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A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver. -Proverbs 25:11
B e careful of your thoughts; they could become words at any moment. -Ira Gassen
C ourage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen. Winston Churchill Read the rest of this entry »

Rev. James L. Snyder

Whoever said, “All good things must come to an end,” knew whereof he spoke. Why is it that something really good goes by so quickly and something really bad hangs around forever, or so it seems.

Let me explain a little bit of what I mean.

When the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage, over my vociferous objections, cooks broccoli, the smell stays in the air for months. However, the invigorating aroma of an Apple fritter dissipates in a matter of moments. Except, of course, when I’m trying to eat one behind you know whose back and she can smell it five days before I eat it.

“I don’t smell an Apple fritter do I?” she inquires.

“You’re not eating an apple fritter?” she prods.

“There better not be any apple fritters in this house,” she demands.

My philosophy is simply this, what she can smell can’t hurt me. The only problem is, she can smell, and usually it’s a rat, namely me.

However, if I would pontificate 1/10 of the time about the smell of broccoli in the house I would not have to worry about smelling broccoli in the house. If you know what I mean.

But if it is good, it seems to go by so very quickly. This past week something very good came to a very conclusive end. Through no effort of my own, I concluded the fifth decade of my life. I am just glad that at the conclusion of this decade I was around to see it. What I remember about the 50s is another matter altogether.

As part of the baby boomer generation, another birthday boomed for me. This boom was a very significant one. I have bidden a fond farewell to my 50s. Ah, what a decade that was. It is a very good thing that the 50s come between the 40s and the 60s. Whoever devised this scenario knew something about human nature.

When you are in your 40s, you, for some unknown reason, think you are still in your 20s. Many people in their 40s have bought into the notion that the 40s is the new 20s. Henceforth, most people, usually men, treat their body as if it was a 25-year-old man in perfect health. Now, a 45-year-old body does not have the wisdom to realize that it is no longer 25. And so you have men in their 40s running and jumping and doing things that their body thinks it can do but it really can’t.

A body in the 40s is not mature enough for pain to register. In fact, no man in his 40s would acknowledge the fact that he has the pain. His wife, contrariwise, acknowledges the pain in her life. But that’s another story.

Once a man gets into his 50s, he has matured enough to the fact that he knows there are many things he physically cannot do. He knows, for instance, a 50-something body is not like a 20-something body, therefore, he can begin slacking off on the physical stuff. Although, some 50-something men have not matured enough to understand the significance of the fifth decade.

But in spite of all of that, the 60s have been a wonderful time for me. It is during the 50-something the man accomplishes most of his work. During his 40s, he is trying to pretend he is still in his 20s, but by the time he hits that magic 50, he is more interested in accomplishing things in his career. Work is very important at this phase of life.

And work he does, because at this stage he has a mortgage, a family and bills coming out both his back pockets faster than it goes in. If he has children, he enters the 50s with several teenagers in the house and maybe some grandchildren. This is enough to drive any man to work, if not crazy. For any man to conclude the fifth decade without permanent residence in the Looney farm is quite an accomplishment.

By the mid-50s, things begin to become all quiet on the Western front. Many people refer to this as the empty nest syndrome. All I can say is, hallelujah for the empty nest syndrome. I just hope some doctor does not come up with a cure for this empty nest syndrome.

The empty nest syndrome is God’s way of saying thank you for bringing up your family. Now, the house is all quiet and when I go to the refrigerator, there is actually something in the refrigerator. Sometimes I just open the refrigerator door and stare at the contents. It is wonderful to go to the refrigerator and actually find something in it you can eat.

It has been a little difficult for me to say farewell to the 50s. I have enjoyed every year of that decade. I am not prepared to say that I am any wiser but I am prepared to say I am older. And my goal in life is to get older and older. Because, when you stop getting older it is all over.

The Bible gives him instructions about getting older.

“The glory of young men is their strength: and the beauty of old men is the grey head” (Proverbs 20:29 KJV).

“The hoary [grey] head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness” (Proverbs 16:31 KJV).

I bid a fond farewell to the 50s. Thanks for the memories.

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Rev. James L. Snyder

Most things in life are not always as they seem. For some reason one person will say one thing and the person hearing will hear something altogether different. This appears to be the case between the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly.

One of the most frequent comments around our residence is, “Did you hear what I just said?”

Of course, that does not really bother me. What does bother me is when I answer in the affirmative, she will reply by saying, “What did I just say?”

