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!!) 

(Caution: Tooth fairy spoiler. Do not read this to young children. Not that you would, but I’ve always wanted to give a warning before one of my blogs.)

These militant atheists are getting on my last nerve. I was raised by a wonderful agnostic, my daddy, who insisted I go to Sunday School so I could make up my own mind, and who took me to every youth group or church meeting I wanted to go to before I could drive myself. You might even say he was a major player in bringing me to Jesus! At least in taking me to where folks talked about Jesus.

Back to the atheists – if they’re so sure God doesn’t exist, why the heck are they so all fired up about trying to stop those of us who believe in Him from having anything to do with Him when they’re around, and even when they’re not around?

If a 6-year-old is talking about how much money the tooth fairy is going to bring her for her lost tooth, does an atheist raise the roof because the tooth fairy isn’t real? Some are so mean-spirited they might just do that, but most would probably just pat the kid on the head and smile benignly, knowing soon enough some older kid would spill the beans. The tooth fairy is no threat to an atheist’s beliefs, or lack thereof.

So, atheists – if you’re absolutely positive there is no God,  then how could my believing in something that’s not real have any effect on you?

Unless of course you’re scared there is a God and that if you get too close to someone who really believes in Him, you might catch it. Then you’d find yourself believing in God. And you’d learn about how God’s Son Jesus came to save us from hell, here on earth and in the hereafter. Then you’d –gasp! – become a born again believer and no longer an atheist.

And all your atheist friends, who are so cool because they don’t believe in God, would tease you unmercifully because now you do. How awful.

Here’s another spoiler:  when you die you’ll get to go live with Jesus, but when your atheist friends die – well God only knows where they’ll go.

The  fad of the monogram is with us once again, this time in epidemic proportions.

When I was in high school, more years ago than I will admit to, we girls wore monogrammed blouses and sweaters and had necklaces with our fancy initials on them. When I got married my husband’s and my combined initials were intertwined significantly on pillowcases, bath towels and silverware.

Monogramming used to connote a certain elegance – but today everything seems to sport a monogram. From curly-cued initials on backpacks to monograms on the rear windows of Jeeps, our personal stamps adorn just about everything. And that’s what they are: personal stamps to differentiate our blouses, pillowcases, backpacks or Jeeps from everyone else’s, and to make them our own.

What got me thinking about monograms was, of all things, a Bible verse I read today: “You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You because he trusts in You.” (Isaiah 26:3) For a minute I wondered if that was the correct wording.

Years ago that verse jumped out and grabbed me and I personalized it to make it my own: “You will keep her in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You because she trusts in You.” And that’s the way I memorized it – replacing the generic masculine pronouns with the feminine ones which in my mind made that verse just for me. It might as well have had “VBH” monogrammed on it. So when I read it today I was confused for just a second because my “monogram” was missing – it was a verse for everybody, not just for me!

And of course it is a verse for everyone. But it’s also God’s Word which He led me to personalize that first time I read it – when He monogrammed it just for me.

Mama was a meticulous seamstress who adored sewing. I have inherited neither her ardor nor her ability. But I whiled away many hours with her in fabric stores, choosing paper patterns, feeling the quality of the material, picking out threads and buttons and zippers.

A lot of our time was spent in the remnant section of the store – an area that had the dregs of the bolts of cloth, seldom enough to make much but a kid’s shirt or pants, but great quality material at a fraction of its original cost. After picking out a remnant, Mama would proceed to smell the cloth to see if it was enough to make the garment she envisioned. Actually I learned later she wasn’t smelling it at all – she was holding one end to her nose and stretching it out the length of her arm, the distance of which was about a yard. I liked it better when I thought she could smell how long it was!!

Today I saw a Facebook posting by a friend. It had a beautiful picture of the American flag, over which was written “God bless America, my home sweet home.” And my friend had commented, “Please continue to do so for your remnant, Lord.” Which got me on this remnant thing.

I did a little (very little) Bible research and found out  there are numerous references to “the remnant” in the Old Testament, and several in the New. The Anchor Bible Dictionary describes the remnant as “What is left of a community after it undergoes a catastrophe.” Certainly the Jews have undergone innumerable catastrophes since their beginning – and yet a remnant still remains to this day.  In the New Testament we are told in Romans 11:5 that, “So too at the present time there is a remnant chosen by grace.” And a scary-sounding verse appears in Revelation 12:17 – “And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ.”

As scary as that verse is, I think my FB friend was referring to this remnant when she prayed her prayer on this Fourth of July. That remnant is us – those who pray for our country, who continue to seek a closer relationship with Jesus, who follow Him and obey him, who even know His smell.

But unlike Mama, who merely looked like she was smelling the cloth to find if it was suitable for her purpose, God knows by the smell of Jesus clinging to our souls if we are the remnant He can use for His eternal purpose.

Please do continue to bless our country, Lord, for your remnant and for all those You yearn to have included in your remnant. May the smell of Jesus once again waft over this land.

