Straight From The Hart

The Seasons Of Our Life In late 2010 I began doing an in-depth study on the seasons of our lives. All the properties of seasons, how they come in cycles and how they change.  Sometimes predictable but not always.  Each season has it's pros and cons. I did this in order to be better pastor to the people in my church who were going through their own seasons of change.  Some were getting older and having to give up routine activities.  Some were dealing with the sudden onset of disease or sickness.  Some were dealing with family changes - marriage, problems with children, etc.  Some were dealing with financial issues, loss of jobs, accumulation of debt, etc.  And of course some were dealing with the loss of friends or family, through death, or divorce, etc. Seasons are cyclical, but our life seasons come and go in different ways than the normal seasons of the year. New relationships can be forged.  Broken relationships can be mended.  Wounds will heal.  Recovery from surger

I found this on a fibromyalgia  blog and realized it is the epitome of my obsession about worms, and other things.  Made me realize I am not crazy because I am always looking for worms and can spot one a mile away! Hypervigilance:  a state of being constantly tense, on guard, and exceptionally aware of the environment. Some researchers believe that hypervigilance is a feature of fibromyalgia  and  chronic fatigue syndrome . Some research supports this hypothesis, while some does not. The idea is that our brains become overly aware of things, which can include painful stimuli, noises, bright lights, and general activity. That could explain why our bodies react so strongly to sensation that most people wouldn't experience as painful, as well as why we're sensitive to noise, light , chaotic environments and more. With hypervigilance, not only do you notice things more readily, you're likely to be unable to divert our attention from them. When something is beeping in t

Straight From The Hart By Joan Rowden Hart Reflections on Cemetery Winds. For the rest of this week,  and over the holiday weekend, most of us will  visit a cemetery or several of them.  Some will come bearing floral sprays and vases to place on graves of loved ones.  Friends will meet and greet, some will shed tears, but all will feel the inevitable winds which seem to always blow through a cemetery. Some time ago I stood in one of our local cemeteries,  and after arriving back home, I went to my computer and wrote the following reflections on my time there. I enter the cemetery, and it lies silent before me.  The tombstones stand as sentinels as if there is a need to protect the stories that the upright stones would tell. So I stand in the quietness of this place,  and while my eyes are looking at dates and names and epitaphs, the ears of my soul are straining to hear the hidden secrets of the lives of those whose bones now lie beneath this sod. The words “infant d

You can't be all things to all people, You can't do all things at once, You can't do all things better than everyone else, Your humanity is showing just like everyone else's. So: You have to find out who you are, and be that. You have to decide what comes first and do that. You have to discover your strengths, and use them. You have to learn not to compete with others. Because no one else is in the contest of "being you". Then: You will have learned to accept your own uniqueness. You will have learned to set priorities and make decisions. You will have learned to live with your limitations. You will have learned to give yourself the respect that is due. And you'll be a most vital mortal. Dare to believe: That you are a wonderful unique person. That you are a once in all history event. That it's more than a right, it's your duty, to be who you are. That life is not a problem to solve, but a gift to cherish. And you'll be

The yellow flowers, so bright and gay, Appear at dusk, then fade away As sunshine warms their brilliant bloom. They gladly shine, yet know their doom. Their beauty lasts but for a day, But, oh the joy, they bring our way As one by one their blooms unfurl In rapid succession they seem to whirl Away from the stem, their petals spread Like buttery swirls on morning bread. In silent concert they nod and dance In worship to God, not here by chance. And just like them, God plants us here To serve Him first, our purpose clear. Too soon we fade, our life like mist Above the ground the rain has kissed. We bloom in beauty, and when we're through We pass away like morning dew And all we are, and all we say Will be forgotten in just a day. But what we do, and the lives we touch Will be our legacy and can mean so much. So we must bloom and share our beauty And worship God, which is our duty And brighten lives, though for a day To

Straight From The Hart By Joan Rowden Hart Fibromyalgia Awareness Month I’m going to deviate this week from my usual theme of writing about Lebanon’s  history and people in order to address a current medical issue. May is Fibromyalgia Awareness Month and I hope this column will help to educate us to  understand this growing health problem which affects so many people here in Lebanon. The American College of Rheumatology estimates that fibromyalgia affects between 3 million and 6 million Americans, mostly women of child-bearing age and older, but also men and even young children and teenagers. Fibromyalgia, also called “fibro”,  is not a disease, but a syndrome, meaning that it exhibits a specific set of symptoms that take place together. Although fibro is not characterized as an arthritic condition, for purposes of diagnosis and treatment it  falls under the medical umbrella of rheumatology. We have come a long way in recent years because doctors used to tell a patient suffering from f

