STRETCHMARKS

Scripts Illustrated

I have illustrated scriptures for my grandchildren for more than a decade.  Children enjoy getting real mail so I regularly send them cards with photos or graphics that explain a simple truth.   Imagine their delight when I use a photo of them!  Here are a few examples for you to enjoy. 

 

 

Be imitators of God, as beloved children, and walk in love.  Ephesisans 5:1,2

 

 

 

 

 No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no one’s heart has imagined all the things God has prepared for those who love Him. 1 Corinthians 2:9

 

 

 

 

If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.  Romans 12:18

 

 

 

 

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.  Psalm 139:13

This is my granddaughter, Savannah, who should arrive in September.  I'm excited to meet her!

 

 

 

We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.  We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.  And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong, on him, on him.  Isaiah 53:6 (Message)

 

 He who trusts in his riches will fall, but the righteous will flourish like foliage.  Proverbs 11:28 NKJV

 

 

 

As long as the earth remains, there will be planting and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night.  Genesis 8:22

 

 

 
Can two people walk together without agreeing on the  direction? Amos 3:3       

Aunt Lois (87) Mom (89) 

 

 

 

 

Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare; before they spring forth I tell you of them.  Isaiah 42:9 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your word is a lamp before my feet and a light for my journey.  Psalm 119:105 (CEB)

 

 

 

 

 

Now it’s your turn…get out those cameras and look for new ways to bring life to the simple truths found in God’s word.  Make your own compilation of Scripts Illustrated and leave a lasting heritage for generations to come!

The Reverend

The very mention of a high school class reunion can make one’s stomach knot.  Why are so many held back in school?  Literally—held back in the defining portion of our young lives called “school”?

Some hold these truths to be self-evident—all those nicknames and labels put on us in our youth.  You don’t think so?  Just open up your yearbook and begin to reminisce—or wince.  We still define one another by what’s written and photographed as records of our young lives.

Oh my goodness!  I forgot about so-and-so.  Don’t you remember when he picked his nose…and ate the boogers?  Yeah, it was in the fifth grade...or was it the tenth?  Now that girl was fast—everybody knew it.  What a nerd!  All he ever did was read books.  Yes, he was quite the jock back in the day.  Et cetera, et cetera and so forth…

But what is the rest of the story?

What about those who were late bloomers—the ones no one thought would succeed at anything?  Did those cute little cheerleaders keep their figures?  Are the jocks now walking with artificial knees?  And the wall-flowers?  Wow!  Some of them turned into beauties.

Name tags help at these functions, but somehow the Spirit of Pinocchio shows up in a grandiose way.  WOW, you haven’t changed a bit!  Really?  And you still know how to spin a tale…

Okay, I confess.  I feel a little smug when I see the cutesy girl from high school that is now full-figured.  But payday came to me as well.  I hated you in Spanish III.  You always were the teacher’s pet…  Get over it!  Peer pressure can last a lifetime.

Class reunions provide an opportunity to see how lives have changed—for better or for worse—in sickness and in health—till death do us part.  I have had my share of emotional stretch marks at a reunion.  Thankfully these occasions seem to grow sweeter with time and everyone is grateful to be alive and well. 

Joe never attended a high school reunion; actually he never was formally invited, but he would not have gone.  He didn’t want to face some of his painful memories or the still open wound caused by something written in his yearbook; but he graciously accompanied me to several of mine.  I wanted his classmates to see the amazing transformation in his life--but he declined.

On a hot summer day in 1979, he had a "Godwink" reunion that made up for missing the official events.  We walked the grounds of Ha Ha Tonka State Park in Camdenton, Missouri,  just prior to the official dedication of this land. 

Joe was given his official name tag as a participant in the ceremony.  He never liked to be called “Reverend” and lo and behold, this name tag read: The Reverend Joe Blevins.  Oh, my! 

We met a couple on the path he knew from high school and they all immediately recognized one another.  The woman’s eyes darted from his name tag: The Reverend Joe Blevins back to his face.  Her stunned expression told the full story.  How could this be?  Is this the Joey that I knew back in Vandalia?  The Reverend?  Well, I’ll be damned, uh, I mean-- darned!

They knew him as a party boy and one who never applied himself in academics.  He was about to take center stage, seated with Governor Joe Teasdale and Chief of the Osage Indian Nation, Sylvester J. Tinker, and several other local participants.  I reveled in that moment.

As I watched this scenario, a scripture came to mind: "Here it is again, the Great Reversal: many of the first ending up last, and the last first."  Matthew 20:16 (Message Bible) How sweet it is!

Are you stuck with an image from your school days?  There is hope for all those held back in school.  Transformation is a good thing!

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For more information about Ha Ha Tonka State Park go to www.mostateparks.com It's a beautiful and historic place to visit!

 

Vintage America

I have visited several countries and lived outside these boundaries and I can say with certainty: I am grateful to live in the United States of America—with all her flaws and strengths—in this appointed time in history.

Saint Paul wrote in Acts 17:26 these words: From one man He made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and He marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands

Woodie Guthrie  set these words to music:

This land is your land, this land is my land,

From California to the New York Island,

From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters,

This land was made for you and me..

Visionaries: courageous men and women left their native lands and dared to pursue change to establish a “more perfect union”.  We are indebted to these visionaries who established this land for you and me.

Vast: this is a vast and magnificent nation from “sea to shining sea” as described by Katherine I. Bates & Samuel A. Ward song America the Beautiful.

O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain

For purple mountain majesties about the fruited plain!

America!  America!  God shed His grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.

Variety: our country has been labeled the “melting pot of the world” because of the hundreds of nationalities who choose to make this their home.   They come from every tribe and tongue in pursuit of freedom in the land of opportunity.    Their skin colors resemble porcelain, mahogany, ebony and goldenrod--the masses woven together like a quilt of humanity.  This patriotic folk song by Don Raye and Al Jacobs, (verse two) becomes their mantra:

This is my country, land of my choice;

This is my country, hear my proud voice.

Vocations: one of our unalienable rights is the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness.  Most citizens exercise this right and pursue vocations with great ingenuity, hoping to realize the “American dream”.

Voice: another of our privileges in this great country is the right to vote and voice our opinions.  We may protest, agree or agree to disagree in this process.  Samuel F. Smith & Henry Carey wrote this in verses three and four of America:

Let music swell the breeze, and ring from all the trees

Sweet freedom’s song;

Let moral tongues awake; let all that breathe partake;

Let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.

Veterans: as free citizens of this great country, we are forever indebted to those courageous men and women who have fought and still fight to defend and protect us from harm.   The Star-Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key gives insight to this in verse two:

O thus be it ever, when free men shall stand between their loved homes and the war’s desolation!

Blest with vict’ry and peace, may the heav’n rescued land praise the Pow’r that hath made and preserved us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just; and this be our motto: “In God is our trust!”

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave! 

Vacancy: our WELCOME mat remains-- open to all who choose to live in this great country.  A portion of Emma Lazarus’ famous sonnet The New Colossus states our philosophy well:

“Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

On this July 4^th holiday, folks will march in parades and enjoy picnics and fireworks.  As citizens we will celebrate our freedom and remember why we love our country. 

Vow: the ending of This is My Country states my sentiments about this great nation.

 

 

 

I pledge thee my allegiance, America, the bold

For this is my country to have and to hold.

 

 

My Daddy's Job

As a young girl I didn’t think too much about my Daddy’s job.  He was a preacher and that meant he was gone a lot ministering to a needy world.  He loved his work.  I rarely considered the positive outcome of his time away from the family.

He was 78 years old when we traveled to Lima, Peru on a mission trip.  It was his fifth trip there and my first.  I had no idea the insight and impact that trip would provide.

As one of six children I never had time alone with him, so 17 days with my Daddy as a grown woman was a treat to be savored.  He was not in good health but he was determined to go one last time to visit the saints in Lima.  My assignment was to keep him from over-extending himself.  That proved to be a full-time task.

We visited several churches where he taught classes and the responses were always similar.  Someone would excitedly share, “Raquel, your father—he teach me the book of Ruth.  I never forget!”  Or, “Raquel, your father is a good bible teacher.  I love him!”  Over and over I heard these comments and I began to see the fruit of his labor.

I don’t recall my father ever reading to me as a child but he did on this trip.  We were on our beds resting and hoped to have some dinner one night, but the maid took the night off.  So…we read.  He read quotes to me he had written in the back of his bible including some gems from folks I knew.  It was a sweet time for just the two of us.

He turned 80 years old in 1995 and we enjoyed a trip back to Grand Cayman to celebrate.  “Aunt” Olga hosted an impromptu birthday party at the Cracked Conch Restaurant where about thirty people gathered.   After the meal, Olga asked if anyone wanted to share something about my father—funny stories or ways he had influenced their lives.  What a night of celebration!

One by one they shared bits and pieces of ways he changed lives.  Simple things like “You taught me to pray out loud with sentence prayers.  I was so scared but you showed me how to start…”  George recalled, “Bro. Paul saw leadership qualities in me that I never knew I had.  He taught me how to lead and now I work in Government House and I lead a bible study.”

Others spoke of his influence as a father figure, his impact on agriculture on the island, his church construction ability and how respected and loved he was.  He blossomed as a minister among those precious saints.

This week I attended a women’s bible study at a church my father pastored for years.  As I walked in the door Cathy greeted me with a hug. “I love your family SO much.  Your dad…”  She sang his praises.   Another woman got teary when she spoke of how he was her spiritual Daddy beginning thirty years ago.  It happens everywhere I go!

Hundreds of people in several nations looked to Paul Smith as their spiritual Daddy and dozens called him “Grandpa”.  I confess I wasn’t always excited to share him with so many but age and maturity have helped me grasp the impact of this extraordinary man’s life.

I miss his sage advice and the endless stories he told.  However, I see glimpses of him in my siblings—in the grandchildren—and in so many folks he mentored.  I hear his wisdom through many voices.  It reminds me of Proverbs 10:7  “We have happy memories of the godly, but the name of a wicked person rots away.”

I am among the blessed to have had a terrific father…not perfect, but he definitely enjoyed a lifetime of achievement in his "job". 

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We shared a meal and fun with several former students.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mary translates Daddy's teaching.

If Cars Could Talk

I was born in Detroit, Michigan but I am told that it took more than a village to put me together.  I’ve heard the phrase: If walls could talk…  I’m thinking: If cars could talk… I'm just sayin'! 

I belong to the elite group of Chrysler Town & Country Limited vans and I had all the bells and whistles available when new—back in 2000.  I joined my siblings in a small fleet owned by a local funeral home.  Yes, I transported the living and the dead.  Some folks found that fact a little unsettling but I was proud to be part of the final journey of someone’s life.

