Years ago I was in one of life’s doldrums when everything seemed bleak and gray. I don’t remember for the life of me what dumped me in the swamp of misery, but I do remember what got me out. Psalm 23:3, “He restoreth my soul.”

The 23rd Psalm. That’s one of the favorites on everyone’s “Top Twenty” of Bible Passages. It’s comforting on all sorts of levels. When I’m really tired, bone weary for one reason or another, I like to think about lying down in green pastures, smelling that delicious smell of green grasses. The imagery of still waters is calming. And of course the Lord’s being with us, warding off evil with His rod and staff, when we walk through our particular valleys, gives peace in life’s worst moments.

But during that time I mentioned earlier, my soul felt particularly tattered and ragged. I’m not exactly sure where my soul is located, but I knew Jesus knew, and I asked him to fix it up for me, make it whole again, maybe even take it to the “Soul Restoration Shop.” I had a mental image of lots of little souls, lining up to be repaired and beautified – kind of like in “The Wizard of Oz” when Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow were all spruced up before they met with the Wizard. Dorothy got a new hairdo and some make-up, the Tin Man was buffed and oiled to perfection, the Lion had a perm in his gorgeous mane, and Scarecrow got a lot of new straw!

From time to time that day I would think about Jesus restoring my soul, bringing it back to its renewed state, and I was at peace with that thought. Gradually I realized the day was less bleak and gray than it had been. I was more at peace. An element of joy had crept in to chase away the doldrums. My soul was back, no longer tattered, but miraculously renewed and restored by the Hand of the Master Soul Restorer Himself.

Ok, I admit it. I’m a “Facebook test” junkie! Ten weird non sequiter questions with equally weird answers to choose from populate these idiotic quizzes. And I take them. I have to know how Southern I am, what my old-person’s name is, what kind of house, or dog or cat or whatever I am! My old person’s name is Hilda. I am indeed Southern. And I am a cottage. There should be a support group for those of us with this addiction!

Today my nephew tempted me with one of these tests. This time it was to see how open-minded I am.

I compulsively took his test (on which my nephew scored “88% open-minded”) and, trying to answer as honestly as I could, I scored “57%.” Is that good or bad? I don’t know.

Some of the questions disturbed me (unlike the questions of the other inane tests which just confused me.)

For instance, if I discover that my favorite author is an outspoken misogynist (which I had to look up: it basically means woman-hater) would I continue to read his books because I like his style, or would I never read his books again? It seems to me that would have leaked out somewhere in his writings, so he wouldn’t have been my favorite author to begin with. But suppose instead of misogynist, he was an avowed atheist and wrote really good mystery stories which had nothing to do with faith? Would I stop reading because he was an atheist? Probably not.

How would I handle a discussion with a senile man on a park bench who turned out to be a racist? Try to change him (Are you kidding? You can’t even change someone in their right mind!) Try to be all touchy-feely and understand that there was something in his background  that made him this way (besides that he was old, senile, and grew up in a different era, you mean?)  and “gently try to open his mind.” The answer I really leaned toward, but realized it wasn’t a particularly caring response, was “walk away.” Maybe I was over-thinking here, but this question and my uncertainty about what I would do, bothered me a lot.

I had no problem with the question about eating pig brain fritters in Cuba (that would be a NO!”), but do I believe the U.S. could learn something from other parts of the world? What parts? Something good – maybe. Something bad – for sure!

Have I ever had a real conversation with a homeless person? What is a “real conversation”? Does it count that one time I offered to take a panhandler to a restaurant, buy him dinner and sit with him while he ate? He rejected my offer and went on to the next sucker to beg real money. (He would fail this part of the test because he wasn’t open-minded enough to talk with me!)

I struggled with the question which at first seemed to be the easiest: “True or False – In life, there is almost always a right way to do things and a wrong way to do things…” Had it stopped there, the answer was obvious: True. But it went on “… and it’s easy to see the difference between the two.” Uh oh. It’s often very hard to know what the right way is, especially if we’re depending on our own (open or closed) minds to make the decision. But because I believe I have the mind of Christ (1Corinthians 2:16), and if I am willing to wait until I get clear direction from Him, I can be sure my choice will be the right one, no matter how the Facebook test rates my open-mindedness.

