Merry Christmas Jackson Mississippi Samson Society!
Saturday, December 25, 2021
Friday, December 24, 2021
Monday, December 20, 2021
Sunday, December 19, 2021
"Love" By Max Morton
This season of Advent I am meditating on LOVE. In John 15:9 Jesus invites us to "...remain (abide) in my love." Jesus is asking me to make my abode, my home in his love. I've moved around so much in my life that home is not easily defined. When I think about what makes home home I think it is a place where I am known, accepted and I belong. I can relax and be myself with no fear of judgment, expectation or performance. Home is a place where I don't wear a mask. I am free to be my true self.
All this applies to making myself at home in his love. Perfect love casts out fear because
fear has to do with punishment (1 John 4:18). When I am loved I am not judged and I don't
need to be punished. When I make myself at home in his love I am free to be my true self
(no mask) without the fear of being punished by judgment. At home I am fully known,
accepted and I belong. I have a right to be here.
Home is a place of shared history, inside jokes and lots of hugs and laughter. Being at home
in his love fills me with JOY, calms my anxiety with Love's PEACE, and promises the HOPE
of better days ahead.
This advent season I am learning to be at home in his love. I picture an open door with a
cozy fire inside and a doormat that says "WELCOME HOME."
HOPE, PEACE and JOY all found in one place--at home in his LOVE
Saturday, December 18, 2021
Thankful
Thankful
Saturday, November 6th –
As the sun
slowly began to set, I observed hundreds of tiny dust particles, brilliantly illuminated
by the late afternoon sunlight shining through the branches of the old oak tree. As
I embraced the gloaming moment of that waning day, I noted that the temperature
had begun to drop considerably. In typical Mississippi fashion, the weather
that week had been notoriously mercurial. What started as a hot and humid week
had quickly morphed into a Saturday afternoon that held the promise of glacial weather to
come, as the wind nipped at my nose. While my son played with his friends
outside, I had occupied myself with blowing the leaves out of my garage, and away from my
driveway and front porch. It was one of those lazy Saturday afternoons where I
went outside and puttered around just enough to make me feel that I had been
sufficiently productive in the way I spent my afternoon.
My wife has
never been a gardener. However, she will occasionally make quick suggestions or
observations about how we can spruce up the landscaping or the exterior of our
home. Then, just as quickly, she will lose interest or forget about it entirely.
What ultimately gets done (or does not get done) outside typically falls squarely on the
shoulders of yours truly. Earlier this summer, we had gone to Home Depot for
one small thing (which I now can’t even recall), when these beautiful annual
flowers in hanging baskets caught my wife’s eye and attention.
One of the
features that we loved about our home when we found it many years ago, is the
big, long, Southern-style porch that runs the entire length of the home.
Although we have a porch swing, wicker furniture, and a rocking chair which all serve
to grace the front porch, the temperature seems to always be either too hot or too
cold, or the pollen count seems to be too terribly dreadful. So, while we often admire
our front porch and talk about how much we love it, we seldom actually sit
outside and enjoy it. One of the things that we noticed when we first moved
into the home is that the previous owner had installed a series of plant hooks
strategically placed across the front of the porch. This was a definite plus to
my wife, and occasionally through the years, she has brought home plants, had
me hang them up, and then promptly proceeded to forget all about them. As a
result, we often end up with a porch full of half-dead (or in some cases, fully
dead) plants that are usually pathetic-looking.
On that day
in early summer, my wife came home from Home Depot with about seven beautiful
annuals, all potted in hanging baskets. Joining them on the front of the porch,
was an ugly, scraggly looking fake plant that had once been an artificial
philodendron or some other type of vine-looking plant. Over the past eleven
years, we have watched countless generations of birds who have torn the plant
apart, and built nests on top and down inside the Styrofoam of the plant. Since
the plant hangs right outside of our living room window, we have sort of let
the birds take it over, and we have enjoyed watching generations of baby birds
growing up inside of the nest and then fly away at the end of the springtime.
On that
chilly November day, as I finished blowing the leaves off the front of my
porch, my wife came outside and suggested that we take down all the formerly
beautiful (but now dead) annual plants that we had bought at Home Depot this
summer. Wanting to make the outside of our house look a little less like the
Addams family home, I quickly agreed and started the process of taking each of
the plants down and discarding them in the trash can. When my task was completed, my
wife suggested that we go ahead and throw away the ugly fake plant which had
long ago reached the point of no return in the beautification department. As I
stood up on my ladder, I peered down inside of the plant to ensure that it was
devoid of any occupants. Quickly reassuring myself that there were no birds,
eggs, or babies in or around the plant, I took it down and put it inside of my
big 64-gallon, pink garbage can. Having completed my task, I went to round up
my son and called him inside for dinner.
Recently, I
was talking to my oldest and best friend who now lives in Nashville, Tennessee.
We have been friends since before our high school days and our friendship has remained steadfast through the years. As I talked to my friend, he was bemoaning
the fact that his local Walmart store in Tennessee had begun to put out Christmas
decorations at the beginning of October. “What about Thanksgiving??” he asked
me during our conversation that day. His main issue with the Christmas decorations
appearing in Walmart and in other stores at the beginning of October was the
fact that he felt like Thanksgiving was being ignored altogether. While I
agreed with the point he made as well as his observations to an extent, I quickly reminded him
that we are to be thankful year-round, not just once a year on Thanksgiving Day.
As I reminded him, gratitude is something that we must choose to actively
practice each day.
