In Genesis 34, Jacob and Leah's daughter, Dinah, went out to visit the women of the world and was raped by the Hivite prince who then begged to marry her. Dinah's brothers furiously implemented a scheme to avenge their family's dishonor.
The trouble that resulted is what Jacob called "a stench."

Was Dinah accountable for the bizarre events that unfolded in this ancient tragedy
or might her personal crisis have been avoided if any of her family had acted differently?

When I am grieved and saddened and confused by what others do, it's not usually because it has never occurred to me to do such a thing myself. What really shakes me up is what needs to change in me to prevent the next stinking headline.

Above all and in spite of everything, forgiveness is the essential response.
Only the aroma of Christ can cover this smell.

I saw a pair of eagles today, in of all places, perched across from a
RaceTrac gas station on suburban Pleasant Hill Road.

I had just tanked up and emptied my bank account and was waiting at the light when I noticed an enormous bird with wings spread
in the tiptop of a tree across the street.
I thought it must be a kite eating tree
clinging to a bird shaped frame.

Then the stately shape folded its wings and revealed another large deep brown bird that swooped, talons dangling, to a lower tree.

The light changed and I turned the corner, craning my neck to catch a closer look.
As soon as I got home, I called the Dept of Natural Resources to report the sighting.
Evidently, immature bald eagles do not have white heads, but are old enough to mate.
And golden eagles do not nest in Georgia, but are known to migrate.
At least the Resource officers shared my thrill!

Praise to the Lord, who o'er all
things so wondrously reigneth,
Who, as on wings of an eagle,
uplifteth, sustaineth.

(Neander/Winkworth)

I'm so happy it hurts.

Last week, we took apart our daughter's bed--the four poster canopy I bought second hand from the classifieds when she was in high school. She thought I was silly, buying her a bed when she was practically grown up and ready to leave for college.
And I didn't even know then she would be gone for good, not even to return a single summer.
We dis-assembled the mirrored dresser too--my high school 4-H project after I discovered it in the shed at my great-grandparents' dairy farm. It was stowed there after their Victorian farmhouse burned down and a smaller, practical brick ranch built in its place.

A few days later, I stepped into the nearly empty bedroom and
a feeling of sudden despair swept over me--like when you misplace something
precious. The furniture was on its way to Memphis and our daughter would soon
approach her wedding altar.

The furniture was unloaded just minutes before a stormy downpour. Re-assembled and arranged in its new home, props in a new chapter. Somethings old in something new.

The wedding details took shape too. As the clouds cleared, friends and family reunited to witness the simply spiritual Saturday evening ceremony.
God showed up in wonderful ways.
The minister's failing heart was healed.
The lame man walked.
The girl who kissed dating good-bye smooched her true love.

As a fish out of water, the plain among fancy, I struggled to understand and maintain proper etiquette. Post advice is to remind the departing newlyweds, do you have your keys, your tickets, your money? Instead, as we said our goodbyes to the crazy in love couple, I blurted: do you have money?
I remembered, however, to eat cake.

Weddings seem to me a lot like the happiest homecomings;
and aren't funerals like unraveled weddings?
Both events necessitate an outpouring of love and fellowship.
Details precede the wedding and mostly follow the funeral: preparing the bride and her attendants/choosing the pallbearers, inviting the guests/receiving the sympathizers, stocking the new household/dispersing possessions no longer needed.
Legality and custom frame beginnings and ends. Dowry and inheritance.
Feasting is essential.
Flowers scent the air and misty eyes look to new ways of life.

And it's only the Bridegroom who makes it meaningful.