Though I was not eager for Ruth to leave this earth, I feel blessed that I could participate in her joyous memorial service that was truly a celebration of her life. Knowing that on June 14 I’m leaving the United States for seven weeks, I expected her to last beyond that time and that I would not be here. This was a major blessing for me, and the blessing for the family was that she was herself to the very end.
On June 14 I will leave Cincinnati for Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, with son Josh and his family—Gina, Kinley (9), and Knox (3½). Steve will join us July 6. Our project is under the auspices of Let’s Start Talking of Fort Worth, Texas. We offer free English lessons and use a workbook of the stories in the book of Luke. In this way, our readers learn basic Bible information as we help them with their English conversation skills. In our six weeks of study, we become friends with them and often stay in touch after we leave. We work to connect them with local Christians who will continue the friendships and possibly Bible studies. The Church of Christ in Kuala Lumpur has had other successful Let’s Start Talking projects and we are excited to be working with them. Greater KL, as it is called, (much easier to say, too!) has 7.2 million people, so “the field is white unto harvest,” as I learned as a child from my KJV.
I will have some access to the internet while there, so I will blog about our activities when possible. This is the place to keep up with how the Lord is working in our lives and in KL. I am confident there will be much to celebrate. Please pray for open hearts from our readers and safety and wisdom for us. Perhaps you should also pray for the families we will be living with!
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Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Little Brother
My brother John was born when I was 9, and I loved being a little mother to him. Back then, being in the South and in the fifties, we called him “John Ralph.” Fortunately, he outgrew that several years ago, though some over-80s still call him that.
By the next summer, my regular duty was to rock my baby brother to sleep. He would sit in my lap facing me, straddling my scrawny body and laying his golden curls on my chest. Mother would check on us occasionally to be sure all was well.
As I rocked, I sang. I always started with “Brahms’ Lullaby,” adding my own new verses as I sang. John Ralph relaxed gently as I sang, “Lullaby and good night, you’re your sister’s delight, you’re our own sweet baby boy, and I love you so much. Go to sleep, baby boy, go to sleep little darling. Go to sleep, baby boy, go to sleep little one.”
At age ten, I’d already started to take on adult responsibilities. And, for that summer at least, I loved it.
Today he is much taller and more educated than I, and I am proud of all he's accomplished. But he’s still my baby brother, and I am sad that we aren't together to celebrate his birthday today. I love you, John. Happy birthday!
By the next summer, my regular duty was to rock my baby brother to sleep. He would sit in my lap facing me, straddling my scrawny body and laying his golden curls on my chest. Mother would check on us occasionally to be sure all was well.
As I rocked, I sang. I always started with “Brahms’ Lullaby,” adding my own new verses as I sang. John Ralph relaxed gently as I sang, “Lullaby and good night, you’re your sister’s delight, you’re our own sweet baby boy, and I love you so much. Go to sleep, baby boy, go to sleep little darling. Go to sleep, baby boy, go to sleep little one.”
At age ten, I’d already started to take on adult responsibilities. And, for that summer at least, I loved it.
Today he is much taller and more educated than I, and I am proud of all he's accomplished. But he’s still my baby brother, and I am sad that we aren't together to celebrate his birthday today. I love you, John. Happy birthday!
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Queen Ruth
The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen!
Ruth Williams was queen of her family, queen of the Central Church, queen of our hearts. She reigned gently but firmly, guiding and directing us to the end. As we met with her, even in her last days, she gave us her smile, her wisdom, her love. She kept us connected to her and to God.
Now we must stay connected to God and to Bob, her rock. But even rocks need love and support when they are human rocks. My interpretation of "The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen!" (right or wrong) is that even though one queen has died, another immediately takes her place. In this case, it could also mean that the Queen will live forever in the heavenly kingdom. This assurance brings a comfort unknown to those outside of Christ.
Ruth, however, has assigned each of us to take her place. We have our roles to fill, taking many of us to cover the lives and encouragements that she handled masterfully to the end. The scepter has been passed to us. As Paul said so could Ruth have said if she hadn't been so humble: "Be followers of me as I am of Christ." Living as she did is our best possible tribute to this incredible woman of God.
Welcome home, Ruth!
Ruth Williams was queen of her family, queen of the Central Church, queen of our hearts. She reigned gently but firmly, guiding and directing us to the end. As we met with her, even in her last days, she gave us her smile, her wisdom, her love. She kept us connected to her and to God.
Now we must stay connected to God and to Bob, her rock. But even rocks need love and support when they are human rocks. My interpretation of "The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen!" (right or wrong) is that even though one queen has died, another immediately takes her place. In this case, it could also mean that the Queen will live forever in the heavenly kingdom. This assurance brings a comfort unknown to those outside of Christ.
Ruth, however, has assigned each of us to take her place. We have our roles to fill, taking many of us to cover the lives and encouragements that she handled masterfully to the end. The scepter has been passed to us. As Paul said so could Ruth have said if she hadn't been so humble: "Be followers of me as I am of Christ." Living as she did is our best possible tribute to this incredible woman of God.
Welcome home, Ruth!
Sunday, May 16, 2010
More Inspiration from Ruth
Visiting with Ruth is more inspiring than sad. I weep often, but more from being touched by her faith and her spirit than from sadness.
She says she thinks she’s figured out why she’s still here, when two months ago the doctor said she had only weeks, not months. As people come to visit her, she asks each person to tell how they came to faith in Jesus. They get to rehearse telling their story so they can then tell it to others.
Also, she gets to match people to needs. Norma Jean has been wanting an in-depth, one-on-one Bible study; Marcia, an excellent Bible student, has been praying for someone with whom to study the Bible. Barb, the hospice chaplain, stays well past her “brief stop.” Her well is being filled by Ruth’s faith and wisdom.
Barb asks Ruth her favorite Bible verse. Ruth says she loves all of Philippians, and Barb and I agree. Ruth is on morphine for the first time, and thinking seems to come more slowly. I say, “Long ago you said your favorite verse was from the situation where the father asked Jesus to heal his son. Jesus asked, ‘Do you believe?’ and the father answered, ‘I believe! Help thou my unbelief!’”
Ruth’s eyes lit up and she smiled. “That’s it!” she said, triumphantly. “That’s the one I was trying to remember. And the King James is the version I learned it in.”
We talk about heaven and its mysteries. We can read Revelation and John 14 and other passages about heaven, but the concept is beyond human understanding. Barb says one of her favorite passages is II Corinthians 4:17-18. She reads it to us: “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
Ruth talks about Bob’s cooking her breakfast each day and learning his way around the kitchen “because he’ll need to know that kind of thing.”
She gets calls from old friends and from a granddaughter in Alaska. She jots down notes of ideas to remember and to share with other visitors. She is excited that her visitors can be connected through her in order to grow in faith.
She is also tiring rapidly. Barb leaves and Ruth and I pray together. I think of all the times we met for breakfast over the years, sharing concerns and praying together. I remember the first time I asked her to have breakfast or lunch with me—probably 20 years ago. During our meal conversation, she said, “This is wonderful! I’m always asking people to lunch, but no one ever asks me.” Even then I knew it was because she was such a strong woman that no one thought of her needing female companionship too.
So now I think—who shall I start taking to breakfast or lunch? Is there a mentor who is in need of encouragement herself? Or what younger women shall I mentor as Ruth has me? I can best honor her friendship by passing it on—by having important spiritual conversations.
My friend Laura’s uncle, Chip Jordan, would only see her for brief periods of time when he visited her college town. He would take her to lunch and always ask, “How is your spiritual life?” Surely she is one of the most spiritually strong women I know, and some of that comes from being asked that important question during her formative years. I need to do that for someone. I need to know that person well enough, and that person must be assured that I love them, before I can ask such a probing question. But I can do that. I can be Uncle Chip or Ruth or Miss Eurie—with God’s help.
