.

I chose movers by comparing three companies’ prices and methods. We settled on Two Men and a Truck from Indianapolis, and it amounted to four men and two trucks. They were super-efficient and fast. When they had loaded the trucks, ready to move, I had not finished packing the kitchen. Our pastor and his daughter helped with the transport so we didn’t have to drive. We ended up leaving kitchen items – pots and pans, pantry products, even refrigerated food – along with the DVD player. A couple came the next day to clean, surprised about the leftovers which our pastor and his wife delivered later.

The trucks arrived before our cars, and decisions again meant my directing traffic while others did the heavy work. We’re moved in but not settled. We are grateful for all the helpers, especially our family. It’s a house with three generations and we’ve named our apartment the East Wing. I’m thankful we did not all move the same day: we were the first to arrive; then our daughter and her husband three days later; and a week later our grandson and his wife arrived. While we miss our former home and friends, the arrangement is working; we’re family.

“Breathing is highly underrated,” said my friend Paul when once he had difficulty breathing – and while he was touring Jerusalem. I learned a lot about oxygen deprivation in 2010 when my husband was hospitalized for 24 days with Legionnaire’s Disease. Oxygen feeds every cell in our bodies. We think of the major organs – lungs, heart, brain – but our skin, eyes, muscles – every cell – need oxygen to grow and be healthy. Without this necessary oxygen, cells in our body get weak and over time lose their vitality.

While a neurologist may not agree, I believe that the onset of memory loss, dementia attributed to hardening of arteries, started with Bill’s oxygen deprivation. And while its downward progression is evident, the cause doesn’t matter in the scheme of things, the treatment and future prognosis. It’s a matter of fact. It gives me more appreciation for oxygen.

“Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house” (Matthew 5:15, NIV 2011).

Can you hear the little children in church choir singing, “This little light of mine. Put it under a bushel? No.” We know that the use of a lamp is to shed light, to shine the way in darkness.

Lamps in Jesus’ day used oil for its fuel source. Putting a lamp under a bushel basket or a bowl would snuff it out. The lamp needed oxygen in order to be effective, to burn brightly.

So if oxygen is needed for those ancient lamps to burn, and Jesus was teaching His disciples about burning brightly in a dark world, and oxygen is needed for every cell in our physical bodies, what would oxygen feed in the spiritual realm? Let’s examine a few.

As humans, our living can be divided into such areas as financial, physical, emotional, relational, familial, and spiritual. What is the oxygen in these areas? As Christians, the Holy Spirit’s indwelling affects every cell of our being. In finances, we need discernment about saving, giving, and buying. It’s not to be done by the world’s standards. Physically, we should be attentive to good health practices, taking care of ourselves for our own sake and others. How we expend our emotions is important, for we can harm ourselves or hurt others with the wrong attitude and reaction. Self-control is one fruit of the Spirit. We relate to people around us; we are not isolationists. We develop in community and the most important is family. Here we are our true selves, connect to our roots, and influence the future generation. In the spiritual realm the light of our witness will shine brightly if fueled by the Holy Spirit working in and through us.

So breathe deeply. Allow the Holy Spirit to fuel every cell of your being, giving praise for God’s abundant supply, how He designed our body and our whole being.