My lease was up after a couple years; a pastor bought me and I served his family well.  But, oh the stories I could tell.

 Mostly I traveled in the Midwest and a few southern states in the USA to rack up  200,436 miles.  Mr. & Mrs. B took good care of me all these years.

I made thousands of routine trips for shopping, ballgames, band concerts, weekly church services, doctors’ appointments and hospital visits.  It was fun to go to birthday parties, family reunions, weddings, graduations, county fairs and airports; I dutifully went to funerals as well.  Mr. & Mrs. B seemed happiest when we drove to the lake or the ocean; I think it was my favorite too.

Perhaps the most fun I had was transporting Montana & Mycah to school or after school to McDonalds.  Mrs. B liked to crank up the music and sing loudly…and then she turned the music down to pray for the girls just before arrival at the elementary school.  She gave them many life lessons in those brief trips and stressed the differences between wise and foolish behavior. 

I thought it was the end of me one day when “Papa” was driving.  He decided to test the girls’ understanding of wise and foolish behavior.  Oh, my! He noticed a Road Closed sign on a country road and began to speed up.  M & M knew how to read and they screamed: “NO, Papa!  The road is closed!” 

Papa answered, “I’ll just go really fast and go through the sign and jump the creek.”  “NO-O-O-O-O, Papa.  Stop now!  That’s FOOLISH!”  Papa stopped short of the sign.  “Now I know for sure that you know the difference between wise and foolish behavior!”  I thought I was a goner.  Give me a brake, man!

I’ve heard giggles, laughter, “honking” laughter and lots of chatter.  I’ve listened to whimpers, cries and wailing.  On rare occasions there was some “stupid idiot” road rage talk.  Sometimes Mr. & Mrs. B drove in silence…sweet silence.  Sometimes it was awkward silence, especially after those awful visits with the oncologist.   I heard my share of “sweet nothings” on their date nights.  I didn’t know people their age talked like that.

I do believe I’m saved and sanctified!  I have heard more sermons and worship music than some countries.  They prayed a lot on our trips together.  I felt good when they asked the angels to watch over us on every adventure.

Life was good until I had a close encounter with a deer.  Things were never quite the same after that.  I developed some age spots on the hood due to a poor repair job.  That irked Mr. B something awful.  I was side-swiped once; my left mirror was knocked loose and I got a wrinkle on the side.  Duct tape is a marvelous invention, especially in an emergency, but not very classy.

Recently I had what was to be my last oil change.  Mrs. B knew I was getting worn out but it still hurt to hear the mechanic say: “Uh, this is really serious!”  It was kinda like hearing bad news from the doctor. 

She had been praying I would hold together a little longer but on Mother’s Day I couldn’t take it anymore.  My tires were worn and the air conditioner didn’t work plus she was in danger of having an accident…so I just shut down.  She cried a little.  After all, we’ve been together for many years.  Sweet, sweet memories...

 I have no regrets.  I’ve been as faithful as I could.  There were only two or three times I quit working and I had to be rescued.  I always went where I was towed to.

Arrangements for my final resting place are still pending. 

Under the Influence

How many of you have been “under the influence”?  I have, but it had nothing to do with alcohol levels in my bloodstream.  Recently I have been under the influence of three amazing women and I’d like to highlight their stories.  First is Coach Cate Dill from Sudbury, Massachusetts.

I met Coach Cate on a windy spring day when she stopped in our village for a lunch break at Taste of Country deli on Main Street.  She traveled via train from Boston, Massachusetts  to California and began her bicycle trek from Santa Barbara in February. Cate spoke to thousands of students in schools along the way to raise awareness about fitness.  That’s pretty impressive, especially to a non-athlete like me. 

Cate is a motivator, author and physical education teacher (on leave of absence).  Her mission: Making America fit—one person at a time.  I was most interested in her stories about people she met along the way: what surprised her most?  Cate found most people are generous and kind; many offered directions and some opened their homes for lodging and meals or let her catch up on laundry duties.

“Have you noticed a difference in mindsets as you talk to folks in different states?” I wondered.  “Oh, yes.  Definitely.  And the women in the Midwest want to know if I’m ‘packing’ (a weapon),” she chuckled.  

I asked, “What is the biggest challenge for students?”  “It’s the breakdown of the family,” she responded.  The book she was reading spoke of “kinship” throughout the story.  We discussed the lack of kinship in our current society.  She, too, grew up in a small town where kinship was key—you couldn’t get away with much as a kid because someone would squeal and tell your folks! 

I am thankful for dedicated teachers like Cate and the multitudes “under the influence” of Coach Cate.  She is writing a book to describe this spiritual journey across America; I look forward to reading her account.  

Now—meet the extraordinary Lucy Lutz.  One amazing story after another was told at her memorial service last week.  She was a poet, singer/songwriter and minister for many years.  Her relatives and friends talked of her wealthy investments.   She didn’t just spend time with folks—she invested in them, one at a time.  In her eighties she would go to McDonald’s and hang out…and wait to speak a kind word to somebody or pray for someone going through a rough time.  No retirement for Lucy!  As long as she had breath in her ninety plus years, she shared joy with others.

An Amish family sang some of her favorite hymns in German and English.  Her children and spouses sang; her grandchildren sang—sweet melodies and beautiful harmony.  They sang her favorite composition: Faith, Hope and Charity.  What a treat!

The last one who spoke made an amazing statement: Do you realize that in this chapel tonight, not one of us is a blood relative of Lucy’s?  I was stunned.  Lucy had no biological children; only three adopted daughters.  Her spiritual children number in the hundreds if not more—all “under the influence” of this gracious woman.

My friend, Gail Lyall, is a woman who has nurtured countless children.  She is director of The Children’s Connection in Knox County and does a phenomenal job.  Last month she asked me to talk to students about Grief/Loss in the after-school programs she oversees.

These kids adore her and look forward to her visits.  Gail takes an interest in each child and boosts his/her confidence.  They giggle and proudly show her artwork and writings. 

Non-Profit organizations are challenged during economic downturns but Gail and her team  find creative ways to improve the program and to make sure these students get the best possible attention.  She is impacting our children one at a time and giving them hope for the future.  I’m so pleased that these precious youth are “under the influence” of Gail!

I salute Coach Cate, Lucy Lutz and Gail Lyall!  Hundreds are pleased to have been “under the influence” of your lives. 

Happy Mother’s Day!

 

For complete information go to these websites.

To read Cate’s story go to http://www.letsgetmovingamerica.com

To learn more about The Children’s Connection go to http://childrensconnection.org

Taste of Country Deli information is availabe at http://www.tasteofcountrydeli.com

Public Demonstrations

We see the handwritten signs, raging tempers and unrestrained complaint on the nightly news around the world—public demonstrations of every kind--mostly negative outbursts.  Many protest injustices of society.  Some wave flags; others burn them.   Passionate beliefs are made public—no more secret alliances.

In view of the Pacific Ocean in Lima, Peru is Parque del Amor.  Amidst this breath-taking vista is an enormous statue of two lovers.  You cannot miss it.  Some passersby blush at the sight; some smile that knowing smile.  It’s a declaration of the physical unabashed affection of lovers. 

In high school we used a three letter abbreviation—PDA--Public Demonstration of Affection.  Fair warnings sounded, “PDA in the hall!” to alert young lovers of one’s presence.  Those were awkward moments…passion of a different kind.

Public demonstrations do not always get intended results but the possibility of effecting change is compelling.  Centuries ago one man was compelled to change the hearts of mankind by love; our world has never been the same.

His truth-speaking life addressed injustices of society.  He loved when others hated.  He healed the broken hearted; he was an advocate for the poor, the widows and the fatherless.  He multiplied food and fed the hungry.  He forgave the prostitutes and touched the untouchables.   He confounded the religious bigots and shared meals with tax collectors.

He demonstrated power over the raging sea and cooked fish for his disciples.  He turned water into wine at a wedding feast.  He healed blind eyes and raised the dead.  He washed the feet of His disciples and accepted a woman’s tears to wash His own.  He wept.   He incited controversy and mankind plotted to kill Him. 

This relentless love culminated at His crucifixion on the cross at the Place of a Skull on the outskirts of Jerusalem.  This public demonstration of the furious love from the heart of God intersected with the heart of man at the cross. 

He came to help, to put the world right again. Anyone who trusts in him is acquitted; anyone who refuses to trust him has long since been under the death sentence without knowing it. And why? Because of that person's failure to believe in the one-of-a-kind Son of God when introduced to him.   John 3:17,18  (Message Bible)

He nailed those opposing Him according to Colossians 2:15.   In this way, He disarmed the spiritual rulers and authorities.  He shamed them publicly by His victory over them on the cross.

The atmosphere was charged with supernatural presence.  Onlookers were stunned as tombs emptied and the dead came to life.  The veil of the temple was torn in two and the sun was eclipsed for a few hours.  This was no ordinary day!  They buried Him and believed that would be the end of His story.  They were wrong.

His name is JESUS and He took Public Demonstration of Affection to the extreme for you and me!  Based on biblical accounts, the story doesn’t end there.  Godfrey Birtill’s lyrics explain it well in Very God.

A covenant keeping, death defeating,

Life redeeming, sinner receiving, God!  Very God!

The only Advocate, so compassionate,

Love that’s measureless,

Life that’s limitless, God!  Very God!

He's unchangeable, inexhaustible, depths unsearchable,

Gift unspeakable, God!

He’s unchangeable, inexhaustible, God!

The Father’s radiance, learned obedience,

Always excellent, my magnificent God!  Very God!

The highest authority, earth or heavenly,

Greatness, humility, King of glory, God!  Very God!

Jesus crucified, Jesus is alive, Jesus reigning high,

Jesus, Light of Light, God!

        Very God of Very God who was and is

and is to come!

This outrageous display of boundless love provokes a response of acceptance or rejection.  What will be your response?

 

Tattoos and Dirt Devils

A cheerful heart brings a smile to your face; a sad heart makes it hard to get through the day.  Proverbs 15:13   

There is so much serious stuff in our world right now.  I can’t speak for anyone else, but I need something to make me smile.  I hope these personal anecdotes bring a smile to your face and help you get through your day. 

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Children have been curious about the spider veins on my legs.  “Aunt Rachel, what’s that on your leg?” Brian asked.  I answered, “It’s a road map.  Look, here’s the capital!”  He yelled to his dad, “D-a-a-a-a-d, Aunt Rachel has a road map on her leg!”

Mycah asked, “Grammer, did your legs get struck by lightning?”  After I quit laughing I said, “No, sweetie, it just looks like it did!”  I think I will tell the next child who asks about them, “They’re tattoos.”

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We were driving through the country and some hay had fallen from a pickup truck.  Mycah announced, “Oh, look!  There’s farm hair on the road!” 