Lord, yesterday You spoke to me again, told me to write, and again I said I had so many things to do and I promised You I’d write “later.” Well, here it is, much later, and I hope I haven’t missed the opportunity. Fortunately, You prodded me to make notes (You know my penchant for putting You off, I’m afraid, and You knew I’d forget the great ideas You gave me!) so, Lord, if You’ll get me in tune with Your purpose for my writing, this time I’ll sit here and write for You – if You’ll tie me to this chair for awhile!

When I finished my devotional reading yesterday, I was immediately despondent, mentally flogging myself for my ineptness in doing “God’s will.” The meditation question, which I was supposed to ponder and use as a springboard for my daily journaling, was: “What keeps me from working with all my might in the position God has placed me?” I responded: “Laziness. Lack of organization. Physical excuses (e.g. my back, my being tired, even my age). All the stuff I have to do, like fold clothes, vacuum up dog hair and clean out my china cabinet. Worry about commitments, family issues and the state of the world.”

As I was wallowing in “mea culpa” once again, realizing there was no way, as awful as I am, that I’d ever reach the goals I felt my devotional said I should attain, I was suddenly struck with the idea (God strikes me with ideas sometimes – hits me in the head with them, actually!) that if I strive to reach the world’s goals, even goals a “Christian” devotional directs me to, I am usually derailed by all of the above inadequacies of my personality. But God is not surprised by my inadequacies! (He knew I wouldn’t write for Him yesterday, so He had me take notes!) He has goals in mind, just for me that can be achieved only by me with my personality! If I’m open to His leading (even if I procrastinate some and put Him off a bit) He can use me for the Varner-Jo-shaped purposes He has laid out for me! (God always uses my double name!) And those Varner-Jo-shaped purposes are usually right down my alley – like writing, which is my favorite creative thing to do!

I love you, Lord! Thank you for making me the way I am – which apparently is the way You planned for me to be: lazy, disorganized, prone to excuses and all! Use me the way You want to use me! (Please remind me to take notes, Lord. And keep hounding me until I respond to You!)

My husband asked me to drive so he could do some work to prepare for a client. He pulled onto the shoulder and we did the old driver switcheroo. Afterwards, we were in some rough traffic for several miles, and my tension mounted with the erratic speed of driving as vehicles changed lanes and jockeyed for position.

Throughout the congestion I constantly worried about my speed: Am I going too fast or too slowly? My adrenalin was pumping and my muscles were tense as I alternately sped up and slowed down.

Eventually the traffic thinned out considerably and I was able to go the speed limit. Only then did I think it was safe to turn the cruise control on. As it engaged, the accelerator pedal was automatically taken over by the cruise genie, and at last my foot relaxed some, just barely hovering over the pedals to be ready in an instant should circumstances warrant. The tension in my shoulders and neck also eased a bit as I surrendered a little to the ability of the cruise control to keep me at an even speed.

Now I was able to – yes – cruise along in a more relaxed state. But I was still ready to resume control of the accelerator at a moment’s notice.

It occurred to me that turning the car’s cruise control on is kind of like the way I let God be in charge of my life. I let Him be in control, only after I’ve maneuvered into an area where I think it’s safe to let go a little; but I’m still hovering around just in case I feel the need to take over again. The tension eases, but I’m still on the alert just in case something unforeseen happens and I want to be the one in control once more.

Being ever on the alert to disengage the car’s cruise control when circumstances change is, of course, a wise and safe way to drive.

But it is neither wise nor safe to second-guess God and wrench the control of my life from His hands just as soon as I think the situation is too tough to trust to Him.

God wants me to surrender totally to Him. Whether I’m cruising through life during the easy times, or changing lanes and speeds, or even stopping abruptly during the rough patches, He wants me to leave it all in His control.

We are signed up to go to Israel in a little over a month!

With the rockets flying and the 24/7 news reports of the awful stuff going on in that country, you’d think this chicken chick would be looking for every possible way of getting out of going there! I don’t do danger!!

But I am still extremely excited about the trip. The thoughts of walking where Jesus walked, seeing sights He saw and breathing air that might contain one molecule of the oxygen that went in and out of His lungs are exhilarating to me!! I know that last part is weird, but that’s my brain for you.

My husband – the guy who jumped out of airplanes when we were just married (when I was sure I’d be a widow before our first year’s anniversary!); who trained to scuba dive in underwater caves; who skied off a mountain, breaking nearly every rib and permanently injuring his spine, and then went back to try to ski again 2 years later, although he was still partially paralyzed from the other ski accident; who has made me ride on the back of motorbikes off the beaten path of almost every country we’ve ever visited – that guy is scared to take this trip to the Holy Land!  He’d probably rather I use the word “apprehensive.”