It is not that I do not hear what she says; I’m just not listening to what she says. There is a big difference between hearing and listening. I hear many things but I certainly do not pay attention to most of it. If you would listen to most of the stuff said these days, not much of it is worth listening to, at least for long.

This illustrates the basic difference between a husband and wife. A husband always says what he means; but the wife always means what she says. Complication comes when the husband does not understand what she says and it is almost as if they are using a different language or at least a code most husbands are not privy to.

The problem is the most people do not say what they mean.

When someone says they are having a Garage Sale they do not mean they are going to sell their garage. In fact, they do not even mean that they are going to sell things from their garage. What they do mean is they plan to jam their garage full of junk to sell to unsuspecting customers. Most of what sells at a garage sale has nothing whatsoever to do with the garage. In fact, only half of what they are selling can fit into the garage while the rest spills out into the driveway.

The same thing goes with a Yard Sale. When somebody advertises they are going to have a Yard Sale they have no intention whatsoever of selling their yard. What they are going to do is pile their yard full of junk they do not want and sell to customers who will in turn put it in their yard sale next week.

When it comes to Yard Sales, I think there is only a certain amount of items that keep circulating throughout the community.

I once had an easy chair that I did not want anymore and set it out by the street. It was badly broken and I did not have the time to run it over to the dump. By next morning, my chair was gone. Two nights later, it appeared out in front of the house five doors down. The next morning it was gone only to reappear five more doors down two days later. I believe that chair is still circulating through the community.

If people were honest in what they were doing, they would put up a sign that says, “Junk for Sale.” I did see a sign on the thrift store once that said, “We buy junk and sell treasures.”

For some reason people think that, if they buy something at a yard sale it must be a treasure. But the way I think is this, if somebody has something in his or her yard sale to sell at a greatly discounted price how good could it be?

This brings me back to the hearing and listening dilemma. I got up last Friday morning, as usual, and discovered that the other resident of our house was missing. I went to the kitchen and found a little note that said, “Make your own breakfast I’m at our daughter’s yard sale.”

At first, I did not quite get it. Then I remembered sometime during the week there was some mention about a yard sale on Friday. But I was not listening. After all, what in the world do I have to do with a yard sale?

I had a cup of coffee and then went back to the bedroom to get dressed for the day. I went to the closet looking for one of my favorite shirts to wear for the day. I could not find it.

I then tried to find my favorite sneakers I have had for 29 years. It is taken that long just to break them into where they are comfortable to wear. As with my favorite shirt, my shoes were nowhere to be found.

Some books I have had for years were missing along with some other personal items. I was beginning to think we had been robbed. What robber would steal such things? It would have to be a rather desperate person to do that kind of cherry picking during a robbery.

Then a thought grabbed hold of my mind with the ferocity of a mama grizzly. If I recollect correctly, she was talking about these things in the same context as the yard sale at our daughter’s place. She wouldn’t!

Later that afternoon she came home, handed me $3.78, and said, “Here’s your share of the yard sale.”

Not listening to what you are hearing carries an awful price.

The Bible is faithful in warning us, “He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches” (Revelation 3:6 KJV).

God always says what He means and means what He says.

Rev. James L. Snyder

I have long been an avid reader of Webster’s New World dictionary of the American language. My well-thumbed copy suggests I have done a lot of reading in it. It is the one book within easy reach of my study. Although I enjoy reading it, it does not have much of a plot.

Whenever I get the idea that I know many words, and people can be proud of stupid things like this, I pull down my dictionary and begin reading. Although I have read it many times before, I always run across an unfamiliar word. I cannot tell you how many words there are in my dictionary, but suffice to say there is a lot.

I am always interested in new words. I like to research the history of a new word, what it means and how to use it in conversation and writing. Then, like the egotistical fool I am, I like to mystify some of my friends by dropping this new word casually into the conversation whether it fits or not.

The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage has a word for this, but I am not allowed to repeat it in polite company. Quite often, she will say, “You know what you can do with that new word, don’t you?” I really don’t, but I don’t let on that I don’t. It is not that I am at a loss for words; I just have a growing appreciation for life.

Of all the words in my vocabulary, only a few I refuse to use. In fact, some of them have been deleted and defriended from my memory.

The main word I refer to as the “B” word. It is absolutely anathema in my presence. Not only do I refrain from using it, but also I appreciate people around me not using it either. As far as I am concerned, it has no place in the English language.

All was going well until several weeks ago some friends of ours and my wife and I went out for dinner together. My wife and I do not often treat ourselves to a leisurely lunch where we can just enjoy fellowship.