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My father and I were in Lima, Peru years ago and discovered how much energy is required to communicate with those who don’t speak the same language—at least not fluently; it’s like playing charades for hours on end.  Daddy tried to explain to some men that he used to farm.  Maximo asked if he had farm animals.  Daddy tried to tell them he had sheep (“Baaaaaa”) but no cows.  I don’t know why he didn’t just “moooo” but he tried to describe a cow. 

Finally I remembered the word for cow.  “Vaca”, I said.  Maximo responded, “O, si!  How now, brown cow!” 

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Many folks gave me beautiful plants when Joe died two years ago and I am pleased that they have survived.  One large planter with multiple plants has puzzled me.  I kept it on the porch last summer and it thrived there.  This winter I placed it in the spare bedroom where it was chilly.

Whenever I watered it I noticed a small amount of dirt outside the planter.  H-m-m-m.  Could spiders make such a mess?  Maybe there’s a little mouse that escaped my killer cat Fluffy.  Usually the dirt was minimal—until today.  I decided to bring the planter downstairs to water it and maybe place it back on the porch. 

There was a large amount of dirt beside the planter and on the floor.  Maybe the grandchildren bumped it when they were here.  There is no way I was that messy when I watered it last.  H-m-m-m-m.  I don’t remember putting a rock in there…

Ay-yi-yi!  The “rock” was a frog!  I felt queasy.  That little critter has been in my house all winter.  Does it have a family?  I breathed deeply and transported it outside.  It never moved.  Thank you, Jesus!  Ben came out with gloves and released it to its wild habitat.  I think it’s traumatized.  Hours later it still has not moved but the little dirt devil has been found.

I read this scripture last night:  Matthew 10:26 “But don’t be afraid of those who threaten you. For the time is coming when everything that is covered will be revealed, and all that is secret will be made known to all.

Probably has nothing to do with the little dirt devil in my house!

 

Flour Children

Do you want to sell your home?  Realtors advise that you have smells of “home” in the house like bread baking—something that will connect the buyer’s memory with pleasant things and times spent with family.  

When I was ten years old we lived with my grandparents for eight months while on furlough from mission work in Grand Cayman.  Grandma Burson let me help her in the kitchen and sparked my love of baking.  She was a phenomenal baker; the individual loaves of bread she baked in tin cans were so special to the grandchildren.

I am fortunate to be part of a family of great bakers and cooks.  Now I am passing this passion on to my grandchildren in hopes that these family recipes will be treasured for future generations.  Chef Scott Peck states: “An heirloom recipe is an edible legacy to be savored.” 

During their spring breaks I have had three granddaughters here to explore the wonders of combining King Arthur flour, leavening and shortening to make flaky crusts filled with savory fillings.  We had great fun practicing new skills and presenting our finished products to loved ones.

 

 

 

Audri made individual Quiches Lorraine with Julia Child’s pie pastry recipe.  She showed amazing skill for a ten-year old.  Conversations come easier when working side by side—a great bonus to kitchen duty.  We enjoyed a wonderful lunch together; she shared the remaining quiches with her Mom and baby sisters and Great Aunt Lois.  Hugs and quiches, Audri!

 



 My M & Ms, Montana (12) and Mycah (10), came this week.  We tackled Caribbean-style hot patties—savory meat filling wrapped in pastry.   “Great” Grandma Smith came for lunch and enjoyed the hot patties and Red Velvet cupcakes the girls made.  Such a proud moment!  They also shared some with their Daddy, Great Aunt Lois and my friend Louise. 

My Grandma Smith died one year before I was born.  I wondered what she was like and rely on stories her children told about her.  Aunt Gerry gave me three spiral notebooks that belonged to grandma which contained poems, quotes and other items she copied.  This gave me insight into what piqued her curiosity in life.  This poem by Grace Noll Crowell touched my heart and gave new meaning to simple food preparation.

Flour

I sift this flour on my board; it is so clean and good,

And handling it, I am a part of all earth’s womanhood.

For women’s hands have kneaded flour to loaves since time began

Each toiling for her own small brood, her own beloved man.

I see the dark-skinned women kneel beside their foot-worn sills

To grind their grain beneath flat stones;

I see today’s great mills:

Tall shafts of light across the land that nations may be fed.

And flour becomes a sacrament, my loaves, much more than bread.

When I read this I realize I am not just teaching my granddaughters how to make pastry dough but I am connecting them to all of “earth’s womanhood”.   I pray they learn as the poet wrote: And flour becomes a sacrament; my loaves (or pastries) much more than bread.

                             

                        

                                                                

                                  I love my flour children!

 




 

Strike up the Band!

Children are refreshing to me.  I enjoy their enthusiasm for life and their zest for learning.  Once in awhile I get to be in on one of their “aha” moments.  That’s icing on the cake in my books. 

My granddaughter, Montana, started playing clarinet in the fifth grade band a couple of years ago.  She was excited to learn to read music and make some not-so-squeaky sounds as she played.  I picked her up from school one spring afternoon and asked, “How was your day?”  “Good…” she responded.  I prodded a little more.

“You had band today, right?  Did you learn any new notes?”  “It was okay.”  Long pause…

“Oh, Grammer.  I almost forgot.  Today in band—we all hit our note at the same time and it was the most a-MAZ-ing sound!”  I thought to myself: She gets it!  She really gets it.  She sees the whole picture. 

I could not resist this teachable moment so I explained that Creator God made each of us to do specific things.  When each of us does what he or she is designed to do, a beautiful rhythm and melody is played in our lives every day. 

I was anxious to tell her band instructor what she discovered in her class.  She commented, “That’s great.  Some students never grasp that concept!”   

A few weeks ago she and her sister Mycah stayed overnight with me.   She looked for some simple music at my piano and asked, “Now, are these notes the same as what I play on the sax?”  “Yes, they are,” I said.  Her eyes lit up and she threw her hand in the air.   “YES!  Then I can play this!”  This new "strike up the band" revelation enlarged her understanding of music.

Montana then proceeded to teach Mycah what she just learned.  It didn't go well; impatience and different maturity levels caused some discord.

Her sight-reading skills have increased and she switched instruments.  Now she plays alto saxophone in the seventh grade band and in a jazz ensemble with seventh and eighth students.  Recently I attended their Winter Concert and heard these budding musicians give a remarkable performance.

I was seated near the stage and the feet of the students were almost at eye-level.  I noticed dozens of feet tapping out the rhythms; some used their left foot while others preferred their right foot.  Synchronized foot-tapping seventh and eighth grade students added visual interest to their performance.

We all hit our note at the same time…

It sometimes takes a miracle even for grown-ups to have such unity.   Whether we play in a band, work together as a team, flow together as a family, come together as a community or unite among nations--harmony is the most a-MAZ-ing sound! 

It reminds me of the popular '70s song with the line: I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony...

King David of the Old Testament had similar thoughts: How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers live together in harmony. 

Psalm 133:1

 

For Crying Out Loud!

“What makes someone cry?” I asked my husband years ago when I was preparing to write a journal entry on the subject.  He began a comedic spiel to explain what makes me cry and asked, “Is this going to be an encyclopedia version?”  Why, the nerve of that man!  If I didn’t consistently laugh as much as I cry, I might be known as the Grim Weeper.

Scientific studies have been published which tell us why we cry and the biological reason our lachrymal system functions as it does.  William Frey had subjects keep “tear diaries” during a study at the Dry Eye and Tear Research Center which offered these results:

• Tears of sadness—49%
• Tears of happiness—21%
• Tears of anger—10%
• Tears of sympathy—7%
• Tears of anxiety—5%
• Tears of fear—4%

Scientists agree that emotional tears are chemically different from tears that result from eye irritations, containing more beta-endorphins which are the body’s natural pain relievers.  No wonder I feel better after a good cry!

Dr. Kevin Heough’s article, “Possible Health Benefits of Crying” states that it is believed that human beings are the only creatures that shed tears.  Some factors that affect our crying include genetic influences, dietary factors, hormone levels and circadian rhythms. 

I am more prone to tears if I am excessively tired or have gorged on too much chocolate or pasta.  I am part of a family of criers—the genetic factor.  Every household with females knows about the hormonal factor, right? 

 

 Granddaughter Isabella had a meltdown at breakfast--the genetics are alive and well; she also has a hearty laugh like her great grandmother, Wanza.

Some things that make me cry defy explanation…like hearing a high school marching band play.  I have a couple of friends who admit to this weakness for band music.

• Honor guards and Taps being played at a military funeral prompt a Kleenex moment.  I’ve watched as a soldier knelt before a grieving family and began his recitation: “On behalf of the United States of America and the citizens of this country…” and sobbed even if I didn’t personally know the deceased.
• Chicken Soup for the Soul type stories—these are hard for sappy souls.
• Hallmark commercials, especially the ones involving children start the flow.
• Music, movies, great literature, photographs, scriptures all evoke tears at my house—either joyful or sorrowful tears.
• Births, weddings, graduations and celebrations bring on the happy tears.

• Homesickness—that gnawing craving to be with loved ones or to see the places you long for…there is no cure but to go home.
• Children and grandchildren: watching them grow, compete, make mistakes and finally succeed in their efforts makes me boohoo.  The first time Tadd called home from college and said out loud: “I love you!” I began to believe in miracles...and cried for joy.
  
• Relocating: changing houses, schools, doctors, churches and all that’s familiar has made me blubber out of control.
• News—good or bad may make me weepy.  Pitiful, isn’t it?
• Hellos and Goodbyes: catching a glimpse of someone I haven’t seen in a long time brings tears of joy.  The dreaded goodbyes bring on the “ugly” cry.

Psalm 56:8 says “You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book.”  It’s comforting to know that my tears are precious to God. 

I am in good company with King David and Job of the Old Testament and Jesus in the New Testament--manly men who cried.  There are other biblical accounts of large groups of people who wailed together.  Isn’t it good to know that there is no gender bias here—men and women alike are free to cry, weep, lament, howl, boohoo, sob, bawl, blubber or however you describe your “moments”.

Sometimes if I tear up in the presence of someone I don’t know well, they offer me one tissue.  Optimistic souls...who can stop with just one?  If tears help to reduce tensions, remove toxins and increase my body’s ability to heal itself—why do I hesitate?  I don’t! 

 

 

 

 

 

Are You Sure You Want to Permanently Delete This Item?

We were on our way to Wendy’s for lunch and my granddaughters noticed some road kill.  Montana and Mycah were ages five and three when I noted their very different reactions to the death of an animal on the roadside.

Montana saw the dead squirrel and lamented, “Oh, Grammer.  Did you see that?  There’s a dead squirrel by the ditch.”  (She had just completed Safety Town to prepare for kindergarten.)  She continued, “I guess its Mommy didn’t teach it to look both ways!”  She sighed…”That’s so sad.” 

