My sister and I were talking today about some old times, and I made the comment that it’s funny how the most random occurances can trigger dormant memories I thought were lost.

For me, a certain smell or combination of smells has the ability to instantly conjure up a very concrete and specific memory from childhood. The aroma of baked rolls always takes me back to Sunday lunches after church at my grandmother’s house.

Diesel exhaust fumes, especially from a bus, can whisk me away to memories of high school marching band trips and youth retreats. It’s almost as if I’m 16 again and feeling the same kind of excitement and anticipation of what’s ahead.

For the time being, some people I love only live for me in my memories. Photographs can capture an image, but they don’t necessarily capture the essence of someone (or at least not for me).

I recently wrote about some of the special people and places and events from years past that I miss. I may have to add a sequel to that post, as I’m constantly reminded of old memories that I wish I could revisit.

Man, I sure could go for some rolls right about now.

 

I finally got around to the season 8 finale of The Walking Dead. It was every bit as good as advertised, as that all-out war between the Saviors and Rick’s Gang finally came to an end.

The payoff was worth it. It even made the last two seasons better.

But one line hit me in the gut. In a good way.

I’ll try not to give anything away, but just in case . . . spoiler alert.

Near the end, Rick has the chance to end someone’s life (and could easily be seen as justified in doing so), but chooses to spare said person’s life.

He says, “My mercy prevailed over my wrath.”

I love it when that happens.

I love it when forgiveness wins over bitterness, when enemies become friends, when understanding and  dialogue win the day.

I still love the Hebrew word hesed. As I heard it explained again today, the word is essentially untranslatable, but could be rendered as “when the person who I have no right to expect anything from gives me everything.”

Mercy triumphs over judgment.

I’m thankful that God’s mercy triumphed over the wrath that my sins deserved. I’m thankful that grace is a daily gift that allows me to wake up every morning.

I’m hoping always to be a man of mercy and grace whenever possible because I’ve benefitted from and been transformed by both.

 

Here’s how I look at it:

Expectations = Entitlement

Gratitude = Gift

That’s it.

Gratitude teaches me that God doesn’t owe me anything, but rather that I owe Him everything.

Gratitude reminds me that what God gives me is often way better than anything I could ever expect or hope from Him.

Gratitude tells me that if I must have expectations, to expect that God will continually surprise me in countless ways each day and every day.

Today, my expectations were a sunny spring day and a hike at Radnor Lake State Park.

The reality was more very unspringlike weather and some hot tea, Netflix, and good conversations with a friend.

Sometimes, I think my expectations are a little unrealistic. I think the ones I love, whether friends or family, will never move away, grow old, get sick, and die. I think I can somehow wish the present last forever.

The reality is that this is not all there is. This is not the best there is. Something way better is coming, and some that I love have been fortunate enough to get there early.

So my gratitude outweighs my expectations today. It’s been a very good day.

 

Note: I had elaborate plans for a grandiose blog post about all the things and people I miss from childhood, but it’s 11:46 and I’m way past too tired for anything requiring that much brain power.

I’m thinking that will come in the next few days, when I’ve had more sleep.

Instead, I’ll discuss my continuing Classic Doctor Who quest.

I’m on to the next doctor, Patrick Troughton. He’s decidedly different from William Hartnell. He’s much less stern and haughty, more warm-hearted yet at the same time more mysterious.

I can see how maybe Matt Smith’s 11th doctor was inspired by this particular doctor. There are many similarities.

I even get a kick out of the monsters. Of course, they’re all men in rubber suits or extremely fluffy versions of abominable snowmen. The BBC back in the day wasn’t known for big budgets or elaborate production value.

Still, the stories are good, and the acting is good. You just have to use your imagination to fill in the rest.

It’s a shame that so many episodes are missing from this particular period. I’m holding out hope that they’ll be found soon.

If Peanut could speak human, she’d say how glad she is that it’s almost Friday. Well, maybe not. She doesn’t have to get up before the crack of dawn at the ungodly hour of 5 am to go to work.

She gets to hang around the house all day, taking naps or snacks whenever she pleases.

But this human is thankful that Friday’s almost here. It means that for one glorious day I can shut off the alarm and roll over at the point when I’d normally be willing myself out of bed. I do love my sleep.

Until then, I’ll stick to counting my blessings (including the one where I get paid to work at a job that I really like). Tonight, I’m also thankful for having two sets of grandparents that helped shape me into who I am today.

Peanut would probably agree with all that, if she spoke people-ese.

 

 

I’m pretty sure this is what I look like every morning at 5 am. I avoid mirrors like the plague at that hour, so I can’t be for certain.

Still, I know that my soul is always blessed by that first sip of coffee (or in my case, coffee-flavored creamer).

Mornings are good because there is coffee. Otherwise, I’d probably not make it out of bed.

The end.

“Behold, how independent of outward circumstances the Holy Ghost can make the Christian! What a bright light may shine within us when it is all dark without! How firm, how happy, how calm, how peaceful we may be, when the world shakes to and fro, and the pillars of the earth are removed!

Even death itself, with all its terrible influences, has no power to suspend the music of a Christian’s heart, but rather makes that music become more sweet, more clear, more heavenly, till the last kind act which death can do is to let the earthly strain melt into the heavenly chorus, the temporal joy into the eternal bliss!

Let us have confidence, then, in the blessed Spirit’s power to comfort us. Dear reader, are you looking forward to poverty? Fear not; the divine Spirit can give you, in your want, a greater plenty than the rich have in their abundance. You know not what joys may be stored up for you in the cottage around which grace will plant the roses of content.

Are you conscious of a growing failure of your bodily powers? Do you expect to suffer long nights of languishing and days of pain? O be not sad! That bed may become a throne to you. You little know how every pang that shoots through your body may be a refining fire to consume your dross-a beam of glory to light up the secret parts of your soul.

Are the eyes growing dim? Jesus will be your light. Do the ears fail you? Jesus’ name will be your soul’s best music, and his person your dear delight. Socrates used to say, “Philosophers can be happy without music;” and Christians can be happier than philosophers when all outward causes of rejoicing are withdrawn. In thee, my God, my heart shall triumph, come what may of ills without! By thy power, O blessed Spirit, my heart shall be exceeding glad, though all things should fail me here below” (Charles Spurgeon, Morning and Evening).