We were seated at a very nice table and the waitress came around and took our drink orders. In the meantime, we set back, relaxed and prepared ourselves for a nice time together of dining and fellowship.

When two preachers get together there just is no way to stop them from talking until somebody says, “I think it’s time to take up an offering.” That is the key phrase for every pastor to be quiet. It is a well-established phrase in all pastors vocabulary.

It was not long before the waitress came back to take our meal order. Everybody ordered and then my turn came. All I really wanted was a nice roast beef and a salad. However, I needed to order a second side dish with my meal. I did not want anything else.

It was at this time that my wife spoke up. “Order a vegetable medley and I’ll eat it.” I am not too keen when it comes to vegetable dishes but I decided to go along with the plan. It is important to have a plan. More important is the one who makes up the plan. And since it was my wife, how could I refuse.

Having taken our order, the waitress whirled around and took our order back to the kitchen for preparation. We all went back to our delightful conversation. It is at times like this when I am not too concerned about how fast the meal comes out.

It was not long before the waitress returned with our meals in hand. She gave each one their plates and mine was last. Being too busy talking, I did not realize what she set before me. After all, I knew what I ordered. Then someone prayed.

When I opened my eyes and looked at my plate all I could do was gasp. The “B” word came leaping to my lips and it was all I could do to bite my tongue to keep from pronouncing it in public. When tragedy strikes it usually strikes out with me.

There on my plate next to my roast beef was the vegetable medley. Now, a vegetable medley can be many things. I never stopped to think or even to ask what the vegetable medley was all about. After all, I was not going to eat it.

There on my plate, in plain sight for everybody to see and sneer at, was a mixture of vegetables that included broccoli. The horrid “B” word. To make matters worse, as if they could get any worse, this vegetable medley was actually touching my roast beef.

All I can say is, that vegetable medley was not singing my song. My good wife came to my rescue and removed the entire vegetable medley. Who is the rational-challenged chef who dreamed up such a concoction of vegetables?

At that moment, I needed a word, but not from my dictionary. I needed a word from the Bible. “And the LORD shall help them, and deliver them: he shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them, because they trust in him” (Psalm 37:40 KJV).

Some words have a way of catching up with you, but God’s Word has a delightful way of holding us up in the most difficult of times.

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Rev. James L. Snyder

For as long as I can remember, I have always looked forward to Monday. Throughout the years there have been very few Mondays that I have missed, although there are some Mondays I miss. After a long weekend of labor, I enjoy the slow pace that Monday brings with it. I can sleep in as long as I want, do anything my little heart desires and just simply enjoy the day.

It is the one day of the week when the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly can just take it easy and enjoy the day together. Sometimes we enjoyed the day together and sometimes we enjoy the day going our separate ways. Usually, my way goes by the bakery to sample a freshly baked Apple Fritter. As an Apple Fritter connoisseur, I need to constantly study and keep up-to-date on the world of Apple Fritters. Since this is not on my wife’s diet, I save her the awkwardness and only go there when I am by myself. It is not that I am trying to hide it; I am just thinking of her.

Lately, something has been messing with my Mondays. In fact, it is becoming a little bit to the point that I am about to mark Mondays off my calendar. Then see what Monday will think of that.

It began several weeks ago. It was a Monday afternoon and I needed to visit someone in the hospital. Usually I do not do this sort of thing on a Monday, but sometimes you have to do what you do not normally do. I went to the parking place and discovered there was only one parking slot, which was just as I went in through the gate. It was a tight squeeze, but I finally got my truck parked. Everything seemed in good order.

After making my hospital visit, I returned to my truck to leave. I knew I was in a tight spot but, after all, I have been driving since Henry Ford said, “Let’s take this buggy for a spin.” With the care that years of experience have afforded me, I backed out of my parking space and just as I did, I heard something crack. I pulled forward and much to my chagrin, I had backed into the gate and broke it in half.

I parked my truck and went into the hospital to turn myself in to the hospital guards. They came out, looked at the damage and discovered I had broken the gait in two. After two hours of filling out paperwork, taking photos and generally standing around admiring the damage, I was free to go home. It was late Monday afternoon and I was ready to call it a day. Oh, what a day it was.

It took me almost a week to recover from that. On the following Monday I got up as usual to enjoy the pleasantry of the day. It was late in the afternoon and I was at a small strip mall to do a little shopping. I went in to a West Indian store to buy an ice-cold soda. It was one of those hot days begging for a cool drink.

I got my soda out of the refrigerator and went to the counter to pay for it.

I greeted the young woman behind the counter, we exchanged a few pleasantries and then I crossed the line. I do not often cross the line, but for some reason I did. I asked her how her day was going. I should note that this is an absolute no-no, especially on Monday.