Mycah took one glance and matter-of-factly said, “It’s dead!”  Her sister wasn’t amused.  “Mycah!  That’s not nice!”  She repeated the facts: “It’s dead.”  Mycah has developed more compassion and she might state the facts a little differently now.

How the news of a death is received makes a difference in the response.  I talked to some high school students in a school setting after the death of a fellow student.  I asked how they heard the news.  One girl said, “Oh, we heard it in the announcements at the beginning of the day.  They said it like it was no big deal.  You see, our friend was not very popular.  She was an unwed mother—not an athlete or top student.  So it was like it was no big deal.”  Their perception of “no big deal” added to their sorrow.

This morning I read an obituary in a local paper which made me very sad.  I knew Peggy for a few years when we were Mentor Moms in a Mothers of Pre-Schoolers program in our area.  We had several things in common: wives of pastors, missions, mothers of sons and a passion to mentor young women.  She was always cheerful and optimistic about life—a real asset to any program in which she participated.  Fifty-two years didn't seem long enough for her to be with us.

I had a flashback of some of the little things that one has to process after the death of a loved one.  Computers have a DELETE button which is very useful.  However, it takes on a different meaning when one needs to delete an address, an email or some other connection to this person.  The computer politely asks, “Are you sure you want to permanently delete this?”  NO, we don’t want to… but it eventually becomes necessary to do so.  We incur more scars from the emotional stretch marks of loss that cannot be erased by the simple click of a button.

Removal of names on legal documents, credit cards, AAA memberships, insurance accounts etc. can be gut-wrenching.   I removed our landline phone months ago and I cried.  No big deal, you say.  It was a big deal.  Joe and I had that phone number almost thirty years and it was like removing another part of him in my life.  Peggy’s husband will face this stuff too. 

Simply filling out forms can evoke intense emotion.  Do I check single or widowed?  I don’t like either choice.  The whole social world now seems awkward.  In bereavement counseling these kinds of scenarios are sometimes referred to as “hangnails and slivers”…small things that annoy and hurt.

 

 

 

"Closure" is expedited much like this Farcus cartoon portrays.  Patient files are closed and archived.  Names are crossed off lists and deleted from computers and phones.  Obituaries reduce the account of one’s life to a snippet.  Wills are read and finalized.  It all seems so impersonal and final.  But it isn’t so.

 

 

“A good and honest life is a blessed memorial; a wicked life leaves a rotten stench.”  Proverbs 10:7

For those like Peggy who touched thousands of lives, her spirit lives on as a blessed memorial and her legacy continues.  It cannot be deleted! 

Some live wicked lives and their stench remains.   I have known a few of these wretched souls.

What kind of legacy will you leave?  Will it be easy for someone to delete your name and memory or will someone be inspired to make a difference in this world because of your example?

 

Are We There Yet?

Are we there yet? It’s a dreaded question when traveling with youngsters.  My youngest son always asked, “How many more towns?”  “Probably six hundred” I answered.  For winter-weary folks it takes on a different meaning.  Our resources and our resolve have been stretched to the max.

I often used this cartoon when I worked with grieving families.  It’s a different sort of angst that begs for answers and relief.

In light of current events in the Middle East, toughing out a few more weeks of winter isn’t so daunting.  But how quickly we are bored and lose heart! 

Forget the fact that each mounded shovel of snow probably contains millions of individually designed snowflakes—a miracle.  Do we remember that when the big meltdown does happen, there will be plenty of water to nourish the earth?  Many things happen in creation during the dormant winter season—really good things.  Do we care?  Yes…but, get on with spring!

We wondered if Punxsutawney Phil would see his shadow on Groundhog Day?  He didn’t this year.  Hooray!   Spring is near.

The packets of garden seeds are on shelves—YES!  Hope can literally be packaged.

I heard a red robin singing my song in the trees beside the house—rock on, robin!

We’re gaining a couple minutes of daylight everyday now—O, yeah!

The extended forecast indicates our temperatures will be in the high forties next week, possibly fifties.  That is serious cause for celebration!

Bitterly cold temperatures are supposed to kill off unwanted bugs etc. making for a healthier summer.  I’m not sure what happened this year but the flu and cold bugs have lingered longer than usual.  Snow and snot be gone--it’s time to get some fresh air

We know what is at our disposal with a click of a button—tickets to tropical lands or exotic foods available from around the globe.  We can access almost anything…but we still have to wait for the season to change.   Are we there yet? 

I am among those anxious for spring temperatures—green grass and fresh flowers blooming in the yard.  No more heavy winter coats and thermal underwear…a seasonal end to high heating bills.

But in the meantime…how shall we rejoice in another day of life?  Make up a celebration if you need to.  Love on those in your life for Valentine’s Day.  Or just bring out the bubbly and celebrate.  Sping is almost here!

Down by the Riverside

 

The whole world seems to be in chaos of some sort.  Political upheavals dominate the news as nation rises against nation.  Earthquakes, storms and floods of epic proportions have gripped countries and provoked fear in many people.  How does one find hope in the midst of the storms and challenges of life?  The best-selling book of all times has the answer for such dilemmas--down by the riverside!

Jeremiah 17:8 (The Message)

 ^7-8"But blessed is the man who trusts me, God,
   the woman who sticks with God.
They're like trees replanted in Eden,
   putting down roots near the rivers—
Never a worry through the hottest of summers,
   never dropping a leaf,
Serene and calm through droughts,
   bearing fresh fruit every season.

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 Additional encouragement is found in Isaiah 33:6

And He will be the stability of your times; a wealth of salvation, wisdom and knowledge; the fear of the Lord is his treasure.

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Sixteen Ounces of Life-Giving Blood

My blood identifies my uniqueness…reveals hidden things I might not know about deficiencies and lets physicians know what is needed to attain optimal health.  I am amazed that sixteen ounces of life-giving blood transfused from one human to another can perpetuate the sanctity of life.  It’s a miracle!

Why is it so easy to dismiss everyday miracles?  Perhaps because I have become numb to their existence. Simple things like seeing the sunrise, tasting homemade bread, hearing a child laugh, smelling the earth after a spring rain or feeling the bite of a mosquito sucking my blood are all miracles.  These are ordinary happenings I cannot replicate but are mine to experience.

My friend Gail told me that Debbie, her best friend since kindergarten, needed four points of blood in reserve before she has liver surgery.  “I need to find four donors that I know and trust whose blood type is compatible,” Gail said. 

It had been forty years since I gave my one and only pint.  “I’ll give a pint,” I offered.  “I’m O positive so that shouldn’t be a problem.”  “Oh my gosh!  You’re a universal donor.  That’s great.  You would really do that?” she asked.  “I would be happy to do that to help Debbie,” I said.  My friend Marilyn also volunteered at the midnight hour.

Upon arrival at the Red Cross Center I quickly realized the process had changed dramatically.   The screening began with required reading—a lot of reading.   There was a long list of detailed questions about travel outside the USA, medications and sexual behaviors.  My iodine levels were checked.  Monika remarked, “Your level is a-MAZ-ing!”  Is all of this necessary?  Yes, it is necessary to prevent contaminated blood donations.

Marilyn is a veteran blood donor so she wasn’t put off by all the red tape required.  The nurse began taking her blood a few minutes before me.  My blood-thirsty nurse prepped my arm and declared “You were born to give blood!”  Yea, that’s probably what you tell all the patients.

“Just a little sting. I’ll try not to hurt you,” she assured me as she inserted the needle.  My blood offering began to flow into the container quickly.  Marilyn noticed and declared, “You better not beat me!”  I did…4:57 was my time.  Not too shabby.  No dizziness.  No weakness.  The nurse informed me, “You can give again on March 7^th.  Will you come back?”  I’ll think about it.

I bragged on Facebook about my little episode and discovered I have some “bloody” friends.  One man has given 10 gallons; another has donated 65 gallons.  That is phenomenal generosity!   Another chance for a healthy life exists for someone just because a compassionate human being offered to partake in this transfer of health. 

I don’t want to lose childlike wonder in the ordinary yet sacred happenings of everyday life.  May I never forget that sixteen ounces of precious life-giving blood is sacred.   I believe in the sanctity of life more than ever!

The Write Stuff

Fifty years from now...would someone delight in reading what you've written in a note, an email, on Facebook or a text message?  I can only imagine what avenues of communication will be available even a decade from now.  But will our words offer wisdom?  Counsel?  Humor?  Comfort?  Disgust?

I have one precious Christmas gift from my childhood--an autograph book.  It's a miracle I have it since our family moved out of the country and back again.  My mother is not sentimental and so none of us have much from our childhood.

Autograph books were popular for young girls in 1959.  I talked with a friend today and she has two from that era.  Mine contains an amazing compilation of entries from people living in Ohio, Kentucky and Grand Cayman Island.  I brought this leather book with me to the states when we were on furlough in 1960.  Several pastors, missionaries, teachers, friends and family wrote popular rhymes of the day; the contents range from silly to sublime.

There are multiple entries of the most popular rhyme of the day: I love you little, I love you big, I love you like a little pig.  My sister, Becky, wrote one in cursive and one in printing. The grown-ups wrote more profound verses.  The beautiful handwriting of some entries is a treasure, especially those of family members.

We lived opposite Sea View Hotel in Grand Cayman and we met interesting people from the USA.  Dr. Garry Myers, founder of Highlights for Children, vacationed there and we got to play with his children.  His daughter Patsy made a cute entry.  A few months after that her parents were killed in an airplane crash over New York City.

 
My Grandpa Burson wrote: Dare to be right, dare to be true, success will be yours whatever you do.

My father's advice:

There will be a lot of foolishness, there will be a lot of fun

There will be some seriousness, there will be some goodly puns

But the thing you'll value most of all in this little book of rhymes

Is the thought of those you've loved with whom you've had good times.

Mom wrote: When this life is over and on earth no more you trod; may your name in gold be written on the autograph of God.

Two friends wrote: I wish you much, I wish you plenty, I wish you a husband before you're twenty.  Their wish came true because I married at age eighteen.

My brother's entries would embarrass him; hormones rage at age 16.

Teachers from Cayman High School quoted inspiring verses by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Shakespeare.

"Aunt" Olga Adams inscribed a prayer for me: Dear Father, help me to choose my friends wisely so that I may be with others who love you as I do, and help me to be a good friend, too.  Amen.  She added this: Ecclesiastes 12:1  Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth.

"Uncle" Harvey wrote: It was real good to be in Cayman with you and your family again; hope to see you again sometime--when the boat comes.  May God bless you, and we look forward to the day that you become a Christian too.