She says she thinks she’s figured out why she’s still here, when two months ago the doctor said she had only weeks, not months. As people come to visit her, she asks each person to tell how they came to faith in Jesus. They get to rehearse telling their story so they can then tell it to others.
Also, she gets to match people to needs. Norma Jean has been wanting an in-depth, one-on-one Bible study; Marcia, an excellent Bible student, has been praying for someone with whom to study the Bible. Barb, the hospice chaplain, stays well past her “brief stop.” Her well is being filled by Ruth’s faith and wisdom.
Barb asks Ruth her favorite Bible verse. Ruth says she loves all of Philippians, and Barb and I agree. Ruth is on morphine for the first time, and thinking seems to come more slowly. I say, “Long ago you said your favorite verse was from the situation where the father asked Jesus to heal his son. Jesus asked, ‘Do you believe?’ and the father answered, ‘I believe! Help thou my unbelief!’”
Ruth’s eyes lit up and she smiled. “That’s it!” she said, triumphantly. “That’s the one I was trying to remember. And the King James is the version I learned it in.”
We talk about heaven and its mysteries. We can read Revelation and John 14 and other passages about heaven, but the concept is beyond human understanding. Barb says one of her favorite passages is II Corinthians 4:17-18. She reads it to us: “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
Ruth talks about Bob’s cooking her breakfast each day and learning his way around the kitchen “because he’ll need to know that kind of thing.”
She gets calls from old friends and from a granddaughter in Alaska. She jots down notes of ideas to remember and to share with other visitors. She is excited that her visitors can be connected through her in order to grow in faith.
She is also tiring rapidly. Barb leaves and Ruth and I pray together. I think of all the times we met for breakfast over the years, sharing concerns and praying together. I remember the first time I asked her to have breakfast or lunch with me—probably 20 years ago. During our meal conversation, she said, “This is wonderful! I’m always asking people to lunch, but no one ever asks me.” Even then I knew it was because she was such a strong woman that no one thought of her needing female companionship too.
So now I think—who shall I start taking to breakfast or lunch? Is there a mentor who is in need of encouragement herself? Or what younger women shall I mentor as Ruth has me? I can best honor her friendship by passing it on—by having important spiritual conversations.
My friend Laura’s uncle, Chip Jordan, would only see her for brief periods of time when he visited her college town. He would take her to lunch and always ask, “How is your spiritual life?” Surely she is one of the most spiritually strong women I know, and some of that comes from being asked that important question during her formative years. I need to do that for someone. I need to know that person well enough, and that person must be assured that I love them, before I can ask such a probing question. But I can do that. I can be Uncle Chip or Ruth or Miss Eurie—with God’s help.
Sunday, May 02, 2010
National Day of Prayer
The news is full of the pros and cons of having a National Day of Prayer. And the disagreement is not necessarily between Christians and non-Christians. Some Christians agree that it does not separate “church and state” as they prefer. Some non-believers do not feel threatened by it and instead have a “let them do whatever they wish” attitude.
So where do you stand? Surely to most Christians, it doesn’t matter. Every day is a day of prayer for us, so what’s the big deal about having a National Day of Prayer?
Historically, the United States was founded by believers who attested to their faith by inscribing our money with “In God We Trust.” They began their meetings in prayer, and even invoked God in their Declaration of Independence. My friend Connie gave me this information:
• In the midst of the Civil War, President Lincoln in his Proclamation of Thanksgiving on October 3, 1863 invited fellow citizens to pray.
• The Continental Congress declared a fast on March 16, 1776: "In Congress that Friday, the Seventeenth day of May next, be observed by the said colonies as a day of humiliation, fasting, and prayer...."
• Every President since 1952 has signed a National Day of Prayer proclamation, 57 in all.
• There have been 135 national calls to prayer, humiliation, fasting and thanksgiving by the President of the United States from 1789-2009.
I recently read God Work by Randy Harris. In it he says, “I’ve got this theory that, generally speaking, the prayer lives of Christians and non-Christians are about alike. I think Christians probably lie more about theirs. But I’m thinking that they’re pretty much alike. I don’t think Christians pray as much as they claim to and I think non-Christians pray more than we think they do. I don’t know, is “Oh God” a prayer? It might be. Most of the non-Christians I know have some sort of prayer life.”
So, accepting that theory, there are many people in the United States who might be interested in praying together even if they aren’t interested in “church.” We are having a prayer service at our church building, hoping to reach at least one or two of those folks in our neighborhood who would like to be part of corporate prayer. We are praying for our community and nation, for the poor, for children, for people to come to faith in Christ, for us to live within God’s will. There will be nothing doctrinal in our scriptures or our prayers; we just want to encourage our community to pray and for the community to know that we are a fellowship that believes in prayer.
We could have testimonials about the power of prayer, but I think that would be distracting. As soon as I hear “that was an answer to prayer,” I think of all the prayers I’ve prayed when things haven’t gone my way. I don’t pretend to understand that, but I do understand that prayer is a conversation with God. I can’t imagine having a friend whose conversation is always about what they want me to do for them. (Well, actually, I have experienced it. But those people stay in the realm of “acquaintances,” not “friends.”) I think He’s OK with my asking for His help with everything from decisions to healing, but I think we need simply to converse also. So maybe this national focus on prayer, even for one day, will lead more people to think about prayer and about God. If so, praise God. If not, praise Him anyway!
So where do you stand? Surely to most Christians, it doesn’t matter. Every day is a day of prayer for us, so what’s the big deal about having a National Day of Prayer?
Historically, the United States was founded by believers who attested to their faith by inscribing our money with “In God We Trust.” They began their meetings in prayer, and even invoked God in their Declaration of Independence. My friend Connie gave me this information:
• In the midst of the Civil War, President Lincoln in his Proclamation of Thanksgiving on October 3, 1863 invited fellow citizens to pray.
• The Continental Congress declared a fast on March 16, 1776: "In Congress that Friday, the Seventeenth day of May next, be observed by the said colonies as a day of humiliation, fasting, and prayer...."
• Every President since 1952 has signed a National Day of Prayer proclamation, 57 in all.
• There have been 135 national calls to prayer, humiliation, fasting and thanksgiving by the President of the United States from 1789-2009.
I recently read God Work by Randy Harris. In it he says, “I’ve got this theory that, generally speaking, the prayer lives of Christians and non-Christians are about alike. I think Christians probably lie more about theirs. But I’m thinking that they’re pretty much alike. I don’t think Christians pray as much as they claim to and I think non-Christians pray more than we think they do. I don’t know, is “Oh God” a prayer? It might be. Most of the non-Christians I know have some sort of prayer life.”
So, accepting that theory, there are many people in the United States who might be interested in praying together even if they aren’t interested in “church.” We are having a prayer service at our church building, hoping to reach at least one or two of those folks in our neighborhood who would like to be part of corporate prayer. We are praying for our community and nation, for the poor, for children, for people to come to faith in Christ, for us to live within God’s will. There will be nothing doctrinal in our scriptures or our prayers; we just want to encourage our community to pray and for the community to know that we are a fellowship that believes in prayer.
We could have testimonials about the power of prayer, but I think that would be distracting. As soon as I hear “that was an answer to prayer,” I think of all the prayers I’ve prayed when things haven’t gone my way. I don’t pretend to understand that, but I do understand that prayer is a conversation with God. I can’t imagine having a friend whose conversation is always about what they want me to do for them. (Well, actually, I have experienced it. But those people stay in the realm of “acquaintances,” not “friends.”) I think He’s OK with my asking for His help with everything from decisions to healing, but I think we need simply to converse also. So maybe this national focus on prayer, even for one day, will lead more people to think about prayer and about God. If so, praise God. If not, praise Him anyway!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Meet Findlay Mahony Boyd Byers!
In anticipation of her grandson’s birth, my friend Betty Jo said, “Babies change everything—and make it better.” So true!