“Oh,” she said with a cheerful bounce, “this has been a wonderful day. Nothing has gone wrong today and I’m most grateful for that.”

I should not have done it, but I did it without thinking. I smiled at her and said, “I sure am glad for you.” I then handed her a dollar to pay for my soda. She opened the door to give me a quarter change and as she did, she pulled the entire money drawer out of the register and everything went all over the floor.

All I could say was “keep the change.” I could have waited around for her to collect the money and put it all back into the register drawer but then, what more damage would I cause in that store in the meantime? The best part of valor at that point was to vamoose.

And, vamoose I did, valiantly.

How well I remember the time when I looked forward to those carefree Mondays. Now, I go to bed Sunday night with a certain level of apprehension for what the next day will bring forth. My Mondays are not quite as carefree and peaceful as they used to be.

I remember what my father used to tell me. “Son, when trouble comes a knocking, don’t answer the door.” At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about, but now, after several Mondays of what some might call misfortune, I am beginning to understand what he meant.

I have something new to look forward to, “Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2 KJV).

No apprehension here at all.

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Rev. James L. Snyder

I am not usually given to protesting much of anything these days. “Live and let live,” is the motto I go by and up until now, it has served me rather well and I have no complaints.

I must confess, however, that recently I have been challenged in this area of my life. I have tried to keep my cool and have succeeded to a minimal success. I know one of these days I am going to turn into Popeye where he says, “That’s all I can stands, I can’t stands n’more?” Then, look out.

I will be the first to say that I certainly do not understand economics. Balancing my checkbook each month, for example, is an act fit for a three-ring circus. I remember I did balance my checkbook once but that was 1978. My policy has been to run my checkbook until it is so completely mixed up I have to close that account and open up a new account. It is easier for me to do it that way. To spend 97 hours each month balancing my checkbook is a waste of time as far as I am concerned. For me, it is that time of the month when I come the closest to swearing.

I try to listen to these money and economy experts explaining the whole economic situation. I just wish they would not speak in Chinese.

Of course, I am not sure I want to listen to all of these financial experts. After all, the Wall Street financial wizards are the ones responsible for the financial mess our nation is in right now. If they are so smart, why did they screw up our national finances so much? I know I am not smart along these lines, but then I did not mess up the national economy.

Politicians do not fare any better. I have often wondered why it is that a politician can raise so much money so quickly while running for office but once in office he does not seem to be able to handle the money. If we could take all the money politicians raise during the campaign cycle and apply it to the national debt we would have two blessed results. One, our national debt would almost be wiped out, and two, no politician would ever be elected. I say, hallelujah, pass the offering plate.

Last week I accompanied my wife to the store to buy groceries. It was there I began understanding the influence of high inflation on my personal pocketbook. We took our groceries to the checkout counter and, as usual, I was not paying too much attention. The cashier rang up our groceries and then came to the total. I looked at it, looked at my wife, looked back at the total and exclaimed, “Are we feeding the Navy Seals?”

I took my credit card out of my wallet and as I paid the grocery bill I said to my wife, “Oh well, we have to eat.”

Another day this past week, I noticed the fuel gauge on my car was pointing towards empty. I took it down to get filled up with gasoline and to my deep chagrin, and believe me, my chagrin does not get any deeper, it was almost $100 to fill it up. As I returned the nozzle and replaced the cap on my gas tank I sighed and said to myself, “Oh well, I have to drive to get anywhere.”

On Mother’s Day, I took my wife and another couple to a restaurant to celebrate Mother’s Day. When I got the check, I almost expired. How can any restaurant charge that much for food and sleep at night? I put on my best smile and said to myself, “Oh well, it’s nice to dine with another couple.”

All of this I took in stride, as they say. That is part of living and that is part of a depressed economy. If you think our economy is depressed, come visit me and have a little chat and you will find someone who is really depressed.

Then this inflation business crossed the forbidden line.

I went up to the bakery department to purchase the obligatory Friday morning Apple Fritter. I think it is important to establish good habits and my Friday morning Apple Fritter is one of those good habits.

I was chatting to the person behind the counter who was getting my Apple Fritter and did not notice the price. I took it up to the checkout counter to pay and noticed it was $.79. To say I was shocked is putting it mildly I assure you. Seventy-nine cents for my Apple Fritter! For over 10 years, I was paying $.70. Now, where did this nine cent increase come from? Who is getting this extra nine cents?

