Not too long ago, I read an account of a man who had stumbled across a good way to make a change in his thoughts. He was very angry with his ex-wife, and was holding that anger and resentment tightly in his heart.  While on the computer one day, he was asked to change the password to a site he frequented.  He changed it to: Forgiveher.  Every day, several times a day, he had to type "Forgiveher".  And, slowly, it worked.

     I like to have ringtones that alert me when the family is calling me - songs that I associate with each one of them.  But I used to use either canned rings or sort of popular songs for other ringtones.  Then I realized that I could make sure I heard something calming, or inspirational, or edifying, each time the phone rings.  What I hear now sends me a message to calm down.

     It's tempting to want to put the latest picture of the cute grandchild or an Oreo cookie as a screensaver, but when the computer is fired up and I pull up Micah 6: 6-8, it reminds me of my calling.

      Strange to admit, but I have an app on my phone that is set to go off randomly three times a day, as a signal to stop and breathe and let go.  The sound is a small and gentle one, and even when it goes off during a meeting, or in traffic, or when someone is in my office - I benefit from the reminder.  I'd bet the other people in the meeting, other cars, or talking with me do too, whether they're aware of it or not.

     Standing in line, I have a choice of reading the magazine covers  - I especially like the ones geared toward women that have BOTH cupcake recipes AND how to lose 10 pounds before Labor Day - or praying a sentence prayer.  Maybe "Jesus Christ Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner", or "Thanks. Help. Wow", or "What is the one thing You want me to notice today?  How can I be of help?".

     And of course, there is the ever faithul 'count to ten before you speak' change.  The other day, I didn't do that.  And I should have.  Boy, I should have.  

     In the 6th chapter to his letter to the church at Rome, Paul tells us (in paraphrase) to keep our eye on the prize.   Maybe by keeping our eyes, and our ears, in tune with a still more better way, we can stay closer to God.

I cannot be the only person who has their own Pandora Radio station playing as background music in their mind.  I hear an off the cuff statement from a random person in the street that ends, " ..if everyone can come", and I immediately go to, "If everyone cared, and nobody cried; if everyone loved, and nobody lied; if everyone shared and swallowed their pride we'd see the day when nobody died".

 When someone responds with "that's all I'm saying", I'm likely to spend the rest of the day with "Give peace a chance" on a loop in my brain. If there's a problem here at church, and we need someone to fix it, and the question is "Who are we going to call?"  I sort of HAVE to answer, "GHOSTBUSTERS!"

And sometimes, when I am alone, I catch myself singing under my breath, or in my head:

 "Darlin', you send me..."

 "There will be an answer, Let It Be"

"Just Molly and me, and baby makes three; we're happy in My Blue Heaven"

 "All I have needed Your hand has provided"

 

Who knows?  Is my brain just rambling?  Have I heard something unconsciously that triggered a song? Or, just maybe:


 that Leon loves me


 I needed to be reminded that I need to calm down

 that somewhere out there my mom or dad was thinking of me

 that God will take care of me


Who knows?  I don't, and I suppose unless I try to make something more out of it than it is, well, it's not for me to say.

Oh, great.  Now I hear Johnny Mathis.....................

My first church was a rural one in a sort of small town.  It was a sweet community with wonderful folks.  Not too terribly long after I came on board, a young couple joined the church.  They had a little boy - can't remember his exact age, but he was under 1. 

There weren't a lot of kids in the church at that time, and the entire congregation took him to raise.  When he was about 3, he and his parents took a trip to see the grandparents.  The next Sunday, when his family walked in the door, he made a beeline for me, shouting "PASSER MOLLY!!!!" (Pastor Molly) at the top of his lungs.

I squatted down for my hug.  "I missed you, Jackson!"  I said.  "How was your visit?"

He took my face in his hands and said, with all the seriousness of a three year old: "I went to Nana's church, Passer Molly, and guess what!?!?!?"

"What?" I asked.

He drew a deep breath and said: "Her minister's a MAN!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I assured him that I knew of several male ministers, and that they were all nice.

It's all relative, isn't it? Sometimes what we are used to isn't the norm, but until we venture out of our own small world, we don't know that, do we?

Bless his heart.  Wherever you are, Jackson, I hope life is good.