Findlay Mahony Boyd Byers was born at 3:25 a.m. on Wednesday, April 14, at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Edgewood, Kentucky. He weighed 7 lbs 6 oz and is healthy and alert. We are so blessed.
I keep thinking of Psalm 126:3, “The Lord has done great things for us and we are filled with joy.” Seeing his parents’ adoring gaze took me back to when Steve and I were that way about Josh and then Kelsey. That flooding of love that fills a new parent is indescribable.
The name? Stephen and Kelsey chose to honor their love of Cincinnati (Findlay Market a favorite), Kelsey’s birthfather (Kevin Mahony, who died 5 years ago), and us (Boyd). That’s a big handle for such a little baby, so at times it’s shortened to Finn. I’m guessing that’s what he’ll be called by his peers.
So even though I have writing assignments, housework, and paperwork to catch up on, I want to feature baby Finn in a blog post. He is so precious. We were also blessed to have our other grandchildren, Kinley Abigail and Knox Andrew, here from Lafayette, Indiana, for the weekend, so of course one picture must include them. Their names: presidential (Wm McKinley and James Knox Polk) plus Bible (strong woman and servant disciple.) So what’s in a name? In our family, quite a bit!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Best Wedding Present Ever
The combination of stress and excitement that accompany a big wedding cannot be matched by any normal life activity. Even those who try to have a small, intimate wedding become overwhelmed by the details of their vision of a simple event. So I especially enjoyed helping my niece Sarah with her well-planned wedding.
Sarah married Bobby Castro Saturday at the Patrick Ranch in Durham, California, the rural community where she grew up. The expected glorious California spring weather turned cold, windy, and eventually wet.
So three hours before the wedding we moved everything into a barn, and with the help of family and friends transformed it into a beautiful setting. Thirteen of us, Sarah’s relatives, traveled from Tennessee, Indiana, and Kentucky to participate in the festivities. She’s always lived across the country from us so we haven’t known her as well as her sister Beth who attended college in Tennessee. We were positively impressed with her organized wedding plans, her graciousness to all who came, and her concern that everyone be well taken care of. Her new in-laws adore her and we could see why. Bobby is a good match for her—a fun-loving person himself, but willing to let her enjoy the limelight at any time.
All this is prologue to explaining the best wedding gift I gave them—and one I give to every newly-married couple I care about. Right now, she probably values her Cuisinart food processor more, but the other gift does not require a credit card, or gift-wrapping, or finding a place to store or display it.
The best wedding gift Steve and I are giving them is an intangible one: we pray for them daily for the first year of their marriage. We pray for their continued love for each other, for them to be unselfish and thoughtful in their marriage, and for them to show appreciation to each other for the small daily actions that make life smoother for each of them. We pray that they will put God first and serve him together.
We tell them about this gift, and on their first anniversary we send a card reminding them that we followed through on our promise. We hope this will encourage them in both their marriage and their spiritual lives. I encourage all you pray-ers to give this gift to couples you love. It obviously will help them, but you also will have a greater awareness of them and their life together. This is not a patented idea—I freely offer it to you to use as needed!
Monday, April 05, 2010
"In Christ Alone"
Though stating the obvious, I must say that God is pretty awesome. Yesterday I heard a great example of how he cares and works in our lives in even the smallest things.
My friend Ruth is dying of cancer. The doctor gave her “weeks, not months,” a few weeks ago. She is a strong woman of faith and flatly says that she’s lived long enough to know there are many things worse than death. Losing her is hard for us to imagine, for she is vibrant, funny, talented, and involved in everything possible—and all to the glory of God.
Last week I was listening to Keith and Kristyn Getty’s marvelous CD, In Christ Alone. I hadn’t listened to it in months, and I was struck by how many of the songs seemed written especially for Ruth. So I copied onto a CD for her “Jesus, Draw Me Ever Nearer,” “In Christ Alone,” and “The Power of the Cross.” I took the time to type up the words to the first one, which seemed especially suited to her attitude.
Saturday, she and her daughter-in-law Sandy listened to the songs, and Sandy reminded her that “In Christ Alone” was a song she connected closely with Ruth and had wanted Ruth to hear. Ruth listened, then said that she would understand the words better if she could see them in print.
On Sunday, “In Christ Alone” was one of our special Easter songs and everyone got a copy of the words and music, written by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend. Ruth was able to be there for Easter worship, constantly rejoicing. She received the words to the song and got to share communion with her many family members present. Wasn’t it wonderful of God to work that out so well?
“In Christ Alone” is not a new, trendy song. It’s been around since 2002. But this week everything came together for this song to encourage and uplift Ruth and her family. Thank you, God! You are incredible. And I’ll just warn you, though I’m sure you’re prepared: Ruth is going to shake things up when she gets there!
****
Words to “Jesus, Draw Me Ever Nearer,” music by Keith Getty, words by Margaret Becker:
Jesus, draw me ever nearer
As I labor through the storm;
You have called me to this passage,
And I’ll follow, though I’m worn.
(Refrain)
May this journey bring a blessing,
May I rise on wings of faith;
And at the end of my heart’s testing,
With Your likeness let me wake.
Jesus guide me through the tempest;
Keep my spirit staid and sure;
When the midnight meets the morning
Let me love You even more.
Let the treasures of the trial,
Form within me as I go—
And at the end of this long passage,
Let me leave them at Your throne.
My friend Ruth is dying of cancer. The doctor gave her “weeks, not months,” a few weeks ago. She is a strong woman of faith and flatly says that she’s lived long enough to know there are many things worse than death. Losing her is hard for us to imagine, for she is vibrant, funny, talented, and involved in everything possible—and all to the glory of God.
Last week I was listening to Keith and Kristyn Getty’s marvelous CD, In Christ Alone. I hadn’t listened to it in months, and I was struck by how many of the songs seemed written especially for Ruth. So I copied onto a CD for her “Jesus, Draw Me Ever Nearer,” “In Christ Alone,” and “The Power of the Cross.” I took the time to type up the words to the first one, which seemed especially suited to her attitude.
Saturday, she and her daughter-in-law Sandy listened to the songs, and Sandy reminded her that “In Christ Alone” was a song she connected closely with Ruth and had wanted Ruth to hear. Ruth listened, then said that she would understand the words better if she could see them in print.
On Sunday, “In Christ Alone” was one of our special Easter songs and everyone got a copy of the words and music, written by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend. Ruth was able to be there for Easter worship, constantly rejoicing. She received the words to the song and got to share communion with her many family members present. Wasn’t it wonderful of God to work that out so well?
“In Christ Alone” is not a new, trendy song. It’s been around since 2002. But this week everything came together for this song to encourage and uplift Ruth and her family. Thank you, God! You are incredible. And I’ll just warn you, though I’m sure you’re prepared: Ruth is going to shake things up when she gets there!
****
Words to “Jesus, Draw Me Ever Nearer,” music by Keith Getty, words by Margaret Becker:
Jesus, draw me ever nearer
As I labor through the storm;
You have called me to this passage,
And I’ll follow, though I’m worn.
(Refrain)
May this journey bring a blessing,
May I rise on wings of faith;
And at the end of my heart’s testing,
With Your likeness let me wake.
Jesus guide me through the tempest;
Keep my spirit staid and sure;
When the midnight meets the morning
Let me love You even more.
Let the treasures of the trial,
Form within me as I go—
And at the end of this long passage,
Let me leave them at Your throne.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
When God Puts Us Where We Need to Be
Once again, I see how God puts me where he wants me to be. My constant prayer is to be less self/family-centered and reach out more to others, and he is answering that prayer.
As I was heading for home yesterday, I suddenly had the idea of stopping by Macy’s to buy some Clinique and get their bonus gift. I argued with myself (I thought—maybe it was God I was arguing with) that I really didn’t need it, but I exited and drove into the parking lot next to downtown Macy’s.