Mess with my groceries, mess with my gasoline, but brother, do not mess with my Apple Fritter. The most dangerous zone on planet earth is that area between my Apple Fritter and me. It is here that I draw the line. Some things in life carry with it the sacredness of, “touch thou not.” My Apple Fritter is number one on that list.

The Bible says, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:” (Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV).

There is a time to stand up, speak up and protest loudly.

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Rev. James L. Snyder

I am not one given over to gambling unless you call life a gamble and then all bets are off. I do not even play the lottery because I would end up paying out $1,987.14 in order to win $10. I have a difficult time parting with my money because I am a Pennsylvania Dutchman; at least that is my excuse.

That being said, there is only one area of my life where I indulge in a certain amount of gambling. That area is Mother’s Day cards. I am at a complete loss when it comes to this and knows not what I doeth.

Now part of my quandary is in the loose interpretation of Mother’s Day. When we celebrate Mother’s Day, who in the world are we celebrating?

I can remember when the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly were first married. It was so long ago that I do not have enough fingers or toes to count it. When we were first married, we bought two Mother’s Day cards; one for her mother and one for my mother. Oh, how I long for those simple days.

A little over a year after we were married a little tyke came into our lowly domicile. Our first daughter was born in the month of August and I really did not understand the significance of it until the following Mother’s Day.

That year we had to buy three Mother’s Day cards; one for my wife’s mother, one for my mother and one for my daughter to give to her mother.

Now what I want to know is how in the world was I roped into buying a Mother’s Day card for my wife? After all, she is not my mother. And I do not know how many times I have reminded her of that very fact.

I was conned into buying that Mother’s Day card for my wife by thinking that I was buying it for my daughter to give to her mother. I am not sure I am buying that story. I bought the card, all right, and when I gave it to my daughter; she immediately put it in her mouth. She had no idea what in the world a Mother’s Day card was.

Several years later, we had a new addition to our family. Our son was born.

Now I have more Mother’s Day cards to buy. One for my mother, one for my wife’s mother, one for my daughter to give to her mother and one for my son to give to his mother. These Mother’s Day cards are getting to be rather expensive.

You will not believe this, but a few years later, a third child became a member of our family. Our second daughter was born. And you guessed it; my Mother’s Day card buying went up.

Now I need to buy a Mother’s Day card for my mother, one for my wife’s mother, one for my first daughter to give to her mother, one for my son to give to his mother and one for my second daughter to give to her mother.

I once suggested that I buy one Mother’s Day card for my three children to give to their mother. I was quickly and soundly outvoted on that issue. And so, I begin saving up my allowance right after Christmas for my Mother’s Day card extravaganza.

If this was not bad enough, each Mother’s Day card has to be specifically chosen in respect to the person who is giving it. That person, not being me. How many times and how many different ways can you say “Happy Mother’s Day?”

I thought I had reached the height of my Mother’s Day card purchasing, but then in a few years it took on a different perspective.

Not only was I to buy all of these Mother’s Day cards, but I was to take the respective children along with me and allow them to personally pick out the card they wanted to give to their mother. And of course, their mother could not be along to supervise these purchases. Taking two toddlers and one semi-toddler into a store to select appropriate Mother’s Day cards is as close as I have ever come to gambling away my fortune.

Between the three of them, they had each boiled down their choice to 97 cards. Of course the youngest just grabbed as many as she possibly could. The two oldest had to look at each card and discuss the contents, meaning of course, I had to read each card to them. Not once, but over and over again.

Looking back on that time I realize that my children had an ingenious strategy all worked out. After four hours of going through all of these cards I would say to them, “If you pick a card right now I’ll take you all to get some ice cream.”

Now, those children are all grown up and married which has added to my long list of Mother’s Day card purchases.

Solomon had it right when he wrote, “Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised” (Proverbs 31:29-30 KJV).

Of all the thousands of Mother’s Day cards I have purchased throughout the years, I must honestly confess they have all been worth it.

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Rev. James L. Snyder

A large segment of the human population takes things way too seriously for their own good. The strange anomaly is that most people laugh at the wrong thing and fail to laugh at the right thing. This serious incongruity has robbed people of a healthy attitude towards life in general.

Those who take life too seriously are in danger of missing the great joys of living in a crazy world like ours. I am not sure about the scientific research but I would guess that for every sad moment it takes one hundred laughs to balance the books. Some people are about ninety-nine laughs short of a real sane moment.

I like the old English proverb that says, “Laugh and the whole world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone.”

From my perspective, if you cannot laugh with someone you will not be able to cry with him or her and have it mean anything.