I am certain that those who autographed my little book never dreamed I would blog about their offerings fifty years later.  Many of these dear ones are deceased yet their words remain.  What we speak and write has an effect, sometimes decades later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A loving note from spiritual grandparents--Grandpa & Grandma Taylor...

 

 

What kinds of "write stuff" will remain fifty years from now?  How will it be kept?  I pray that folks will still hand-write notes that encourage and inspire others--the write stuff.

Do you own an autograph book or treasure some special notes?  Take some time to read them again and savor the investment someone made in your life.

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Click on each photo to enlarge and read more entries.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Generous Like God

I want to be generous like God.  I wrote it on an index card as my declaration.  In the car I spoke it aloud to my mother as we talked about hard times and having to cut out some things during the holidays.  I said, “I don’t want to have a begrudging attitude about giving.  I want to be generous with whatever I have…like God.”   

Twenty minutes later I arrived home and walked into my kitchen and gasped.  A significant amount of my beautifully prepared goodies were missing.  WHAT?  Where’s Ben?  Surely he didn’t eat them all.

He walked into the room and heard generous amounts of shouting.  I was furious.  “What did you do with my goodies?  I made those specifically to take with me this evening to give to friends.  I set aside things for you to take to your pastors.  Why didn’t you tell me you needed more to give away?  I don’t have time to make any more before tonight.  How could you…“

He explained, “I took some to the neighbors and to some people at the gas station…  I’ll go to the neighbors and bring some back.  They’re not home yet.”

“No, you won’t do that, but where did you leave them?  How will they know who they’re from?”  I shouted.  Then I noticed the black marker.  Oh, dear Jesus, help me!

 Rachel, you said you wanted to be generous like Me.  You said that less than thirty minutes ago.  So…You were listening, eh?  That still small voice boomed in my head.  Okay, fine.  So I’m not feeling that generous.  I’d at least like a say in the matter. 

Ben retreated to his room to escape any further generosity on my part.  Who could blame him?  I calmed down and decided to ask his forgiveness.  He beat me to it.  He came out and apologized for not asking first.  I told him that I had just said I wanted to be generous and I reacted badly.  He was the generous one with a big heart.  We both laughed and realized we have some growing to do.

I haven’t changed my mind—I want to have a generous heart like God.  When I consider His gift list, I am speechless.  He is an extravagant giver who lavishes love on all who will receive His gift of love.

Imagine God’s gift list: children, widows, orphans, lonely and forgotten ones, outcasts and the unlovely, mentally and physically handicapped ones, mentally ill and chronically ill souls; homosexuals, idolaters, fornicators, adulterers, murderers, liars, gluttons, abusers and the abused; thieves and ragamuffins of every sort.

His intense love includes people of all beliefs or with no faith—Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Humanists, Atheists and Agnostics and everyone in between.

He refuses no one.  His generous heart does not give selectively and His motives are pure.  He accepts the risk of rejection but gives the best He has to offer. 

“God can pour on the blessings in astonishing ways so that you’re ready for anything and everything, more than just ready to do what needs to be done.  As one psalmist puts it,

He throws caution to the winds, giving to the needy in reckless abandon.  His right-living, right-giving ways never run out, never wear out. 

This most generous God who gives seed to the farmer that becomes bread for your meals is more than extravagant with you.  He gives you something you can then give away, which grows into full-formed lives, robust in God, wealthy in every way, so that you can be generous in every way, producing with us great praise to God.”  (2 Corinthians 9:8-11 Message Bible)

His most precious gift, Jesus, came wrapped in swaddling clothes—not an extravagant visual presentation.  He gets high marks for the announcement though: a heavenly host appeared to announce His arrival.  That’s pretty hard to upstage!

May our hearts become generous in every way as we embrace the gift He has lavished on us in the person of Jesus.

Merry Christmas!

 

Ninety Lust-Filled Minutes in the City

I knew better but what’s a lonely widow to do?  I was within a few miles of a major city and I decided I had time for a quickie.  I mused: It’s the city—who will recognize me?   Maybe I’ll go exotic this time.  Not much time—not much money...

 I entered the World Market to check out the offerings: eye candy to satisfy every taste.  Seduction began slowly but escalated quickly, sending my lust-o-meter off the charts.  I breathed deeply and asked myself: Can I live without this?  What do I really want?  I hate feeling vulnerable (especially in a public area), so I comforted myself by purchasing three bags of English candy. 

I went to the car and nibbled on cold French fries while I took some time to think.  Maybe… Yes, I’m going to try a different setting.  Just one more try.  Same thing happened.  Sensory overload.  Creativity, imagination and marketing genius was magnificent in that place too!  I made a careful choice and decided to flee my not-so-youthful lusts, disgusted that I gave in to the marketing ploys of the world. 

There are three guaranteed marketing strategies that exist and these began in the Garden of Eden.  The cunning serpent pulled out his best schemes to tempt Adam and Eve and it has worked for thousands of years. 

Strategy 1: appeal to the eyes

Strategy 2: appeal to the flesh/senses

Strategy 3: appeal to pride and ego

Eve saw that the forbidden fruit was beautiful (eyes). She recognized that it was good for food (satisfied the flesh).  To become as wise as God appealed to her pride.  The first two humans were hooked and snookered by the cunning ways of the serpent.   Not much has changed. 

I can buy “age-defying” makeup—I still age—but I can look good in the process.   The slogans assault our intelligence but we succumb.  Advertisements during sportscasts are particularly geared to appeal to our senses and lack of good sense.  Liquor and beautiful women go hand-in-hand.  Sometimes—but folks who abuse alcohol and women and children are not part of the marketing “hook”.

Perfumes, jewelry and clothing ads assure us we will be sexy and desirable and a loving relationship with another "hottie" will result.  The bait is endless!

The source of genius marketing schemes: “For the world offers only a craving for physical pleasure, a craving for everything we see, and pride in our achievements and possessions.  These are not from the Father, but are from this world.”  1 John 2:16 

The appeal to spend more—save more ensnares many.  But it’s on sale!  It’s marked down 60, 75 percent off!    This type of marketing appeals to our selfish nature: I’ll stock up for next year…I could make that…I could sure use that…I want that…I want it NOW!  Some define lust as “I want what I want, when I want it and I want it NOW!  We justify our impulsive spending and a different kind of “hoardom” begins.

Help is available for lustful shoppers.  Here are several tips:

• Stay away from the shopping malls as much as possible.  Online shopping is equally hazardous.
• Reduce your intake of advertising via ad inserts and other media.
• Don’t watch programming targeted to your spending weaknesses.
• Limit your magazine reading or anything that causes you to “crave” more.

The ultimate solution is found in 1 Corinthians 10:13: But remember that the temptations that come into your life are no different from what others experience.  And God is faithful.  He will keep the temptation from becoming so strong that you can’t stand up against it.  When you are tempted, he will show you a way out so that you will not give in to it.”  It’s good to know I’m not alone in this!

Confessional: I don’t need everything I see that appeals to my eyes, temporarily satisfies my flesh or boosts my ego.  There is a plan of escape!

 

What Gift Would Make You Squeal in Delight?

What gift would make you squeal in delight?  When someone opens your gift do they squeal and say, “I always wanted this…”  How about: “You remembered!”  Maybe someone said, “Oh…you shouldn’t have!”  They meant it—because they really didn’t like it.

At our elementary school they sponsor a Secret Santa day when kids can shop for simple gifts for their family.  Most items range in price from fifty-cents to a dollar and a grown-up wraps the gifts.  A few years ago, Mycah was so excited when I dropped her off at school on THE day because she already had ideas for gifts, especially one for her sister.

I picked them up after school and she was smiling ear-to-ear.  She got into the van and began telling Montana, “You’re going to LOVE what I got for you.  I mean it.  You’re gonna scream when you see it!”  She could wait no longer and handed Montana her carefully chosen gift. 

Montana ripped open the gift and screamed, “Mycah, I LOVE you!  Thank you!”  You gotta love childlike faith and joy!  She gave me a necklace that said:  I love Grandma!

I wore it proudly—until it was too badly tarnished; but it has a special place in my heart and my jewelry box.

Mycah discovered the joy of giving as she chose what she knew her big sister would love.  That’s part of the secret of giving the perfect gift—listening and observing what another person likes or dislikes.

Something seems to be missing these days in gift exchanges.  Maybe because it’s just that—an exchange—a business transaction.  I’ll give you a gift card for your favorite place and you give me one for mine.  Boring!  I’ve never turned down a gift card because they are practical and useful, but what kind of gift makes you “ooh and ahh”? 

I can only speak for myself, but the gifts that bring me delight are ones that required some thought by the giver.  The giver listened when I mentioned a certain interest or something I admired. 

 

My sister Lisa had a huge bean pot I admired on several occasions.  One Christmas she had drawn my name and was eager to watch me open her gift.  She gave me the bean pot—the really big bean pot that is unusual. Unbelievable!

 

 

 

 

My sister Deborah gave me the very first basket she made—that’s a sacrificial gift that touches my heart.  These were perfect gifts that required some listening and sacrifice.

 

Years ago I wanted to give a little gift to a widow who was struggling with life.  She had lost motivation and interest in most everything.  I didn’t have money to purchase anything so I went to my pantry and asked the Lord for an idea.  He nudged me to give her the jar of gourmet mustard.  What?  Suppose she doesn’t like mustard?  There is a certain vulnerability that exists in giving gifts.  I attached a simple note: Yes, you can still cut the mustard!

She beamed when she opened it and said, “I LOVE mustard.  Thanks for the note, I really needed to hear that.” 

I learned a humbling lesson many years ago when my giving backfired.  We attended a large church for several years before Joe was asked to become an Associate Pastor.  A few weeks into this new position, the leaders announced that pantry items would be collected for a needy family.  I searched my pantry for some spare items to donate.

I happily unloaded some items that were not the best quality and thought to myself: This family will be grateful just to have some food!  Imagine my surprise when I discovered we were the “needy family” and this was given in appreciation for our ministry to the church!  Now I give the best that I can afford because you certainly do reap what you sow.

Give some thought to your gift-giving and just maybe you’ll hear someone squeal in delight, “Oh, I LOVE you!  Thank you…it’s perfect!”

 

 

 

But I Don't Wanna Rejoice!

You want me to rejoice?   But I don’t wanna rejoice…I wanna weep!  Romans 12:15 states: Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.  It’s a “grumpy” verse and I don’t always comply.  Sometimes envy, jealousy or indifference rear their “bad selves” and I want to ignore our Creator’s plea to fellowship and share in all things, in all seasons.

When one’s heart is aching, counting blessings helps but it doesn’t take away the pain.  When one is rejoicing, it’s sometimes difficult to share the joy when aware of others who are suffering hardships.  So what’s a person to do?  It’s Thanksgiving Day in America—a time to feast with friends and family and count blessings.  Some are rejoicing and some are weeping.   Is it possible to do both?