While I was congratulating myself on the excellent skill I showed by backing into the parking space, a young woman, beautiful but teary, approached me. She said, “I am so sorry to bother you, but you remind me of my aunt and I’m in a terrible fix. I’ve lost my wallet and need $4 to get out of the parking garage. Believe me, I wouldn’t humiliate myself for $4, but I really need to get my car.”
I said, “Let me see what I have. I know I have a fifty, but I can’t give you that.” I pulled out a dollar bill and gave it to her. “But I’m going into Macy’s to get one thing. If you want to go with me, I’ll get change and give you the other three.”
She reiterated her anxiety and embarrassment and said she was a student at Xavier but readily agreed and we started toward the store. As we crossed the street, I said, “So what was in your wallet? Driver’s license? Credit cards?”
She laughed. “Only one credit card. I’m a student—remember? My driver’s license and some money, but just about $35.” We talked about her last hour of retracing her steps.
At the door to Macy’s, she stopped and said she would wait outside. I said, “Well, if you’re gone when I come back, I’ll know you got the money from someone else.” It occurred to me that if this was a scam, she might not be allowed in Macy’s.
The clerk was accommodating but slow. Even though I wanted to stop to look at some sale items, I hurried back outside. When I didn’t see her, I assumed she’d gotten her money elsewhere. But then there she was, talking on her cell phone. As I approached her eyes lit up and she said, “Oh, you came back!” Then into the phone, “She did come back. She looks just like Aunt Bo. I’ll talk to you later.”
I pressed four more dollars into her hand, hugged her, and went home. I don’t know if her story was true or not; I only know that I went out of my way to give five dollars to Jesus yesterday, and I’m glad I did.
And this morning I cut my walk short (29 degrees is nippy) and felt like a wimp, but there was a reason. Two blocks from our street, I saw Cindy who lives across the street from us. She was picking up her son after an overnight, and we chatted for a moment. Then, casually, she said, “Did you know I have cancer? They found it about six months ago.”
I was shocked. We never see each other much in the winter, but surely I should have known about this. I pray for her nearly every day since she’s a single mom of four. But here was my neighbor and friend, and I’d unknowingly neglected her for months. We talked about her chemo, and she kept cutting her eyes over to the 8-year-old with her so I understood that she was cleaning up the experience considerably.
So again God put me where I needed to be. Now how will I respond? Responding to a need for four dollars was easier, but this is more important. I will pray for her healing, but I want to do more. With God’s help, I will.
When has God put you where you needed to be? And how did you respond?
As I was heading for home yesterday, I suddenly had the idea of stopping by Macy’s to buy some Clinique and get their bonus gift. I argued with myself (I thought—maybe it was God I was arguing with) that I really didn’t need it, but I exited and drove into the parking lot next to downtown Macy’s.
While I was congratulating myself on the excellent skill I showed by backing into the parking space, a young woman, beautiful but teary, approached me. She said, “I am so sorry to bother you, but you remind me of my aunt and I’m in a terrible fix. I’ve lost my wallet and need $4 to get out of the parking garage. Believe me, I wouldn’t humiliate myself for $4, but I really need to get my car.”
I said, “Let me see what I have. I know I have a fifty, but I can’t give you that.” I pulled out a dollar bill and gave it to her. “But I’m going into Macy’s to get one thing. If you want to go with me, I’ll get change and give you the other three.”
She reiterated her anxiety and embarrassment and said she was a student at Xavier but readily agreed and we started toward the store. As we crossed the street, I said, “So what was in your wallet? Driver’s license? Credit cards?”
She laughed. “Only one credit card. I’m a student—remember? My driver’s license and some money, but just about $35.” We talked about her last hour of retracing her steps.
At the door to Macy’s, she stopped and said she would wait outside. I said, “Well, if you’re gone when I come back, I’ll know you got the money from someone else.” It occurred to me that if this was a scam, she might not be allowed in Macy’s.
The clerk was accommodating but slow. Even though I wanted to stop to look at some sale items, I hurried back outside. When I didn’t see her, I assumed she’d gotten her money elsewhere. But then there she was, talking on her cell phone. As I approached her eyes lit up and she said, “Oh, you came back!” Then into the phone, “She did come back. She looks just like Aunt Bo. I’ll talk to you later.”
I pressed four more dollars into her hand, hugged her, and went home. I don’t know if her story was true or not; I only know that I went out of my way to give five dollars to Jesus yesterday, and I’m glad I did.
And this morning I cut my walk short (29 degrees is nippy) and felt like a wimp, but there was a reason. Two blocks from our street, I saw Cindy who lives across the street from us. She was picking up her son after an overnight, and we chatted for a moment. Then, casually, she said, “Did you know I have cancer? They found it about six months ago.”
I was shocked. We never see each other much in the winter, but surely I should have known about this. I pray for her nearly every day since she’s a single mom of four. But here was my neighbor and friend, and I’d unknowingly neglected her for months. We talked about her chemo, and she kept cutting her eyes over to the 8-year-old with her so I understood that she was cleaning up the experience considerably.
So again God put me where I needed to be. Now how will I respond? Responding to a need for four dollars was easier, but this is more important. I will pray for her healing, but I want to do more. With God’s help, I will.
When has God put you where you needed to be? And how did you respond?
Monday, March 22, 2010
Miss Eurie
In our Sunday class we discussed childhood mentors within the church and how they had impacted our lives. I immediately thought of Miss Eurie, who loved me and encouraged me throughout my growing-up years. (We pronounced her name “you-REE,” and in the South respect demands "Miss" before any woman's name, married or not.)
I don’t recall how we became so close, but part of it was that she and her husband Elmer were always there. Three services a week, dinners, VBS—whatever was going on, there they were. Since my family was on the same routine and our church on Sunday morning was only about a hundred people, we were together a lot.
Another reason was that she loved to laugh. Children are drawn to people who enjoy life, and Miss Eurie did. They had a tiny, modest home and very little cash, but they were rich in friends, family, and faith. She made witty comments and could see humor in many situations where other adults would frown.
And she talked to me. She didn’t grill me with the typical “How’s school?” type questions. Her questions and comments were real. They dealt with my family, my friends, my activities, my interests in 4-H and academics and earning money in her brother’s strawberry patch. She shared her own life interests with me.
Short, stocky, with a frizzy perm and wire-rimmed glasses, she was nothing like the women I admired in magazines. But her bright brown eyes lit up when I came near, and her sturdy arms were quick to give me a tight hug.
She had no deep spiritual philosophies on which to expound; she did not talk about her faith at all. She just loved me for me and let me know it again and again. Even now I get a warm, joyous feeling when I remember Miss Eurie.
At our church, I’ve followed the growth of Emma and Kayla from when they were newborns, just as Miss Eurie did me. Now that I’ve analyzed what I loved so about Miss Eurie, I have a better idea of how I can be Miss Eurie to Emma and Kayla. I’ll start right now while they are still in elementary school, laughing with them and hugging them and talking with them whenever I can.
I don’t recall how we became so close, but part of it was that she and her husband Elmer were always there. Three services a week, dinners, VBS—whatever was going on, there they were. Since my family was on the same routine and our church on Sunday morning was only about a hundred people, we were together a lot.
Another reason was that she loved to laugh. Children are drawn to people who enjoy life, and Miss Eurie did. They had a tiny, modest home and very little cash, but they were rich in friends, family, and faith. She made witty comments and could see humor in many situations where other adults would frown.
And she talked to me. She didn’t grill me with the typical “How’s school?” type questions. Her questions and comments were real. They dealt with my family, my friends, my activities, my interests in 4-H and academics and earning money in her brother’s strawberry patch. She shared her own life interests with me.
Short, stocky, with a frizzy perm and wire-rimmed glasses, she was nothing like the women I admired in magazines. But her bright brown eyes lit up when I came near, and her sturdy arms were quick to give me a tight hug.