I have
always been a deep thinker, and many people over the years have referred to me
as an “old soul.” While I have always been a deep thinker, the older I get the truer
that seems to become. In my 40s, I think deeply, feel deeply, and love deeply
with a capacity that I did not possess in my teens, 20s, or 30s. Granted, a
part of that has to do with my personal growth as a person. I think that as we go
through things in life and gain life experiences, those said experiences touch
us, change us, and transform us. If they don’t, then we should probably take a
good look at ourselves internally and reevaluate ourselves as human beings.
When I was
younger, I used to believe that the measure of a man’s success came from his
material possessions. Indeed, I believed that the type of car that he drove, the size of the home that
he lived in (as well as the location of said home), and the size of his bank account defined
him as who he was and whether or not he had been successful in life. But the
older I get, the more I realize that this mindset is so wrong, and these things
are so not what defines a person as a successful human being. Rather, I now
feel that a man’s ability to love others, show kindness, and do the most good
that he can possibly do in this broken-down world of ours is what truly defines a
successful man. Now, I am not saying that men who live in big homes or drive
fancy cars or possess a hefty bank account are not successful. I have known a number of men who have had all the above-mentioned things and still managed to be
successful in the way that they lived their life and spread kindness around
them. I believe that the true measure of being successful is when we learn how
to be grateful and we actively choose to practice gratitude every single day that
we are given to be alive. When we possess the ability to be grateful for what
we have been given, no matter how or great or how small those things may be, is
what defines us as successful humans.
The older I
get, the less material things seem to matter to me. Indeed, as long as I have my
humble little house (with its oft unused porch), my wonderful son and my lovely
wife, the love of my friends, and my three annoying but very devoted dogs, I am
a wealthy and blessed man. Each morning when I wake up, I thank my heavenly
father for all the many blessings that he has bestowed on me. I actively choose
to practice gratitude. As I reminded my friend in Nashville during that recent
conversation, we should be grateful every day of the year, and every day that
we are alive is Thanksgiving day! Instead of looking at the Christmas
decorations (which magically seemed to appear at the beginning of October) in a
negative light, I suggested that he look at it as the beginning of a three-month-long season in which he could progressively give thanks each day as he
moved towards the Christmas season. He thanked me for that suggestion and
admitted that he had not thought of it that way before. So yes, while
Thanksgiving does seem to be a forgotten holiday in the commercial sense, it does not need
to be forgotten in our hearts. Thanksgiving is every day. The peace that we find through the hope that we embrace as we enter the Christmas season is not a one-day-only deal. That hope that we have in our hearts is there 24 hours a day, seven
days a week, 365 days a year! We have 365 days in which to be thankful.
·
For
the 18-year-old car which once belonged to my grandfather that I hang on to and drive back and
forth to work each day strictly out of sentimental reasons, I am thankful.
·
For
the curly-haired eight-year-old little boy who has given me so much gray hair of
my own, but has brought so much joy into my life, I am thankful.
·
For
my wonderful wife who has never given up on me even though I have probably
given her lots of reasons to, I am thankful.
·
For
the humble little house that is been my home for most of my married life and
has been the only home that my son has ever known, I am thankful.
·
For
the tiny little stray dog who wandered up to my house and claims me as her
very own human as she curls up in my lap each night while I fall asleep in my
recliner, I am thankful.
·
For
all the people who love me and care about me and keep me from falling into that
dark pit, I am thankful.
·
For
the career and the job that I did not choose, but “fell into” and grew to love,
I am thankful.
As my son got situated and cleaned up
for dinner inside the house on that cold November night, I went outside one more
time to make sure that I had put all my tools and other stuff back in my
garage. As I walked the length of my front porch to make sure that I had not
left anything outside, I observed three little, tiny brown birds, either
finches or sparrows, frantically flying and searching at each of the seven
porch columns. As I watched the birds, I saw that they eventually gave up in
defeat and landed on the swing, where they sat watching me. Suddenly, a
lightbulb went off in my head. “Oh no!” I exclaimed to myself. I bet we threw their
house away. Quickly, I went inside to share both my observation and revelation
with my wife.
“Absolutely not!” She said as I told
her of my plan to get the ugly, fake plant out of the garbage and hang it back
up. “I am not going to have that ugly thing hanging back up on my porch!” But
you know what, my wife is a softy when it comes to animals just like I am. So
eventually, after much pleading and cajoling on my part, she agreed that we
could retrieve the ugly plant out of the pink garbage can and hang it up on the
porch. Fortunately, it had been the last item that we threw away, so it was
safely on the top and had not been damaged in any way.
Dragging my ladder back out from the
garage, I proceeded to hang the ugly plant back in its rightful place. After
putting the ladder back in the garage, I peeked around the corner, curious to
see what would happen. Suddenly, out from a bush directly beneath where the
plant was hanging, popped out the three little brown birds. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
They all flew straight into the plant and proceeded to settle themselves in for
the night.
Later that night, after I was sure
that they were asleep and that I would not disturb them, I grabbed a step stool and
went outside. Using the light from my cell phone, I peered into the plant and
watched the three little birds huddled in one mass together as they braved the
fierce cold of that frigid November night. Since that day, checking on them has
become a ritual of mine. Every morning, I look to see if the birds are gone,
and they are; obviously, they must leave at the first light of day as they are
gone by the time that I leave for work. Each night, since that cold evening in
November, I have checked on my three little birds. They are always there,
grateful to have had their humble abode restored to them. It does bring me some
measure of comfort knowing that I had a part in making sure that those three
had a nice cozy place to ride out the winter.
To my wife and I, it was (and still
is) an ugly fake plant that has seen better days! But to those three little
birds, it is home. And I am sure, in their own way, they continue to
experience an immense sense of gratitude and thankfulness for what they have been given.
Tuesday, December 14, 2021
Samson Society - "The No Bull Briefing" - December 2021
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