According to some medical advice, it takes more facial muscles and energy to frown than it does to smile. Of course, the only exercise some people have is frowning and who am I to take that away from them.

I am determined, no matter what, to exercise my right to smile and laugh and enjoy the world around me. I must confess that I get this attitude quite honestly.

My paternal grandfather was a Past Master in the area of practical jokes. No amount of time was too much to spend preparing for one of his famous practical jokes. His favorite holiday was April 1 and began preparing for this holiday right after Christmas.

The fact that his practical jokes at times got him into trouble did not seem to affect him at all.

Once while in the hospital for an extended period he had somebody smuggle in to him a can of snuff. For some reason he liked chewing snuff. It is the most disgusting habit I know of on earth.

He no sooner received his smuggled goods then he began chewing it. If you know anything about chewing snuff, you know it is accompanied by a lot of spitting. As usual, his timing was impeccable. Just as the head nurse passed his door and looked in, he leaned over and spit in to the garbage can he had next to his bed. The nurse, not knowing about the chewing snuff, thought he was spitting blood and immediately went into emergency mode. Immediately my grandfather was rushed into the operating room and the surgeon and medical team were assembled.

My grandfather was very sick at the time. Some did not think he would get out of the hospital.

Just as they got him situated in the operating room he pulled from under his sheet his can of chewing snuff and smiled at them. The only person in the room that thought this was in any way amusing was my grandfather. The doctors were so angry with him but they refuse to see him for three days and confiscated his can of chewing snuff.

My aunt and uncle lived right next to my grandfather. My aunt was hyper clean when it came to her house. Dirt in any form was not welcome under her roof. She had a broom that was always within reach because she never knew when a piece of dirt would try to invade her domicile.

That year my grandfather found something new. I am not sure where he found it but he probably spent a lot of time looking for something like this. It was a rubber facsimile of a very nasty looking piece of vomit. To him it was a prized possession.

Most of his practical jokes were executed on April 1. Whenever we saw grandfather coming on this particular day we usually ran for cover.

He went over to visit my aunt and was sitting on the couch in the living room. They chatted for a little while and then my grandfather began to cough a little bit. He said to my aunt, “I haven’t been feeling good lately. I really don’t know what it is.” Then he started to cough a little more seriously, to which, my aunt got up and went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water thinking that might help him.

When she got back, she was shocked to see on her new coffee table a very horrible sight. My grandfather was bent over the coffee table hacking and coughing as though he was in the process of dying. On the coffee table was very nasty looking piece of vomit.

My aunt went into hysterics. She whirled around and within a moment had grabbed her broom and started towards my grandfather. My grandfather was laughing but not for long.

Suddenly he realized that the flailing broom in my aunt’s hand was aimed at him. She chased him out of the house, down the driveway and for at least three blocks yelling obscenities at him that I dare not repeat in public society.

Laughter is the fresh air of the soul. Even the Bible thinks so.

“A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken” (Proverbs 15:13 KJV). And, my favorite, “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones” (Proverbs 17:22 KJV).

I recommend a healthy dose of medicine for your soul.

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Rev. James L. Snyder 

Have you ever had the feeling that you lost something but could not quite figure out what?

This has been bugging me all week long. It is a good thing I lost my mind years ago or this might cause me to lose it. I remember the day I lost my mind but I cannot remember anything after that date. 

All week long, I had this nagging feeling in the back of my head that I had lost something and that it was something rather important. I sat down in my easy chair and tried to think about it but who can think at times like this?

 I was looking for whatever it was I lost all through the house. I finally was going through my sock drawer when the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage caught me.

 “Did you lose something?” 

I was now facing a major dilemma. If I answered in the affirmative, she would inquire as to what I had lost. If I tell her I do not know what I lost, she will immediately respond by saying, how will you know when you find it? 

Then I would be treated to one of her sarcastic snickers. You would think after all these years I would become accustomed to such royal treatment. 

I finally broke down and confessed, “I don’t know what I lost but I just feel like I’ve lost something this week. I just can’t put my finger on it.” 

“Do you remember,” she said thoughtfully, “where you were when you lost whatever you lost?” 

I reflected for a moment and then confessed to her that it was last Sunday right after I got up that I sensed I had lost something. 

My wife was about ready to leave the room and then she stopped and looked at me and said, “You do remember we lost an hour this week?” 

“So,” I said sheepishly as I closed my sock drawer, “I won’t find it among my socks.” 

With that mystery solved, I had another one to contemplate. This one probably is bigger than anything else I could ever think of. How can I make up for lost time?