She had no deep spiritual philosophies on which to expound; she did not talk about her faith at all. She just loved me for me and let me know it again and again. Even now I get a warm, joyous feeling when I remember Miss Eurie.
At our church, I’ve followed the growth of Emma and Kayla from when they were newborns, just as Miss Eurie did me. Now that I’ve analyzed what I loved so about Miss Eurie, I have a better idea of how I can be Miss Eurie to Emma and Kayla. I’ll start right now while they are still in elementary school, laughing with them and hugging them and talking with them whenever I can.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Day Trip Recommendation
This week is Steve’s official spring break, but due to other responsibilities, we took Thursday/Friday for a little getaway trip and called that his Spring Break. It was lots of fun and gave us a chance to relax in a way that we cannot do at home.
We drove to Madison, Indiana, where we checked in at the Clifty Falls Inn at Clifty Falls State Park. We stopped by at noon to check on our reservations and they let us check in immediately. They even said that since they are running a spring internet special that they’d refund us $25! Now that doesn’t often happen, so we were impressed right away.
We had lunch in Madison at The Downtowner, where they serve delicious sandwiches and salads. The food was tasty and the service efficient. Then we visited some of the shops there. We were especially impressed with the The Birdhouse, an extensive bird and garden store, on Main Street. Their inventory is extensive and beautifully uncluttered and well-organized, making for easy shopping. We’re always on the lookout for good hummingbird feeders and books, and they had a good supply of both.
I was delighted to find The Little People’s Boutique, also on Main Street. They carry both classic and novelty children’s clothes, preemie to size 14, and each outfit seemed more adorable than the last. It was great to see babyish clothes for babies—not small versions of adult clothes. At the other extreme, they had matching slickers, umbrellas, and boots that would be a big hit with any child.
The state park is beautiful with extensive trails, some quite rugged, but pretty well-maintained. We drove around Thursday afternoon and hiked Friday morning. Without leaves on the trees, everything is so clearly visible that it was very interesting.
Our dinner was at Bistro One, an odd name for a restaurant with a Greek chef, but we’d talked to him that afternoon and his promise of the “best food in town” was verified by the owner of the bird store, though, tactfully, he did also mention Franco’s and the Red Pepper. We started with Saganagy, a hard Greek cheese that was brought to us in flames and was delicious on their warm rolls.
Our entrees, shrimp and grits for me and pork tenderloin medallions for Steve, were outstanding. The price included a salad and a skillet of pasta and vegetables—carrots, potatoes, and broccoli, a good value.
Nick, the chef, came out to see if we liked our food, and mentioned a nearby gentleman who eats there a lot. The man said he’s from Frankfort, but was working in Madison for a few weeks. Since Bistro One is only open Wed-Sat, he eats there every Wednesday and Thursday night. His highest recommendation was for the soups that we could have had instead of salad. He raved about every kind he’d tried and was looking forward to bringing his family to Madison some weekend just so they could eat at Bistro One.
On his recommendation, we ended with tiramisu, and it was just right—a light, tasty slice that met our standards.
The Inn served a good breakfast menu on Friday morning, and we especially enjoyed the “fried biscuits” that we’ve always loved in Nashville, Indiana. If possible, these were even better than we remembered.
When we left Madison, we took Indiana 56 along the river to Markland Dam and crossed back into Kentucky there. We had made the most of our “Spring Break” and came home refreshed. If you’re in the Cincinnati area, I’d really recommend a day trip or more to Madison. It’s charming and has fabulous food,and it's only about an hour and a half from Cincinnati.
We drove to Madison, Indiana, where we checked in at the Clifty Falls Inn at Clifty Falls State Park. We stopped by at noon to check on our reservations and they let us check in immediately. They even said that since they are running a spring internet special that they’d refund us $25! Now that doesn’t often happen, so we were impressed right away.
We had lunch in Madison at The Downtowner, where they serve delicious sandwiches and salads. The food was tasty and the service efficient. Then we visited some of the shops there. We were especially impressed with the The Birdhouse, an extensive bird and garden store, on Main Street. Their inventory is extensive and beautifully uncluttered and well-organized, making for easy shopping. We’re always on the lookout for good hummingbird feeders and books, and they had a good supply of both.
I was delighted to find The Little People’s Boutique, also on Main Street. They carry both classic and novelty children’s clothes, preemie to size 14, and each outfit seemed more adorable than the last. It was great to see babyish clothes for babies—not small versions of adult clothes. At the other extreme, they had matching slickers, umbrellas, and boots that would be a big hit with any child.
The state park is beautiful with extensive trails, some quite rugged, but pretty well-maintained. We drove around Thursday afternoon and hiked Friday morning. Without leaves on the trees, everything is so clearly visible that it was very interesting.
Our dinner was at Bistro One, an odd name for a restaurant with a Greek chef, but we’d talked to him that afternoon and his promise of the “best food in town” was verified by the owner of the bird store, though, tactfully, he did also mention Franco’s and the Red Pepper. We started with Saganagy, a hard Greek cheese that was brought to us in flames and was delicious on their warm rolls.
Our entrees, shrimp and grits for me and pork tenderloin medallions for Steve, were outstanding. The price included a salad and a skillet of pasta and vegetables—carrots, potatoes, and broccoli, a good value.
Nick, the chef, came out to see if we liked our food, and mentioned a nearby gentleman who eats there a lot. The man said he’s from Frankfort, but was working in Madison for a few weeks. Since Bistro One is only open Wed-Sat, he eats there every Wednesday and Thursday night. His highest recommendation was for the soups that we could have had instead of salad. He raved about every kind he’d tried and was looking forward to bringing his family to Madison some weekend just so they could eat at Bistro One.
On his recommendation, we ended with tiramisu, and it was just right—a light, tasty slice that met our standards.
The Inn served a good breakfast menu on Friday morning, and we especially enjoyed the “fried biscuits” that we’ve always loved in Nashville, Indiana. If possible, these were even better than we remembered.
When we left Madison, we took Indiana 56 along the river to Markland Dam and crossed back into Kentucky there. We had made the most of our “Spring Break” and came home refreshed. If you’re in the Cincinnati area, I’d really recommend a day trip or more to Madison. It’s charming and has fabulous food,and it's only about an hour and a half from Cincinnati.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Sharing a Birthday with Mr. Jess
Mr. Jess and I didn't have much in common. We lived in the same small Tennessee community, his farm and ours equally poor. I was a teenage girl and he was in his seventies; I was quick and agile and he was feeble and slow. I talked fast and heard everything; he talked slowly and had trouble hearing anything. But we shared a birthday.
So every year, during the week of our birthday, Mother would have Mr. Jess and his wife Miss Etheline for a birthday dinner at our house. Since that was in the days when banks gave gifts for opening or adding to a savings account, Mr. Jess had a great way of getting me a gift. He'd deposit some money and be given a place setting of silver plate. I wasn't too impressed, but coming from a couple who had always eaten with mismatched, lightweight flatware, I should have been.
I was never thrilled at the prospect, but endured it because my parents said I should. "You mean a lot to Mr. Jess," Mother would say. "This is the least you can do to please an old man."
We'd started this tradition when I was ten, and it ended when I was 16 and had just received my sixth place setting of Oneida silver plate. Little Mr. Jess looked at me across the table and said, "You remember me when you use this silverware. You'll be feeding your family and I'll be out under a tree somewhere, dust returning to dust, as they say. And you can think of me, and think, 'I sure do remember when Mr. Jess gave me this silverware.'"
And he's right--I do. When we have several people for dinner and I turn to the six settings of silver plate to finish the table, I think of Mr. Jess and his prophecy. He's been dead well over 40 years now, but every time I use that silver, I do think of him; I remember his kindness to a disinterested teenager who was nudged by her parents into doing the right thing "to please an old man."