Is my sense of adventure finally kicking in? I cancelled out on a trip to Israel 10 years ago. But this time I really want to go!

Let the rockets fly! My God is an awesome God and He still loves Israel and instructs us to love her too. “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: May those who love you be secure.”(Psalm 122:6 NIV) I love Israel, so I am secure. Period. However that plays out with God.

When we decided to go on the trip we laughed: “What better place to die than the Holy Land?” I think these words may now seem closer to the truth than my husband was honestly thinking. I’ve got a lot more living I want to do. But if my time is up (and only the Good Lord knows when that is) wouldn’t it make a better story to die in Israel than in a car wreck on Interstate 85? Or on the streets of Chicago? Or even in a ski accident in Colorado!

So, unless the State Department intervenes, the tour company cancels, or God tells me “NO!” we’re going. And so far I get nothing but a “thumbs up” from my Lord!

Have you ever thought you’d gotten over a hurt and totally forgiven the one who hurt you, only to find that you’d just stuffed the hurtful situation down deep in your psyche, so deep that you would have sworn you’d never think about it again? Then – wham – up it pops, at the most unexpected time to ruin your day – or your life.

I have, and it can be devastating to be re-visited by some old, painful memory.

There’s one in particular that has liked to vex me for years, one I’ve been sure I’ve conquered with true forgiveness. Then out it has jumped to make my heart miserable all over again. Satan takes delight in dredging up old junk, which I can just see him and his cohorts dancing gleefully around as I wallow in my misery.

Not too long ago a particular hurt reared its nasty head, sending my  adrenalin into overdrive. All the self-talk I could muster wasn’t able to quell the memory of the hurt.

It occurred to me that this hurt was kind of like the glowing-eyed monster a child “sees” in her closet at night which causes her to slam the closet door, jump terrified into her bed and holler for her daddy. She can forget about that old monster all day long, going in and out of the closet at will, but when nighttime comes, out he pops in her memory to torment her.

The only way to get rid of the fear of that monster is for her daddy to take her by the hand, open the closet door, turn the light on and let her see what it is that is frightening her so. Then she will find, strengthened by her daddy’s presence, that the “monster” is only a stuffed monkey with green plastic eyes that’s tucked away amid the other clutter in her closet.

So the last time my hurt “monster” tormented me, I asked my Heavenly Father to spiritually “hold my hand” as He and I together opened the closet of my memory. Together we took out all the facets of that old hurt and looked at them in the Light that only He can shine. And guess what? That old hurt wasn’t at all the monster that I’d built it up to be.

Reviewing the hurt with God helped me to see how small and powerless it really is, just like that stuffed monkey – a monster of my mind no more.

Even through the closed car windows with the a/c blasting, I could smell the bloated carcass of the fox on the side of the highway. Briefly that annoying song about what the fox says morphed in my mind to “How does the fox smell?” Nauseating, if it’s been dead awhile in 80 degree heat!

As I quickly changed the air mode from “outside air” to “recirculate and filter,” I hoped the folks who pick up dead animals on the highway would be along soon.

My morphing mind then wondered when the buzzards would get wind, so to speak, of the fox, and come for their feast. I am always amazed when I see those grotesque vultures pecking clean the skeletons of their long-dead dinners. How can they eat rotting flesh as their regular diet when we humans can eat something out of the refrigerator, which may be only a few days past its prime, and be sick for days?

I stand in awe that God in His infinite wisdom created animals just to take care of the bodies of dead things lying around. God’s garbage crew. What a wondrously crafted system these birds have that can digest putrefying flesh.

In fact God thinks so much of these ugly old birds that they have their own Bible verses in Revelation and their explicit purpose after the Battle of Armageddon: to get rid of all the dead bodies. “Then I saw an angel standing in the sun, shouting to the vultures flying high in the sky: ’Come! Gather together for the great banquet God has prepared. Come and eat the flesh of kings, captains, and strong warriors; of horses and their riders; and of all humanity, both free and slave, small and great.’” (Rev. 19: 17-18 NLT) Not exactly cozy bedtime reading, but there you have it.

God has a purpose for everything and everybody – some things and some bodies fulfill their purposes better than others. The buzzards know exactly what they’re supposed to do – and they do it very well, although their appearance circling above is the stuff nightmares and Westerns are made of.