 Every year I go through the same rigmarole. No sooner am I adjusted to the time then the government changes that time for me. It is now six o’clock, but no, it’s really five o’clock. Or, is it seven o’clock? How in the world can I ever know what time it actually is? 

Thinking along these lines I have come up with several ways in which to make up for lost time.

 The first has to do with eating vegetables. In my book, most vegetables are a waste of time. I could make up some time each day by not eating my vegetables, especially broccoli. At the end of the year, I could use that time to eat some Apple fritters. 

Another way I could save time is to cut down on my daily exercise. I am not sure who came up with the idea of exercising every day. Just think about what 15 minutes a day would add up to. In one week that would be 105 minutes, in a month it would be up to 455 minutes and in a year it comes to 5460 minutes, which amounts to 91 hours.

 In addition, taking a shower everyday may be considered a waste of time by some. Think of the time I could save by cutting down on my shower time. If I would shower, say three times a week, it could save me a lot of time, not to mention soap and towels. 

This also has another benefit to it. By only showering three times a week, it will drastically cut down on personal conversations with people. Who wants to talk to someone who has not showered in two days? 

As I was contemplating this last one, I came to a brick wall. That brick wall being, my wife. She has this insidious idea of bathing regularly. If it were up to her, I would take three or four showers a day. But my argument is, a person can only be so clean for so long. If God meant us to be clean all the time, why did he make so much dirt? 

I remember when my wife was away for two weeks I saved an enormous amount of time by recycling my dishes. After all, I don’t mind eating after me. Those two weeks I used the same silverware, dish and coffee mug for the entire time. And, contrary to my wife’s theories, I lived. 

When my good wife found out what I was thinking about, she made a very good point. According to her, I could save an enormous amount of time by not trying to think up ways to save time. 

The truth of the matter is, time cannot be saved. It can only be used wisely. The Bible makes this point clear on a number of occasions. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:” (Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV).

And, “And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed” (Romans 13:11 KJV).

 It is how I used time and what I use it for that is important. I have two choices. Waste time or use my time wisely. The choice is mine. 

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

How to make up for lost time

Rev. James L. Snyder

Have you ever had the feeling that you lost something but could not quite figure out what?

This has been bugging me all week long. It is a good thing I lost my mind years ago or this might cause me to lose it. I remember the day I lost my mind but I cannot remember anything after that date.

All week long, I had this nagging feeling in the back of my head that I had lost something and that it was something rather important. I sat down in my easy chair and tried to think about it but who can think at times like this?

I was looking for whatever it was I lost all through the house. I finally was going through my sock drawer when the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage caught me.

“Did you lose something?”

I was now facing a major dilemma. If I answered in the affirmative, she would inquire as to what I had lost. If I tell her I do not know what I lost, she will immediately respond by saying, how will you know when you find it?

Then I would be treated to one of her sarcastic snickers. You would think after all these years I would become accustomed to such royal treatment.

I finally broke down and confessed, “I don’t know what I lost but I just feel like I’ve lost something this week. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Do you remember,” she said thoughtfully, “where you were when you lost whatever you lost?”

I reflected for a moment and then confessed to her that it was last Sunday right after I got up that I sensed I had lost something.

My wife was about ready to leave the room and then she stopped and looked at me and said, “You do remember we lost an hour this week?”

“So,” I said sheepishly as I closed my sock drawer, “I won’t find it among my socks.”

With that mystery solved, I had another one to contemplate. This one probably is bigger than anything else I could ever think of. How can I make up for lost time?

Every year I go through the same rigmarole. No sooner am I adjusted to the time then the government changes that time for me. It is now six o’clock, but no, it’s really five o’clock. Or, is it seven o’clock? How in the world can I ever know what time it actually is?

Thinking along these lines I have come up with several ways in which to make up for lost time.

The first has to do with eating vegetables. In my book, most vegetables are a waste of time. I could make up some time each day by not eating my vegetables, especially broccoli. At the end of the year, I could use that time to eat some Apple fritters.

Another way I could save time is to cut down on my daily exercise. I am not sure who came up with the idea of exercising every day. Just think about what 15 minutes a day would add up to. In one week that would be 105 minutes, in a month it would be up to 455 minutes and in a year it comes to 5460 minutes, which amounts to 91 hours.

In addition, taking a shower everyday may be considered a waste of time by some. Think of the time I could save by cutting down on my shower time. If I would shower, say three times a week, it could save me a lot of time, not to mention soap and towels.

This also has another benefit to it. By only showering three times a week, it will drastically cut down on personal conversations with people. Who wants to talk to someone who has not showered in two days?