A couple of days ago I was anxious to leave the frenzied holiday shopping atmosphere my mom, my son and I had just experienced.  I felt a bit weepy when I noticed the Salvation Army bell ringer stationed at the exit door.  Drats, I already put away my money and I’m not digging for it.  I avoided eye contact with him and noticed an elderly woman I hadn’t seen in many years sitting on a bench.  I approached her and asked, “Are you Mary?”  She didn’t recognize me—no wonder--it had been fourteen years since I visited in her home after her husband’s death.

She is well-educated and delightful; I mentioned several things I recalled from that visit.  Her sad face turned to delight.  Mary said, “I can’t believe you remember all of this after 14 years.  This is such a blessing to me today!”  It was a huge blessing to me also.  Some people leave a powerful impression on our lives and she is one of those dear ones.

I started to move on and the middle-aged bell ringer interrupted, “I’m sorry, but I’ve been listening to this conversation.  I heard you tell her that you are a widow now too.  My wife died a year ago in April.  It’s really hard, isn’t it?”  I agreed.  I was amazed that he chose to man the donation bucket but he said he wants to go on with life…to find hope again.  This brief encounter with these precious ones helped me think outside my world.   

Holidays are difficult times for many reasons and I feel added pressure by the overlapping of seasons (promoted by greed, in my opinion).  I want to shout, “Could we please enjoy one season at a time?”  Neither will happen! 

I think about the cycles of weeping and rejoicing and I consider the following:

Some have an empty place at the table; some have added another place setting to welcome children and new in-laws and friends.

Some have plenty to eat and throw excesses away; some have empty plates.

Some are employed; some are not and fear they will lose their homes etc.

Some families are filled with laughter and fun; some folks sit alone and forgotten.

Some live afraid; some take courage and press on anyway.

Some are physically incarcerated; some are prisoners in their own minds.

Some are far from home protecting our liberties; some stray and remain estranged.

Some know this may be their last holiday with loved ones and they live life fully; some live as though they will never die and neglect the importance of living and loving fully.

Life is a series of seasons and emotional “stretchmarks” where each of us gets our turn in the rejoicing and weeping cycle.   I pray that you will have the grace to enjoy your blessings but be able to weep with those who are going through unbearable trials.  

The quickest route to being thankful is to leave one’s “navel” base and engage in something besides self.  It’s time to give thanks!

 “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

(I Thessalonians 5:18)

There are no Winners!

The gruesome details of three murders and one kidnapping in our community has everyone on edge and feeling outrage.  How could something like this happen in this beautiful area of pastoral scenes and a slower-paced life?

This scenario makes for a good mystery on Dateline and other crime shows.  It’s the kind of story our base nature is drawn to as voyeurs and judges.  With our keen hindsight we are able to see where some things could have been done differently and smugly pass judgment.  I heard a Municipal Judge say, “Each one of us is one bad decision from being incarcerated.”  That is a sobering statement.

We cry for justice and punishment because it is deserved.  We often turn on the families of the accused and ignore their burdens of guilt and shame.  They suffer as well.  I personally know folks whose children have been incarcerated and they hurt.  Friends turned on them—ignored their pain and added to their heartache.

I write notes to two young people who are presently incarcerated in Ohio.  Each came from a great family but each of them made unwise decisions that cost them dearly.  I know of some families who have had to move, change jobs and suffer great financial loss due to their child's unwise decisions.

Am I defending the accused?  No.  But I think of those parents on the birth of that child—the hopes and dreams they held close to their heart.  God's good plans for their lives never changed...circumstances did.  What happened along the way?  I wonder…

So many gruesome murders like this one are committed by someone described as a “loner—quiet—strange etc.”  Were they bullied?  Ignored?  Did no one take the time to teach them how to interact appropriately with others?  It bothers me.

We have a family friend who has had difficulty maintaining long-term relationships.  He’s bright, personable and talented—yet long-lasting friendships are few.  My husband took much time with him and talked to him like a father.  He ate meals with us and shared in sweet fellowship. 

One evening he began to cry as he told us that no one had ever taken the time with him before to teach him some of these things.  My husband didn’t just spend time with him—he invested in him.  That evening he got a good return on his investment.

To our horror, children are slave-marketed and molested everyday; it’s a tragedy.  It’s equally a tragedy for the families of the perpetrators.  There are NO winners in this ugliness.  Everyone suffers—everyone hurts.

I am told that the significance portrayed in this photo is not just of a shepherd's tender heart.  When a lamb wanders from his flock, he searches until he finds it--breaks its legs, then places the lamb around his neck until it heals.  His motive is to redeem the lamb and prevent further straying.  The lamb is close to the heart of the shepherd and learns his ways and listens to his voice in a different way during the healing process.  What seemed cruel turns out to be the kindest act of love.

The world moves at a frenzied pace and our lives are sometimes chaotic and superficial.  Our youth are paraded and applauded for their looks, popularity and achievements while intentional, purposeful building of their characters and spiritual lives is secondary.   Enough already!

Where are the tender shepherds?  Who are the gatekeepers of our children?  Who is willing to invest time in another one’s life for the well-being of all?

Is it hopeless?  Never!  There is a Redeemer—His name is Jesus.  He loves the unlovely, the afflicted, the lonely and forgotten ones, the cruel, the mean, the apathetic, the judgmental and hypocritical, the racists, the bigots, the unbelievers, the innocent and the accused.  He gave His life for all and His extravagant love can redeem the vilest soul. He is the Good Shepherd!

Even when justice prevails—no one wins and everyone still hurts.  Only Jesus can heal and mend our broken hearts and restore us to Himself.  That’s good news!

What Do You Want On Your Tombstone?

 

What do you want on your tombstone?  That question is part of the advertising slogan for Tombstone Pizza.  It’s a legitimate question.

My interest in obituaries, eulogies and epitaphs began when I worked with our local hospice.  These brief sentences and paragraphs contain interesting information (sometimes falsehoods) and at the very least, some exaggeration, which summarizes one’s life on earth. 

   
An epitaph is defined as a memorial inscription on a monument.  These don’t seem to be commonplace anymore—replaced with laser photos of the deceased or the family farm or business and interests of the loved one.  Here are a few epitaphs on tombstones of some famous folks:

 

George Washington-- Looking into the portals of eternity teaches that the brotherhood of man is inspired by God's word; then all prejudice of race vanishes away.

 

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier--Here Rests in Honored Glory an American Soldier Known but to God

 Carrie Amelia Nation--She hath done what she could.

 Henry Ward Beecher: He Thinketh No Evil

 Emily Dickinson—Called  Back

 Anne and Charles Lindbergh--...If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea… (Taken from Psalm 139)

 Dean Martin-- Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime

 Ralph Waldo Emerson-- The passive master lent his hand, to the vast Soul which o'er him planned.

I drove through a couple local cemeteries to look at tombstones and found only one significant epitaph: Katherine B.—Mother, Jeweler, Artist 

 On a bereavement visit with an Appalachian woman she told me she had finally bought Harry’s head rock.  It took me a minute to figure out that she meant his headstone.  Headstones and tombstones bear interesting names and facts; sizes and style vary as much as the ones who died and the cultural background of families.

 I have thought about folks in the bible and wondered what might have been written on their tombstones.  I came up with the following based on what was spoken of them in scripture.

Noah—He did all that God commanded him. (Genesis 6:22)

 Joseph—God meant everything in my life for good. (Genesis 50:20)

 Moses—Friend of God (Exodus 33:11)

Jezebel--They went out to bury her, but there was nothing left of her but skull, feet, and hands. (2Kings 9:36)

Esther—She found favor in the sight of the King. (Esther 5:2)

 Job—The Lord blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning. (Job 42:12)

Daniel—Out of them all, not one was like Daniel. (Daniel 1:19)

John the Baptist—Among those born of women, there has not arisen one greater. (John 11:11)

Judas—Betrayer (Mark 14:10)

Dorcas—She abounded with deeds of kindness and charity.  (Acts 9:36)

Multiple options are available for Jesus’ tomb.  Here are a few examples:

 Jesus--My Kingdom is not of this world. (John 18:36)

 Jesus--Blessed are they who did not see, and yet believed.  (John 20:29b)

 Jesus--Father forgive them, for they know not what they’re doing.  (Luke 23:34)

 Jesus--If you love Me, keep My commandments.  (John 14:15)

 Jesus--I go to prepare a place for you.  (John 14:2)

 My all-time favorite epitaph for Jesus—I’LL BE BACK!  (John 14:3)

 

What simple sentence sums up your life?  What do you want on your tombstone?  You might want to give it some thought before you R.I.P.

 

How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow?  Your life is like the morning fog--it's here a little while, then it's gone.  James 4:14 (NLT)

 

Don't Give Up The Fight!

Hearing your commander shout, “Don’t give up the fight!” can set a soldier on edge when worn down with mental and physical fatigue.  Our military personnel have a clear goal that spurs them on: Freedom.  Do whatever it takes to protect our freedom as a country.    

On a recent trip to Florida I was impressed with memorials to our veterans I saw in Alabama and Milton, Florida.  These walls of tribute to our military reminded me of something that happened in 1988 when my GI Joe, my father and I traveled to Washington D.C. for a prayer rally on the mall.

Almost 500,000 believers gathered from many tribes and nations to pray for freedom to endure in America.  Our purpose and the lines of spiritual warfare rang out: Don’t give up the fight!

After a few hours we left the crowd to see some of the historic landmarks nearby.  I was very interested in visiting the Vietnam Memorial; Joe was hesitant to face the raw emotion it might stir in him.

As we approached the statue of three young GIs ready for battle, I recalled fear…the pain of separation and loneliness I endured as a nineteen-year-old newlywed thousands of miles from my sweetheart.  I remembered the pride I felt in seeing him in his military uniform…sending and receiving mushy love letters…and the joyous day of his return.

While I struggled with these emotions, a young boy faced the statue.  He was admiring the weapons to the extent that he reached out and stroked the M-16 rifle.  Visions of Rambo conquering all danced in his eyes, unaware of the risks and cost of battle.  My GI Joe came near.  He was familiar with the scars of war—loss of innocence, the stench of death and fearful sounds forever etched in his mind.

A woman passed by repeating her mantra, “What a waste. Never again.  It’s not worth it!”  Her sentiments irked me.  Soon I felt stinging tears and silently thanked God we had come through that battle.  Daddy looked on in silence.