We humans, God’s very special creation, don’t always fulfill our Divine purposes. Although our Lord has made us only “a little lower than the angels,” (Psalm 8:5) we frequently act like we really are children of satan.

I’m glad I don’t have to worry about being among those “small and great” who are devoured by the buzzards at the end of time. My Savior Jesus will save me from that awful ending. I pray He will save you too.

When I was a little girl, I loved staying home from school when I was the least bit puny, not necessarily to avoid school, but just so I could be near my Mama.

I have recollections of lying on the living room couch (they weren’t “sofas” then), with the sun streaming in the window, while Mama busied herself in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast and listening to “Don McNeil’s Breakfast Hour” on the radio. I delighted in being near her, just hearing her hum, and listening to her movements in the kitchen.

Often I yearn to be near Jesus that way, hearing His voice, listening for His movement. Just being close to Him is the comfort I yearn for. And through prayer I can feel Him and know He’s near – nearer than my beloved Mama could ever possibly be, because He’s in me, and I’m in Him. And the Son is shining!

A lot of squirrelly stuff has been posted on Facebook lately: videos galore showing the ingenuity, single-mindedness and downright dogged determination (“squirreled” determination?) of the pesky rodents to get to bird feeders. It’s amazing what minefields of squirrel-baffle contraptions they will go through to devour the expensive feed we bird lovers attempt to lavish on our feathered friends.

When I was a kid my mechanical engineer father attempted to devise a squirrel-proof birdfeeder which hung from a wire strung across the creek that ran through our front yard. He had pulleys and mechanisms to bring the feeder to him to fill, and then he maneuvered it back to its home above the middle of the creek. It took the squirrels about 15 minutes to figure out how to walk the wire. Daddy then wrapped that wire with barbed wire. It took the squirrels a little longer to walk as they had to stop from time to time and lick their little barb-pricked paws, but they were not deterred. Daddy was too kind-hearted to leave the barbwire in place, especially once we saw it didn’t do any good. He just decided to enjoy watching the wire-walking show the squirrels put on.

Pondering the persistence of these squirrels in their passionate pursuit of birdseed, I wondered if there is anything I’m that passionate or persistent about. “If at first you don’t succeed – just give up,” has pretty much been my motto throughout life.

I like to think I’m passionate about my relationship with Jesus, but I wonder if I’d cave at the first impediment anyone tried to put up in my pursuit of Him.

Fortunately God doesn’t try to keep me from Him with booby traps. He Himself is the Hound of Heaven, doggedly pursuing all of us as we run from Him, erecting our own forms of baffles to keep Him away. But like the squirrels and the birdseed, He will keep after us until we surrender, take down the barbed wire we have strung, and decide we might as well relax and enjoy His show.

You know that awkward moment when you’ve just heard some famous person died and your first thought is, “Weren’t they already dead?”

That just happened to me again when this past weekend I saw on Facebook that Andy Griffith had died. Immediately I thought, “That must be an old post, because I’m sure he died a while ago.” I could have sworn that I’d already had the moment of sadness when I realized Opie’s dad wasn’t going to be around anymore, except through eternal re-runs. But no. Apparently Andy Griffith did just recently die. It’s sad to have lost another TV good guy, but his death is almost anticlimactic to me since I was so sure he was already gone.

I remember Mama saying she cried all day when Clark Gable died. It never entered her mind to think he was already dead. I miss that grieving process. I do remember getting sad over my heartthrob Paul Newman’s death. And Robert Redford’s – wait! No! He isn’t dead! Whew thank goodness – I just checked Google about him!

If  I live long enough, I’m sure  when I die there will be some who say, “Hey, I thought she was already dead!”

But at least in heaven the angel Michael won’t walk into God’s Throne Room and in somber tones say, “Did you hear? Varner Jo Holmes is dead.” Only to have God reply, “No! You’re kidding! I thought she died eons ago.”

He’s known every minute of my life from before the beginning, so although my death won’t come as a surprise to Him, He at least won’t think it happened at some other time and that it slipped His mind.

In fact I’m always on His mind, as all His children are. And just as  He knows each sparrow that falls, it’s comforting  that He’s  got it timed down to the smallest part of a second when we’ll come to live in our heavenly home with Him.

I don’t know if heaven works this way, but I wonder when I get there and see Mama, if she’ll say, “You’ll never guess who I just met…Clark Gable! You remember him. It seems like only yesterday he died.”

(NOTE:  I was right!! Andy Griffith already died July 3, 2012!  Facebook got it wrong!  But God didn’t!!)