As I was contemplating this last one, I came to a brick wall. That brick wall being, my wife. She has this insidious idea of bathing regularly. If it were up to her, I would take three or four showers a day. But my argument is, a person can only be so clean for so long. If God meant us to be clean all the time, why did he make so much dirt?

I remember when my wife was away for two weeks I saved an enormous amount of time by recycling my dishes. After all, I don’t mind eating after me. Those two weeks I used the same silverware, dish and coffee mug for the entire time. And, contrary to my wife’s theories, I lived.

When my good wife found out what I was thinking about, she made a very good point. According to her, I could save an enormous amount of time by not trying to think up ways to save time.

The truth of the matter is, time cannot be saved. It can only be used wisely. The Bible makes this point clear on a number of occasions. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:” (Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV).

And, “And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed” (Romans 13:11 KJV).

It is how I used time and what I use it for that is important. I have two choices. Waste time or use my time wisely. The choice is mine.

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Rev. James L. Snyder

A friend of mine has a saying, “I’m going to get as old as I possibly can get.” From what I can tell, he has. I must agree with his sentiment. Of course, the alternative is. well you know. Another friend of mine likes to tell me, “Brother, you’re only as old as you feel.” I am not sure how old feels or if wrinkles are involved. But, I am feeling quite fine, thank you.

Just the other day the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage came in from her workshop, sat down on the couch and said, “Whew, I feel like a hundred.”

At the time, I did not know if she was talking about dollars, pounds or years. Being the old fogey that I am, I know there are times when silence is golden and this was one of those golden moments. But, what does a hundred
feel like? Is there some special sensation that pulsates through the body when a person reaches that age level? Or, is it the absence of anything pulsating through your body?

Just this morning I got up with a sore knee and could hardly walk to the bathroom. I complained about it to my wife, who has no compunction about expressing her opinions, said, “Well, you are older than when you went to bed last night.”

I did not know I was aging so rapidly. If this keeps up, I will change from an old fogey into an old geezer before I know it. The difference between an old fogey and an old geezer is, an old fogey walks around in a fog while the
old geezer cannot get up from his chair and wheezes a lot.

I was musing on the idea that getting old was a lot of trouble with a lot of pain involved. Then I remembered what a lot of trouble and pain it was to be young. As a youngster, I thought many times, “Oh, I can’t wait to get old.”
I thought getting older was the panacea for all of my problems.

I remember thinking that when I got older nobody would boss me around. I would do whatever I wanted to do whenever I wanted to do it. I could not wait for that time to come. I dreamed of that mystical land. No parents to
boss me around; no teachers to tell me what to do and when to do it; no siblings interfering with my plans for the day. What a life I would lead when I got older. I lived each day hoping to get older which, in my thinking, was the door into that area.

Just as I was entering that mysterious realm of being my own boss, I got married. Not only that, but several years into that marital bliss came the pitter-patter of little feet in the hallway. I did not figure that getting older would involve so many people in my life. Just going to the bathroom, for example, was a three-day wait. And, guess who is at the bottom of the list?

I guess you know you have gotten old when you give up the idyllic idea of being your own boss, doing whatever you want to do, whenever you want to do it.

Now that I think of it, it was a lot more painful and a lot more troublesome to be young than it is to be old. In fact, there are some marvelous advantages of getting older.

For example, when my wife sends me to the grocery store to get a few things I usually forget something. Now, that I am getting older, I can tell her that I do not remember things as I used to, after all, I’m getting older.

Also, when someone invites me to go out and play what they call senior softball, I can always say, “I would love to, but my knees are acting up now that I’m getting older.”

This process of getting older has drastically improved my social life. Every joke I hear is as if I am hearing it for the very first time. It is amazing.

My wife and I were at a social function not too long ago, and I was having a marvelous time. When we got home, my wife said to me, “You put on a good act tonight.”

“What you mean I put on a good act?”

“You laughed at every joke tonight as if it was the first time you ever heard it.”

I did not have the heart to tell her that it was the first time I heard those jokes. That is what is so marvelous about getting old. You do not have to burden your brain, and all the little gray cells in it, with remembering things. My brain is now free to enjoy the moment. It is wonderful getting older.

When I was younger, it would embarrass me if I forgot something. Of course, I blame that on my parents and teachers who tried to pound into my little head that I needed to remember everything. Now that I am older, I do not
have that burden.

It is good to remember some things. I remembered one of my favorite Bible passages. “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy
paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6 KJV).

I will never get too old to trust the Lord with all my heart.

##

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.