Slowly we moved to the wall—a massive black granite wall engraved with the names of 58,220 men and women who died serving in Vietnam.  Some visitors made pencil rubbings of loved ones names; some stroked familiar names as though they were touching that loved one in person.  Others left notes, photographs, ID tags, crosses and flowers.  Many sobbed.  It was an emotional collage of healing in every stage.  We stood in awe…and walked away in silence.

As we rejoined the prayer rally, I realized this scene had spiritual implications as well. 

The young boy represented the new Christian ready for battle.  He knew little of the risks ahead, yet he was willing and somewhat zealous to fight.  My GI Joe gave credence to those weary and scarred from the battles of life, yet hopeful of better days.

My father, a spiritual veteran, knew the cost of being a Christian soldier—weariness, sorrows, joys and victories encountered in over 50 years of ministry as pastor and missionary.  Struggles and risks were his companions.  If you asked him, “Is it worth it?” he would have replied: YES!  Our victory comes through the cross of Jesus.

The woman (naysayer) represented our enemy, Satan.  He is eager to distract our efforts, continually telling us the cost is too high.  The granite wall represented the Lamb’s Book of Life inscribed with the names of those faithful saints who have died and are cheering us on.

When you are tempted to quit because the battle is too fierce—look to the Cross of Jesus, our symbol of freedom.  Don’t give up the fight!

Thank the military veterans you know but don’t forget the spiritual veterans either.  They have all paid the price so that we might enjoy our freedom.

Photos taken in northern Alabama: granite memorial with etching of three GIs like the statue in Washington D.C.

The Vietnam Memorial with names of soldiers from Alabama who died serving in Vietnam.

   

 

Cross photo: Church of the Holy Spirit in Gambier, Ohio.  (Jonathan Blevins photo)
                                                                          

Use Your Inside Voice, Please!

Have you ever heard a mother instruct her child—“Use your inside voice, please?”   It’s a great idea, especially during elections.

Today is Election Day in America and the tide is about to change again.  One positive note: no more screaming, mud-slinging ads for a while.  That’s a good thing.  We teach our children to be kind to one another…don’t call each other names…no bullying.  It’s time for grown-ups to set that standard.

Many folks still believe that one vote doesn’t make a difference and so they choose not to use their inside voice.  So, what is the “inside voice” I refer to? 

This “inside voice” is your conscience which is trained to know right from wrong—to distinguish differences in moral, ethical and lawful situations.  As a follower of Jesus, the standard of truth for me is the Holy Scriptures.  A chapter and verse might not be available for every situation; however, there are principles throughout that give guidelines for living peaceful lives.

Romans 13: 3-5  Do you want to be on good terms with the government? Be a responsible citizen and you'll get on just fine, the government working to your advantage. But if you're breaking the rules right and left, watch out. The police aren't there just to be admired in their uniforms. God also has an interest in keeping order, and he uses them to do it. That's why you must live responsibly—not just to avoid punishment but also because it's the right way to live.   (Message Bible)

What I vote for does make a difference.  Those men and women that I select to govern our country—locally, statewide and nationally—are vital to my well-being.  It’s important to vote wisely for the dog warden as well as the president.  Those who begin on the entry level of public service almost always climb the ranks to more prestigious positions. 

 
Does my signature on a voter registration ledger make a difference?  Yes!  Those to whom I entrust the responsibility of governing may change laws affecting other paper documents important to me.  Consider the following important paper documents:

• Birth certificates
• Driver’s license
• Diploma
• Marriage license 
• Deed to property
• Social Security ID
• Military papers
• Death certificate
• Last will and testament

These are all pieces of paper that identify us, offer us privileges, show ownership etc., but they are much more than just pieces of paper.  These documents also indicate whether our word is valid or that we are who we say we are.  The rights and privileges associated with these may be determined by those in political office. 

 

 

 

I encourage you to “use your inside voice, please” and exercise the privilege to vote in this great country known as the United States of America.

As Opposite as Shoes and Socks

 “We are as opposite as shoes and socks!” Mom announced.  Wanza is comical, casual and outgoing—Lois is hardworking, regimented and on schedule.  These two women have had a great influence on my life as mother and second mother/aunt.

My mother, Wanza, is 89 years of age today; Aunt Lois celebrated 87 years in September.   That is cause for great celebration!  The tales of their childhood amuse and surprise me.

Years ago, their three older brothers, Paul, Vaughn and Frank, were going mushroom hunting and the girls wanted to tag along.  Grandma gave them permission but the boys were furious.

Near the mushroom spot in the woods was a nest of black snakes.  Uncle Vaughn picked up a couple and told the girls to run or he would put the snakes around their necks.  Aunt Lois took off like a gazelle and Mom froze in her tracks.  He hung two snakes around her neck and made her walk to the road with the snakes dangling against her ankles.  When she reached the road, he took the snakes from her, threw them in the ditch and told her to “git going”.

She “got going” home to tattle and declared, “He needs the electric chair for punishment!”  She swears this terrorizing incident is why she never grew past 4’11”.  She decided that the moral of this story is: Never butt in where you’re not wanted!

Mom did her share of mischief as well.  She was mad at Aunt Lois so she got her down and stabbed her with a lead pencil.  The lead broke off…and as far as we know, it’s still embedded in her head.

The youngest daughter Marjorie and younger brother Neil, completed this farm family of seven kids.  Grandpa never allowed the girls to witness the birthing of lambs in the barn which left some questions in their inquiring minds.  After the birth of Neil, Mom was very curious and sneaked a peak during a diaper change when Grandma wasn’t looking.  She was aghast at her discovery and quickly called a meeting in the well-house to tell her sisters. 

Lois and Marjorie were shocked when Mom told them he was deformed.  They cried, certain that he might not live because of this deformity.  Ignorance is not always bliss but innocence is precious!

 

Every day after their older brothers left for school, Wanza and Lois would “borrow” their bib overalls.  Aunt Lois said, “We liked them because of all the pockets.  When we saw our brothers walking home from school, we scurried to get the bibs off, the pockets emptied and the cuffs turned down, and then put back where we found them.”  Only God knows what punishment they would have chosen for these ornery girls.

Aunt Lois has lived in Knox County her entire life.  Mom has lived in three states plus Grand Cayman Island.  They have been widowed many years; Lois lives independently and Wanza lives in a retirement home.  They are still as different as shoes and socks—but they have left distinctive imprints on many lives. 

 

This photo was taken in the late 1920s and was published in Reminisce Magazine several years ago.  Lois and Wanza pose in their brothers' beloved bib overalls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lois and Wanza today--still full of life, love and loads of fun!

 

 

 

 

 

 

High Fives

To celebrate victories and simple accomplishments we often say, "High fives!" and hands are extended in the air and slapped together.

Ordinary people do extraordinary things every day.  Here are a few basic examples of ordinary tasks that can be done with amazing results deserving of "high fives".

• Skillfully play a musical instrument to soothe spirits, bring joy or perhaps evoke change in the world.
• Write or paint to inspire, to make someone laugh, weep or gain new perspective.
• Plant gardens or raise animals to feed the hungry.
• Grow beautiful trees, plants and flowers to glorify our Creator.
• Teach a skill and impart knowledge to another.
• Bind up wounds and offer healing.
• Defend the helpless and provide protection and freedom.
• Sew garments to clothe the needy.
• Extend hands in greeting and offer fellowship.
• Anoint the sick with oil to pray for healing and speak a blessing.

There are many examples in scripture of those who used their hands in simple obedience with extraordinary outcomes.  Here are a few to consider:

• Abraham tied his son Isaac on the altar and offered him as a sacrifice to God.
• Noah built an ark with his hands to prepare for a flood when it had not yet rained on the earth.
• David selected five smooth stones, put one in his sling and slew the giant Goliath.
• Moses stretched forth his staff and the Red Sea parted so the Israelites could cross on dry land.
• Miriam played the tambourine and led the maidens in victorious dance.
• Skilled women embroidered curtains for the tabernacle.
• Dorcas hand-sewed garments for the saints.
• The Good Samaritan bound up the wounds of a stranger and provided for his care.

Jesus demonstrated some powerful things with His hands as well.

• He honed his skills as a carpenter while working with his father Joseph.
• Jesus combined clay of the earth with his own spittle then applied it to a blind man's eyes so sight could be restored.
• He made a scourge of cords and drove the moneychangers out of the temple.
• He touched lepers and the unclean and watched as their bodies became whole again.
• He embraced children and blessed them.
• Jesus blessed five loaves of bread and two fishes to feed at least 5,000 people.
• He washed the soiled feet of his disciples, humbling Himself as a servant.
• His hands were pierced for our iniquities.

Isaiah 49:16a reads: "I have engraved you on the palms of My hands."

That's great news to all the people of the earth--deserving of a minimum of 6,000,000,000 "high fives"!

 

    
          

Top: Sisters--Raena and Angelina, share some joy before the church service began.

Right:Les and Rebecca have many reasons to "high five" and celebrate their seventy-something years of life.

Below: Noah loves his new headgear he received for his 5th birthday and shares a "high five" with his dad, Matthew.

 

My Father's Connection to Fame

My father’s connection to fame continues as a legacy across the nation. 

Paul H. Smith was born on 10-10-1915 in an agricultural community—a natural fit for him since he loved the soil and animals, especially sheep.

The story began in the 1930s in Fredericktown, Ohio.  He was part of the 52-member Future Farmers of America chapter in his high school, a national organization founded in 1928.  The FFA advisor, J.H. Lintner, thought they should have a jacket with an emblem that gave details of agricultural—something to distinguish them.

This group of young farm boys designed the corn-gold emblem sewn on blue corduroy jackets.  They were ready to submit the design to the manufacturing company in Van Wert, Ohio, when Daddy noticed the wrong number of rows of corn—it should be an even number, not odd. This important detail was corrected.

Symbols in the emblem are an eagle (freedom), owl (wisdom), rising sun (promise of a new day), plow (labor and tillage of the soil) and cross section of corn (foundation crop of America’s agriculture).

The original FFA jackets cost about $7.50 but my grandparents could not afford to buy Daddy his own.  When he was chosen to travel to special events, he had to borrow a jacket.  He wore my uncle Paul Burson’s jacket to Kansas City.  That jacket is on display in the local high school as part of the agricultural history of our nation and this exceptional group of young men and their advisor, “Gus” Lintner.

In 1931, this FFA chapter won the state General Livestock contest in Columbus.  They had to judge and place four horses, four beef cattle, four hogs and four dairy cows.  They competed with close to 100 FFA chapters in the state.  The prize was a free trip to the national convention in Kansas City, Missouri, a perfect place to showcase their newly designed jackets. 

In 1933 they won the state Dairy Judging contest in Columbus and won a free trip to Worcester, MA.  My father was one of three chosen to attend the Eastern States Exposition National Dairy Judging contest in Worcester where he placed third.  Yes, he borrowed a classmate’s FFA jacket to wear.