And then I'm prompted to wonder about myself: When I've been dead 40 years, will there be anything anyone remembers about me, or what I did, or what I said? What am I doing that will make a difference to someone in 40 years?
So every year, during the week of our birthday, Mother would have Mr. Jess and his wife Miss Etheline for a birthday dinner at our house. Since that was in the days when banks gave gifts for opening or adding to a savings account, Mr. Jess had a great way of getting me a gift. He'd deposit some money and be given a place setting of silver plate. I wasn't too impressed, but coming from a couple who had always eaten with mismatched, lightweight flatware, I should have been.
I was never thrilled at the prospect, but endured it because my parents said I should. "You mean a lot to Mr. Jess," Mother would say. "This is the least you can do to please an old man."
We'd started this tradition when I was ten, and it ended when I was 16 and had just received my sixth place setting of Oneida silver plate. Little Mr. Jess looked at me across the table and said, "You remember me when you use this silverware. You'll be feeding your family and I'll be out under a tree somewhere, dust returning to dust, as they say. And you can think of me, and think, 'I sure do remember when Mr. Jess gave me this silverware.'"
And he's right--I do. When we have several people for dinner and I turn to the six settings of silver plate to finish the table, I think of Mr. Jess and his prophecy. He's been dead well over 40 years now, but every time I use that silver, I do think of him; I remember his kindness to a disinterested teenager who was nudged by her parents into doing the right thing "to please an old man."
And then I'm prompted to wonder about myself: When I've been dead 40 years, will there be anything anyone remembers about me, or what I did, or what I said? What am I doing that will make a difference to someone in 40 years?
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
It's About Time!
“It’s about time!” Have you ever said this to someone who had done something good? I’ve been guilty myself of saying it. What a negative remark about something positive! It occurs to me that if we said, “That’s terrific! I’m so glad you did that” each time we want to say, “It’s about time!” our relationships would flow much more smoothly.
Appreciation is the key to strengthening relationships. “But that’s his job!” you might say, when your husband takes out the garbage or your boss has a focused agenda and a well-run meeting. Yes, it is, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be appreciative for it.
Selfishness, it seems to me, is the root of all sin and misery in this life. Appreciation takes the spotlight off me and puts it on the other person in a positive way. I can feel good about reframing the thought, and the other person feels good about what he or she has done and about my reaction to it.
Everything from political corruption to divorce seems rooted in selfishness. I see it in myself whenever I take time for self-analysis related to a problem I’m dealing with. I notice it particularly in marriages—mine and others.
I have a lengthening list of married couples I pray for. About six years ago, I began praying that all of us would be unselfish and thoughtful and appreciative of each other. Praying this daily is a good reminder to me to show those characteristics to my own husband Steve. But such prayers, as it turned out, have their rewards to me personally.
The reason I know it was around six years ago is a gift Steve gave me a few months after I started praying that we’d all be more thoughtful and appreciative. Usually birthday gifts from him are lovely but are what he likes. This time he sent me on a trip with my two favorite cousins. How selfless of him! It was a marvelous present.
Months later, I realized that that trip was an answer to the prayer I’d been praying for all those couples, including us. He couldn’t have been more unselfish and thoughtful than with that particular gift.
People might at first be startled at your positive comments. “Thanks for emptying the dishwasher” or “thanks for giving the kids their baths” or “thanks for doing a good job on that project” might be in that “it’s about time you …” category, but will be accepted as long as the tone is genuine. (Remember—sarcasm negates the effort!)
Just thinking about the ten commandments, isn’t selfishness the root of each “Thou shalt not”? Murder, steal, commit adultery, covet. Even not honoring our parents is rooted in selfishness.
Obviously physical problems cause great suffering and are not connected to selfishness or unselfishness, though the way we react to them can be. If you can think of other miserable situations that are not the result of selfishness, do comment. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Appreciation is the key to strengthening relationships. “But that’s his job!” you might say, when your husband takes out the garbage or your boss has a focused agenda and a well-run meeting. Yes, it is, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be appreciative for it.
Selfishness, it seems to me, is the root of all sin and misery in this life. Appreciation takes the spotlight off me and puts it on the other person in a positive way. I can feel good about reframing the thought, and the other person feels good about what he or she has done and about my reaction to it.
Everything from political corruption to divorce seems rooted in selfishness. I see it in myself whenever I take time for self-analysis related to a problem I’m dealing with. I notice it particularly in marriages—mine and others.
I have a lengthening list of married couples I pray for. About six years ago, I began praying that all of us would be unselfish and thoughtful and appreciative of each other. Praying this daily is a good reminder to me to show those characteristics to my own husband Steve. But such prayers, as it turned out, have their rewards to me personally.
The reason I know it was around six years ago is a gift Steve gave me a few months after I started praying that we’d all be more thoughtful and appreciative. Usually birthday gifts from him are lovely but are what he likes. This time he sent me on a trip with my two favorite cousins. How selfless of him! It was a marvelous present.
Months later, I realized that that trip was an answer to the prayer I’d been praying for all those couples, including us. He couldn’t have been more unselfish and thoughtful than with that particular gift.
People might at first be startled at your positive comments. “Thanks for emptying the dishwasher” or “thanks for giving the kids their baths” or “thanks for doing a good job on that project” might be in that “it’s about time you …” category, but will be accepted as long as the tone is genuine. (Remember—sarcasm negates the effort!)
Just thinking about the ten commandments, isn’t selfishness the root of each “Thou shalt not”? Murder, steal, commit adultery, covet. Even not honoring our parents is rooted in selfishness.
Obviously physical problems cause great suffering and are not connected to selfishness or unselfishness, though the way we react to them can be. If you can think of other miserable situations that are not the result of selfishness, do comment. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
How far ahead does God plan?
So how far ahead does God plan for us? When a pioneer family found shelter in a 400-year-old hollow sycamore, had God planned to have that available for them? When old acquaintances have a chance meeting and one ends up working for the other, did God plan that detour one made that day? When the young Manuel Noriega wrote a complimentary letter to some American missionaries, was that so they could produce it and be allowed to stay when they were told to leave Panama? When I left my Bible and planner at the church building on Sunday, was that so I’d go there at an unexpected time today? I don’t know the answers to any of those questions. I know I believe that God works in our lives, and on this earth we will not know the breadth and depth and width of his plans for us.
Sunday I was busy taking an extra bag to my car and helping Tina, who recently had surgery and was riding with us. In all the bustle, I left my Bible and daily planner on the shelf above the coat rack.
I was greatly aggravated once I arrived home and realized what I’d done. We are only 13 miles from the church building, but that's far for a non-crucial trip. I knew I could pick it up Wednesday evening.
This morning as I was praying while on the #$%$# treadmill, I realized that the church building was in the general vicinity of my writers’ group. I decided that I’d stop there en route back home.
But as I was getting dressed, I felt an urgency to get my books on my way to the meeting, so I hurried and left in barely enough time to make the stop. When I arrived, there in her car sat Valerie, who cooks for the daycare housed on the church property. I didn’t realize at first that there was someone in the car, but she got out to speak to me and I saw that she’d been crying. I hugged her, asked what was wrong, and told her my errand. She just said it was already a bad day.
Together, we read a vulgar message written on the door in lipstick. While I got my books, Valerie got paper towels and was vigorously cleaning it off when I came back out. I could see that she was welcoming the chance to work out her frustrations.
My first inclination was to jump in my car and take off. After all, I had a schedule to stick to. But the priorities here were obvious even to my tunnel vision, so I hugged her and said, “I can see you’re hurting. What can I pray for you?”
Then it all came out—the news, after a previous surgery and weeks of testing, that she has cancer both in her liver and in her small intestine, and it’s two different kinds of cancer, so the treatment is tricky. She poured out her anxiety and frustration and the difficulty of the complicated decision. As I wrapped my arms around her, I prayed for her peace and wisdom and healing.