Drake, who just recently passed his Nursing Boards and now has “RN, BSN” behind his name, (nothing to do with the story, but I like to brag!) is my first grandchild. When he was maybe 4 and had 2 younger siblings, he made up a game to play when he went on the inevitable long car rides 4-year-olds despise. I don’t know what he called it, but I called it “Counting Duallys.” For those uninitiated, as I once was BG (before grandsons, particularly grandsons who live in the country) a “dually” is a heavy-duty pickup truck with 2 wheels on each side of the back axle, to distribute a load better.

Drake, who by then could count pretty high, would entertain himself by counting each dually he saw on a trip, adding each to the number he had already accumulated. Of course, he counted these out loud.

After several weeks of this game, he, his brothers and his mama were getting ready to turn into their driveway when Drake announced “There’s number 172!” His mama protested, “But Drake, that’s Mr. Jimmy’s truck. You’ve counted that before!”

Not to be dissuaded from adding to his treasure-count of duallys, Drake announced, with maximum assurance, “It’s my game and I can make up the rules.”

I like that attitude – maybe not from a 4-year-old, unless he’s your precious first grandson – but I like that attitude! In fact I have used that expression so much that it has become somewhat of a family meme.

However, I rediscovered a Bible verse recently which makes me think that maybe God frowns on such an attitude: “We may make our plans, but God has the last word.” (Proverbs 16:1 GNT)

I can yell and scream and stomp my feet that “It’s my game and I can make up the rules,” but if the Lord has other plans, I can only count the duallys He says I can count. His rules are the ultimate ones which govern this game we call “Our Life.”

The Psalms are just about my favorite part of the Bible. I love David’s whinings to God in his writings here. Granted, he had a lot to whine about, but nothing was off-limits between him and the Lord. So I’ve decided to try my hand at a Psalm of Varner:

I bitched unto the Lord and He heard me in my bitchiness. He listened patiently as I groaned and complained on and on about all my troubles and the injustices in my life. And He didn’t once say, “Oh come on Varner Jo! Shape up! Get a grip! You’re over-reacting! Think of all you have to be thankful for.”

Instead the Lord said unto me, “Go and eat a cookie and take a couple of Tylenol. Lie down for a nap!” And while I rested He watched over me and I felt all nice and cozy snuggled in His love.

He refreshed my body and renewed my mind and sweetened my disposition. And when I awoke, life was good again! For this I praise God! (And so does my family!)

Years ago, when I was just beginning to wonder about Jesus, the phrase “personal relationship with Jesus” was a complete turn-off for me. I had no clue what that meant! Even after I became a believer I still wrestled with the concept of such a presumptuous affiliation with the Lord of the Universe.

It wasn’t until after my Daddy died and the whiff of mustard hit my nose one day, sending me into a spiral of nostalgia, that I realized knowing how a beloved person smelled was one of the most intimate parts of a personal relationship.

Daddy adored yellow mustard and put it on just about everything he ate. I think its odor oozed through his pores.

Instead of perfumed aftershave, every morning he doused his newly-shaven face with rubbing alcohol.  Isopropyl alcohol is also my Daddy.

Recently, when I had reason to be in an old machine shop, the smell of its ancient oil and grease stopped me in my tracks, as my throat constricted with another memory of my father.  He had run a machine shop and its smell clung to his clothes.

So what does memory of Daddy’s smell have to do with Jesus? Well, after a whole lot of prayer and devotional time, I realized I did have a personal relationship with Him – because just as I know what my daddy smelled like, I know what Jesus smells like too!

Before you scourge me as a heretic for intimating such, 2 Corinthians 2:15 kinda backs me up – “For to God we are Christ’s fragrance…” Jesus does have a smell, and God recognizes it! And, a little bit, I do too!

During prayer I often visualize myself burrowing my face into Jesus’ chest. You know what? I can smell my Lord!  And like my daddy, Jesus has different scents at different times.

When I’m happy and just want to climb up in His lap and get a spiritual hug, my spiritual nose luxuriates in the fragrance of clean, starched cotton. Sort of how my husband smells when he puts on a shirt, fresh from the laundry.

When I need forgiveness for some wrong I’ve done, I can almost smell the acrid odor of His blood which has washed away that very sin.

When sadness overwhelms me, I sense my tears leaving huge wet spots on His garments, which take on the salty, tear-soaked smell of a sodden handkerchief that’s absorbed the wetness of grief.

And when, in my better moments, I’ve come to Him, trying to find out how He’d like to use me and my puny abilities, He’s smelled like the good, clean sweat of honest labor – kind of like my mama smelled when she’d work long hours in her garden. (I’ve known then that He wants me to get off my butt and sweat a little for Him!)

So about that personal relationship with Jesus – I absolutely know I have one now! What can be any more personal than nestling against Someone and recognizing the very essence of His own special smell?