Joan’s Philosophy of Life We caught a pesky squirrel tonight Our attic he did plunder Every time we went upstairs His prancing sounded like thunder. The trap was set, the bait was placed It didn’t take long to do it As soon as he smelled the fresh peanut bait His little paws took him right to it We carried him out to the old pickup truck To give him a ride to the country To let him out far away from town So he could find him a fun tree But he got loose in the pickup truck We didn’t know what we would do How would we get him back in that cage Should we call the conservation crew? Then I had an idea about how we could catch him It sounds kind of crazylike, but I climbed right up in the pickup with him, And then I acted just like a nut. So when you have days that about do you in When your life seems to be in a rut When you are surrounded and feel overwhelmed Just give up and  act like a nut. You might be surprised how muc

A MAN WHO CAN PRAY I walked into the church last night and heard my husband’s voice He was talking with the Lord again, it made my heart rejoice For every time I hear him pray, I’m glad I made the choice To marry a man who can pray. He prays with earnest passion for those outside the fold: He prays with tearful pleadings for those with hearts grown cold: He prays and doesn’t care who hears, he prays with courage bold: This world needs more men who can pray. A man who prays is a man among men, who stands out above the crowd: For no man is ever taller than when his head is bowed: And no voice is ever more powerful than the man who prays out loud: And real men are the men who can pray. I walked into the church last night and in the stillness there I saw a man with head bowed low, his heart o’erwhelmed with care For me, for you, and for the church whose burdens we both share I’m so thankful for a husband who prays. Note:  I walked into the chur

Straight From The Hart By Joan Rowden Hart The  Paper   Chase How many of you remember The  Paper   Chase ? No, I’m not talking about the Oscar award winning 1973 movie starring Timothy Bottoms as a law school student named James T. Hart. I’m talking about a  paper   chase down Commercial Street in Lebanon about ten years earlier than that featuring a lawyer who had a  secretary named Joan Hart. It was a sunny Saturday morning in late spring when my boss, John F. Low, opened the large windows in his second floor law office above Dryer’s Shoe Store, to bring some fresh air into the office. The windows were on hinges and swung outward and as such were not equipped with screens. Directly below the waist high windows on the inside of his office was a large ledge about 18 inches deep which served as Mr. Low’s temporary storage for current cases consisting of large legal size filing folders stuffed full of legal documents and sheets torn from yellow legal pads with his unique and barely legi

Funny what you remember, but I the first time I saw a pregnant woman to get curious about was on Commercial St on a Saturday afternoon approximately in front of Dryer's Shoe Store. I was probably 6 or 7, and had been stuck with my grandmot her there for probably an hour or so while she visited with her sister, my Aunt Pearlie Smith, and my cousins. Aunt pearlie's oldest daughter, Jessie, was pregnant, probably with her first child, and she was wearing an old fashioned maternity dress, not a top, had a drawstring waist that you let out as you needed to and tied into a bow in front. I would have been about eye level with her tummy so all i had to do was stare and she was probably full term. i was fascinated! and as soon as we finally got away I asked my grandmother what was wrong with jessie's belly. it's strange I don't remember how the conversation went after that or how long it was until I realized what was "wrong" with it, but I remember vividly the day,

I'm often asked why Tears fall from my eyes When my prayers ascend to the throne; It's so easy for me To shed tears, don't you see; That's the way I make my needs known. For the tears that I shed In the prayers that I've said Have all been kept by Him In a bottle rare; He has placed them there He has never forgotten them. For every tear Is a liquid prayer That waters the seed that we sow. Through the good times and bad Whether happy or sad The tears help our prayers to flow. Feel a tug in your heart? Then let the tears start When you take to God all your cares. He knows what you need; He hears when you plead; For tears are just liquid prayers. Written by Joan Rowden Hart 12.17.01, based on Psalm 56:8, “Thou tellest my wanderings; put thou my tears into thy bottle; are they not in thy book?”   This poem was inspired by my dear friend, Betty Shanks of Farmington , Mo , who coined the phrase “liquid prayers” after I had preached a sermon

Straight From The Hart By Joan Rowden Hart Oakland Mansion Part 2 Last week’s story about Jacob  Blickensderfer  building the Oakland Moravian Church and mansion brought more comments than I’ve had on any other column I have written. This week I want to give you a look inside the mansion as Jacob designed and built it.  Although I pastored the church Jacob built for 12 years, I have never been privileged to see inside the house so I can’t attest as to changes or renovations that have been made over the years by different owners. All of the information I am writing this week comes from a book entitled “Old Trails & Iron Rails” written by Jacob’s great-granddaughter, Norah Lee Brown.   Her information was taken from his diaries and letters. The house was built with three stories with an astronomical dome on top.  The dome observatory was enclosed by a wooden railing and had cannonball posts at each of the four corners.  It was accessed by a short flight of stairs from the 3rd floor.