She said, “I’ve looked for scriptures on healing, and so far I’ve found over forty. Isn’t that amazing?” Her children tell me she reads her Bible a lot, and I encouraged her that she is turned in the right direction. I told her we would bring a group over to pray with her soon.
I hated to leave her there, but she had a job to do also. So I’ve continued to pray for her throughout the day, and to thank God that I forgot my books on Sunday.
Sunday I was busy taking an extra bag to my car and helping Tina, who recently had surgery and was riding with us. In all the bustle, I left my Bible and daily planner on the shelf above the coat rack.
I was greatly aggravated once I arrived home and realized what I’d done. We are only 13 miles from the church building, but that's far for a non-crucial trip. I knew I could pick it up Wednesday evening.
This morning as I was praying while on the #$%$# treadmill, I realized that the church building was in the general vicinity of my writers’ group. I decided that I’d stop there en route back home.
But as I was getting dressed, I felt an urgency to get my books on my way to the meeting, so I hurried and left in barely enough time to make the stop. When I arrived, there in her car sat Valerie, who cooks for the daycare housed on the church property. I didn’t realize at first that there was someone in the car, but she got out to speak to me and I saw that she’d been crying. I hugged her, asked what was wrong, and told her my errand. She just said it was already a bad day.
Together, we read a vulgar message written on the door in lipstick. While I got my books, Valerie got paper towels and was vigorously cleaning it off when I came back out. I could see that she was welcoming the chance to work out her frustrations.
My first inclination was to jump in my car and take off. After all, I had a schedule to stick to. But the priorities here were obvious even to my tunnel vision, so I hugged her and said, “I can see you’re hurting. What can I pray for you?”
Then it all came out—the news, after a previous surgery and weeks of testing, that she has cancer both in her liver and in her small intestine, and it’s two different kinds of cancer, so the treatment is tricky. She poured out her anxiety and frustration and the difficulty of the complicated decision. As I wrapped my arms around her, I prayed for her peace and wisdom and healing.
She said, “I’ve looked for scriptures on healing, and so far I’ve found over forty. Isn’t that amazing?” Her children tell me she reads her Bible a lot, and I encouraged her that she is turned in the right direction. I told her we would bring a group over to pray with her soon.
I hated to leave her there, but she had a job to do also. So I’ve continued to pray for her throughout the day, and to thank God that I forgot my books on Sunday.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
How can we ever know?
How can we ever in this life know when God is working something out and when He’s simply allowing something to happen?
Steve and I flew to Key West, Florida, Thursday evening. Shortly after our connecting flight left Atlanta and we arrived in Key West, we heard about the blizzard that paralyzed Hartsfield International Airport. Some passengers were stranded there for two days. We felt relieved and blessed to be enjoying the Key West sunshine.
On Sunday afternoon, I logged on to Delta to check in and be sure all was in order to fly home Monday at 12:50. The screen instead showed a large sign reading “There has been a flight cancellation affecting your trip to Atlanta, GA (ATL) on 15 Feb 2010. But don't worry, we'll help you get to your destination with as little inconvenience as possible.” There was a prompt to “click here for alternate flights.” The response on that page was “Sorry. There are no alternate flights. Please call your Delta agent." Which I did.
I was told they could get us home on Wednesday rather than Monday. That was unacceptable because Steve teaches university classes all day on Tuesday, and they had already missed last Tuesday due to a snowstorm. The person at Delta said there was NO WAY to get to Cincinnati from Key West without going through Atlanta. He said he lives in Ft Lauderdale and has to fly to Atlanta to get to Tampa. Foolishly, I believed him.
So I went online to Travelocity and found a Continental flight from Key West to Fort Lauderdale airport, then a Delta flight from Fort Lauderdale to Cincinnati. Yes—Delta DOES go to Cincinnati from Florida without going through Atlanta! Seems that he would know that, living in Ft Lauderdale as he does….
So then—should we rent a car and drive the four hours to Ft Lauderdale, or take the Continental flight and pay exorbitantly to get home? Looking at the seating plan, I realized that there were only two seats left on each flight, so I bought them.
It worked beautifully. Our little prop plane to FLL was an adventure, and we had ample time to catch our Delta flight home. I knew that Cincinnati was predicted to get 6-10 inches of snow that day, so I held my breath that our flight would not be canceled. It was not, and we landed at the Greater Cincinnati International Airport with snow pouring from the skies and at least six new inches on top of last week’s snow.
The drive home was hazardous, to say the least. Even the interstates were snow-covered, with traffic moving very slowly. But we are home, safe and sound. We are grateful for four-wheel drive.
I don’t know how many times I said, “Thank you, Lord!” for helping us negotiate all that was involved in getting home. But now here we are, surrounded by 15 inches of snow, and all the university classes are canceled. Steve laughed and said, “So we could have stayed till Wednesday!”
And he’s right! So did God get us into the last two seats on each plane so we’d get home, or did He give the opportunity for two more sunny days and we rejected it? There is no way to know. All I can do it turn it over to God and work with what He sends my way. Whichever it is, I lean on Romans 8:28, as I learned it in childhood: “For we know that all things work together for good for them who love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.”
Steve and I flew to Key West, Florida, Thursday evening. Shortly after our connecting flight left Atlanta and we arrived in Key West, we heard about the blizzard that paralyzed Hartsfield International Airport. Some passengers were stranded there for two days. We felt relieved and blessed to be enjoying the Key West sunshine.
On Sunday afternoon, I logged on to Delta to check in and be sure all was in order to fly home Monday at 12:50. The screen instead showed a large sign reading “There has been a flight cancellation affecting your trip to Atlanta, GA (ATL) on 15 Feb 2010. But don't worry, we'll help you get to your destination with as little inconvenience as possible.” There was a prompt to “click here for alternate flights.” The response on that page was “Sorry. There are no alternate flights. Please call your Delta agent." Which I did.
I was told they could get us home on Wednesday rather than Monday. That was unacceptable because Steve teaches university classes all day on Tuesday, and they had already missed last Tuesday due to a snowstorm. The person at Delta said there was NO WAY to get to Cincinnati from Key West without going through Atlanta. He said he lives in Ft Lauderdale and has to fly to Atlanta to get to Tampa. Foolishly, I believed him.
So I went online to Travelocity and found a Continental flight from Key West to Fort Lauderdale airport, then a Delta flight from Fort Lauderdale to Cincinnati. Yes—Delta DOES go to Cincinnati from Florida without going through Atlanta! Seems that he would know that, living in Ft Lauderdale as he does….
So then—should we rent a car and drive the four hours to Ft Lauderdale, or take the Continental flight and pay exorbitantly to get home? Looking at the seating plan, I realized that there were only two seats left on each flight, so I bought them.
It worked beautifully. Our little prop plane to FLL was an adventure, and we had ample time to catch our Delta flight home. I knew that Cincinnati was predicted to get 6-10 inches of snow that day, so I held my breath that our flight would not be canceled. It was not, and we landed at the Greater Cincinnati International Airport with snow pouring from the skies and at least six new inches on top of last week’s snow.
The drive home was hazardous, to say the least. Even the interstates were snow-covered, with traffic moving very slowly. But we are home, safe and sound. We are grateful for four-wheel drive.
I don’t know how many times I said, “Thank you, Lord!” for helping us negotiate all that was involved in getting home. But now here we are, surrounded by 15 inches of snow, and all the university classes are canceled. Steve laughed and said, “So we could have stayed till Wednesday!”
And he’s right! So did God get us into the last two seats on each plane so we’d get home, or did He give the opportunity for two more sunny days and we rejected it? There is no way to know. All I can do it turn it over to God and work with what He sends my way. Whichever it is, I lean on Romans 8:28, as I learned it in childhood: “For we know that all things work together for good for them who love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.”