This multi-talented group formed a marching band as well.  This 32-piece band was selected as the official band at the national convention in 1933.  My dad played French horn wearing a borrowed jacket.

That same year the official business meeting of the national convention of officers accepted the use of this jacket designed at Fredericktown High School as part of the official uniform, now worn by thousands in all 50 states, Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands.

Sometimes he told the tale of his FFA chapter and its little piece of agricultural fame.  His voice trailed off when he stated that he never owned one of the jackets.  In 1994 his birthday was approaching.  What do you give an elderly man who is in ill health and has no need of anything? 

Joe and I brainstormed and finally he said, “What if we got him that FFA jacket he never got in high school?  I could check to see what it would take to get him one with his name on it and everything.”   Splendid idea!

We had to verify that he had been in FFA—that part was easy.  Did we have time to get this all processed before his birthday?  Just barely.  My family was very excited to watch him open this special gift.

 
He cried when he saw the familiar blue corduroy jacket and was amazed to find his name embroidered on the right side.  It was the perfect gift. 

We never expected him to wear it publicly; it was a gift to satisfy the longing of his heart.  But he wore it several times in his old age and retold the story.  He farmed early in his life and late in his life.  The interim years were spent as a pastor and missionary.

It’s not too late to dream or perpetuate one’s connection to fame!

 

For more information about Future Farmers of America, log on to www.ffa.org 

Historical archives may be viewed at www.lib.iupui.edu/special/ffa 

 

 

Paul H. Smith--farming through the years.

          
                                            

 

 

 

What Has Brought You LIfe Today?

Looking outside at the gray skies, nine-year old Dona Rae announced, “It's gonna be a drowsy day!” Drowsy days are the ones where you just want to stay in bed or maybe read a book beside a crackling fire and sip hot chocolate. So where is the life in a drowsy day?

Three years ago I read an excerpt in a daily devotional by John Fischer that got my attention. His friend works with homeless teenagers and explores different ways to engage them in conversation—something besides the casual, “How are you?” His thought-provoking question is: What has brought you life today?

This week we've had some gray days and one had to be intentional about finding vibrant life in one's surroundings. How would “life” manifest amidst the gloomy, drowsy day?

In a twenty-four hour period I was amazed at the different ways I encountered life. It started with a thoughtful email from my friend of thirty years, Carol. We hadn't corresponded for several months so it was a joy to hear from her.

In Wal*Mart, a three-year old girl was singing loudly, “He's got the who-o-ole w-o-o-r-r-l-l-d in His hands..” That was the only line she knew but she sang it with gusto over and over...and her mom never shushed her. Her good-news-gospel song jolted us all back into what really matters. Hooray for her!

I started to unload my grocery cart when an older man approached his car parked next to mine. He was whistling a happy tune and offered to help me. I said, “My parents always whistled a lot. Thanks for the memory.” He smiled and went about his business.

Our local high school hosted the annual Cross Country Invitational Meet on this blustery gray day. I braced the wind to cheer on some athletes I know and was thrilled to watch Isaac Potes break a school record when he finished at 15:56!  Goals are vital and help one stay focused and engaged in life.

        

At this Cross Country meet I met Donald, an exchange student from Hong Kong.  We talked about language barriers and he told me about his family.  He said, "I want to see snow.  I never see snow before."  Cultural exchanges spark new interests and life in me.

These dedicated and disciplined cross country runners inspire me, but watching and hearing the crowd cheer them on reduces me to tears. This runner almost died when she was very young. She is among many runners who have faced adversities yet they press on to succeed.  

 

Many dear souls have been praying for the safe delivery of this baby girl and, yes, it happened in this 24 hour period. She's a big bundle of life fresh from  our Father's heart in heaven!  Rejoicing comes easily when our prayers are answered in this way.  Little ones spark hope and life in us like nothing else.

 

 

I posted this question on Facebook: What brought you life today? One response. Disappointing but not surprising. I was hoping to get more answers from my friends but it takes more thought to answer this kind of query. For many it's not as interesting as shopping or what I had for dinner and copious amounts of braggadocio. 

Sometimes we need a wake-up call to recognize life in all its forms.  A young man from my church had a sudden brush with death last week; it's a miracle he's alive and well. Mark's experience awakened the precious gift of life in all who know him--the simple things of everyday life have taken on new meaning.  That's a good thing.

I challenge you to discuss this subject at dinner: What has brought you life today?  Did something or someone make you feel alive today?  Be ready to listen and embrace life in a new way...because a lot can happen even on a drowsy day!

   --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  An unaware life is not worth living.  ~Socrates~

Joy in the Mourning

I am not one of those morning people who wakes up chatty and cheerful. But I am now a mourning person.  So where's the joy?

The last eighteen months have come and gone with little evidence of dramatic change. There have been bad days—good days—and once in a great while—fantastic days. Joy kind of snuck in there recently.

I can't put my finger on it, exactly, but recently I felt joy again—right in the midst of my grief and mourning. It startled me. Was it an illusion or the real thing?

Our local street fair was in progress—The Tomato Show in Fredericktown. These events should just be called Homecomings because friendships are rekindled as folks walk the street enjoying Elephant Ears, Funnel Cakes, french fries doused in vinegar and more satisfying savory foods. Kids screamed on amusement rides and bingo players scanned their cards in the tent. Carnival chaos at its best.

It was an unplanned afternoon with my three sons and families—only the four youngest grandchildren could come along—all under age four. I realized that this was the first time since my sons were young that we had all done this together. Inexplicable  joy burst inside me like I have not known in several years.  It was strange and wonderful!

Last year I walked through the crowds avoiding eye contact with some. It was the first time without Joe at the big event. Success meant not breaking down in a puddle of tears in the crowd so I limited my time spent there.

 

 

I watched my treasures ride the carousel for the first time—sheer joy! Isaiah shared his ice cream with cousin Isabella. It was pure sweetness to watch! For too long it's been unbearable to watch grandparents with their grandchildren; the pain was too raw, the wound too deep. This time I smiled as I watched aging couples savor the squeals of children at play. Progress...

I entered three photos for judging in the photography contest. My confidence got a boost when I won first place and fifth place ribbons. This winning photo of a weathered porch depicts a life of stretchmarks compared to fresh flowers and life. When wounds begin to heal, a scar forms—evidence of the wound and proof of healing. This captures my life right now.

Can joy and mourning co-exist? I believe they can and do. I saw some folks at the street fair who are staring at death, job losses, deaths of loved ones and selling the family farm. I ache for them. I saw a newlywed couple (both of them lost spouses) happy and joyful again. I felt hope... Just for the record--I am not planning another marriage.

Will I continue to feel pain and sadness? Certainly. I realize I may still wake up in the middle of the night and feel panicked because I am alone. Each new season stirs up that loss, but it is less intense. I breathe easier...

Several years ago my sister Deborah gave me a figurine of a chubby ballerina. It makes me smile just to look at it. I have read this scripture many times...and wondered if its truly a possibility. Though my wound is still tender, a scab has formed and healing is taking place...little by little.  My gracious God has faithfully walked beside me, inviting me to embrace life again.

 

 You did it: you changed my wild lament into whirling dance; you ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers.

I'm about to burst with song; I can't keep quiet about you. God, my God, I can't thank you enough.

Psalm 30:11,12 (Message Bible)

 

 

I gotta go practice my pirouette for the “Joy in the Mourning" dance.

 

 

Does Sibling Rivalry Ever End?

If you are an only child, this question has little meaning to you. However...if you have siblings, you have probably experienced varying degrees of rivalry.

I listened to my father and aunt have “lively discussions” well into their seventies; it never stopped. They loved each other but never stopped competing. I confess I have participated in such behavior—even recently!

Two of my sisters and I took a road trip recently to visit our youngest sister (who now resides in Florida) for our second annual Sister's Weekend. Lisa's husband, Richard, drove to Ohio to visit family and friends so we could have the house to ourselves and he could maintain his sanity.  Because of construction delays in two states, the trip down took nineteen hours. That's a long time to be confined to a vehicle. And a long time to get those sibling rivalry juices flowing.

Of the three of us traveling, I am the best navigator (undisputed). During the last leg of the trip I had to sleep awhile and Becky drove in Southern Alabama into the panhandle of Florida. Everything went well until we had to turn off the interstate and drive on two-lane roads. I woke up and asked where we were. Instinctively I knew we were going the wrong direction and checked the map. Yep...heading out of our way.

After a bathroom stop, Becky continued driving with me in the passenger seat to navigate. As I rechecked the map, she sped off in the wrong direction.  Find the first road and turn around,” I ordered. She pulled into a dirt lane with a gate...and took her time. Judy and I told her to hurry, please hurry!

"What's the matter with you two?” she said laughing. Uh...Becky...We're three female Yankees in the deep South... It's 12:30 a.m. There's a locked gate and it's spooky here!  Just for fun I hummed "Dueling Banjos” from the movie Deliverance. Becky continued to laugh at us; we were serious. She lives in the hollers of Southern Ohio; we don't.

Seriously, we had a wonderful time together just enjoying the sunny weather, Lisa's in-ground pool, Navarre and Ocaloosa beaches and delicious food. We discovered two great antique stores and watched movies.  Relaxation was the goal.  But something happens in the kitchen when there are four good cooks...

We have an annual Caribbean feast of hot patties, rice 'n peas, Cayman potato salad and fried plantains. Carbohydrate heaven. Judy was assigned to make potato salad; Lisa made the patty pastry and filling; Becky helped roll the dough and I cut the waxed paper squares and took photos.  I got the easy job.

  
"You're rolling the dough too thick. Make it thinner so we'll have more patties...” Lisa instructed Becky. “Why didn't you tell me sooner--before I rolled out ten?” Becky asked.

Judy wondered, “Something was missing in mine.  You add turmeric? My recipe didn't call for that.” Lisa said, “That's why yours didn't taste just right!” “I also forgot to brush water on the dough so the patties would hold together better! I'm learning something,” Judy confessed.

I suggested, “Maybe we should have a “blind taste test” sometime with all the family and see whose patties win.” Lisa whirled around and said, “MY boys would pick MINE!” Okay, then.

“Why are you using that? I NEVER use that! I use....” Back and forth, back and forth the bantering continued. Nothing vicious, mind you. Just marking our spot in the kitchen—the inside version of peeing on the trees.  Hopefully Debbie can join us again next year and add to the sibling rivalry.

 
Is sibling rivalry so bad? I guess it depends on the extent of it. Is it hurtful to someone? Let's pray it is not.  Love should be the underlying motive in all things.  Does sibling rivalry ever end?  Probably not.

 Proverbs 27:17 Iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.

Right now we're a pretty sharp group of sisters!