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Thin Places: Perception
As I help my mother get dressed, I look at her misshapen body, thinking, That’s what I’ll look like in twenty-two years. It is not an encouraging thought. I’m disappointed enough with my 60-year-old body now.
“I’m so ashamed that you have to help me like this,” she says, adding, “I don’t know what women do without a daughter.”
Lord, please take me quickly when you’re ready and don’t let me ever get like this, I pray.
I think it’s an unselfish prayer, but maybe not. One thing is sure—I do feel valuable to her. She’s right—she couldn’t do this alone.
In that thin place I see a reason the elderly are still with us, unable to care for themselves, and babies are born in need of special care, and young men become paraplegic in their twenties. They are sacrifices to our needs to grow as individuals. They bring us out of ourselves, so that we become much more than we ever thought we could be. They learn humility through their situations; we learn humility through our service.
I am truly grateful that my career schedule has freed me to help my children and my mother. Maybe wanting to die quickly would rob my family of what I am gaining through these experiences. Or is that in itself a selfish justification for holding onto life? I love my life, but I’ve never wanted to cling to life regardless of my capabilities. I want to live fully and die boldly, but gain perception daily, as at this moment.
“I’m so ashamed that you have to help me like this,” she says, adding, “I don’t know what women do without a daughter.”
Lord, please take me quickly when you’re ready and don’t let me ever get like this, I pray.
I think it’s an unselfish prayer, but maybe not. One thing is sure—I do feel valuable to her. She’s right—she couldn’t do this alone.
In that thin place I see a reason the elderly are still with us, unable to care for themselves, and babies are born in need of special care, and young men become paraplegic in their twenties. They are sacrifices to our needs to grow as individuals. They bring us out of ourselves, so that we become much more than we ever thought we could be. They learn humility through their situations; we learn humility through our service.
I am truly grateful that my career schedule has freed me to help my children and my mother. Maybe wanting to die quickly would rob my family of what I am gaining through these experiences. Or is that in itself a selfish justification for holding onto life? I love my life, but I’ve never wanted to cling to life regardless of my capabilities. I want to live fully and die boldly, but gain perception daily, as at this moment.
Monday, February 01, 2010
Memories of Mother and Aunt Fannie
I just finished reading The Help by Kathryn Stockett, a fascinating story of race relations in Jackson, Mississippi, from 1962-1964. Reading about the Southern women and their African-American maids brought back memories of our family friend, Aunt Fannie. Though some might see calling her “aunt” as a derogatory term, it was not that to us. My mother’s closest friends I always called with that familiar term; Aunt Beck and Aunt Mildred were beloved to me. Besides, Aunt Fannie would have had a fit if we’d called her Miz Goins, and Mother would never have tolerated any of us simply calling her by her first name.
The only time I ever heard her last name was when my mother would introduce her to a visitor. If someone stopped by when Aunt Fannie was there, she’d say, “I want you to meet my friend, Fannie Goins.”
As I was growing up, about three or four times a year my mother would go to Scattersville, the local primarily black neighborhood, and get Aunt Fannie to come work for her. They would spend the day cleaning house from top to bottom and Aunt Fannie would catch up on all Mother’s ironing.
They would talk on and off, but when they weren’t talking, Aunt Fannie was singing hymns. She had no idea, I’m sure, that we could hear her so clearly and enjoyed it so much.
The lunch routine was always the same. Mother would say, “Aunt Fannie, I have lunch prepared. You can stop what you’re doing and come eat with us.”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Aunt Fannie would answer. “I’m goin’ to finish this up. You just go ahead and eat.” And nothing would budge her from that resolve. After we’d finished, she would take her plate outside or to the basement and eat.
Mother and I were dismayed by this, and Mother, never one to hold back, confronted Aunt Fannie. “Why won’t you eat lunch with us? I fix a nice lunch and I think we can sit and chat while we eat and then you won’t sit down with us. Why not?”
“It not be right, for me to eat with white folks,” Aunt Fannie explained, as though to a child who didn’t understand what everyone else knew. And though Mother argued, Aunt Fannie stood firm. She “knew her place.”
When Mother got Aunt Fannie to come help clean the house to host the reception when Steve and I got married, they worked hard for two days solid. When Mother picked her up the second day, she gave Mother an envelope containing cash.
“I wants you to buy Lanita a nice weddin’ present from me,” she said. “Get her something for the kitchen.” And I still treasure the little saucepan that Mother bought with Aunt Fannie’s money.
Long after all of us were gone from home, Mother heard that Aunt Fannie was in the hospital, so she went to visit. She sat by the bed and held her hand, prayed with her, and talked about their families. Aunt Fannie was moving around a lot and couldn’t seem to settle in the bed. Mother asked what was so uncomfortable.
“My feet are burnin’ like fire,” she said. “I keep rubbin’ them against the sheets to cool ‘em off and stop that burnin’.”
“Well, I can do something about that!” Mother responded. She knew enough about hospital supplies to know there was always a bottle of lotion in a nearby drawer. She got it out, pulled up the sheet from the foot of the bed, and started massaging Aunt Fannie’s feet with the lotion.
Aunt Fannie started to protest, but she could see that this battle was already lost. She laid back and enjoyed the cool, soothing lotion rubbed on by loving hands. Mother could feel her relax and “get easy” in her bed.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to rub your feet again,” Mother told her as she left.
“Miss Mary,” Aunt Fannie said, shaking her white head, “you is the nicest white lady I ever knew, and I mean that for sure!”
Mother just laughed, delighted at such a compliment, and especially delighted that she finally could convince Aunt Fannie that there was neither “Greek or Jew, male or female,” black or white, “but we are all one in Christ Jesus.”
The only time I ever heard her last name was when my mother would introduce her to a visitor. If someone stopped by when Aunt Fannie was there, she’d say, “I want you to meet my friend, Fannie Goins.”
As I was growing up, about three or four times a year my mother would go to Scattersville, the local primarily black neighborhood, and get Aunt Fannie to come work for her. They would spend the day cleaning house from top to bottom and Aunt Fannie would catch up on all Mother’s ironing.
They would talk on and off, but when they weren’t talking, Aunt Fannie was singing hymns. She had no idea, I’m sure, that we could hear her so clearly and enjoyed it so much.
The lunch routine was always the same. Mother would say, “Aunt Fannie, I have lunch prepared. You can stop what you’re doing and come eat with us.”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Aunt Fannie would answer. “I’m goin’ to finish this up. You just go ahead and eat.” And nothing would budge her from that resolve. After we’d finished, she would take her plate outside or to the basement and eat.
Mother and I were dismayed by this, and Mother, never one to hold back, confronted Aunt Fannie. “Why won’t you eat lunch with us? I fix a nice lunch and I think we can sit and chat while we eat and then you won’t sit down with us. Why not?”
“It not be right, for me to eat with white folks,” Aunt Fannie explained, as though to a child who didn’t understand what everyone else knew. And though Mother argued, Aunt Fannie stood firm. She “knew her place.”
When Mother got Aunt Fannie to come help clean the house to host the reception when Steve and I got married, they worked hard for two days solid. When Mother picked her up the second day, she gave Mother an envelope containing cash.
“I wants you to buy Lanita a nice weddin’ present from me,” she said. “Get her something for the kitchen.” And I still treasure the little saucepan that Mother bought with Aunt Fannie’s money.
Long after all of us were gone from home, Mother heard that Aunt Fannie was in the hospital, so she went to visit. She sat by the bed and held her hand, prayed with her, and talked about their families. Aunt Fannie was moving around a lot and couldn’t seem to settle in the bed. Mother asked what was so uncomfortable.
“My feet are burnin’ like fire,” she said. “I keep rubbin’ them against the sheets to cool ‘em off and stop that burnin’.”
“Well, I can do something about that!” Mother responded. She knew enough about hospital supplies to know there was always a bottle of lotion in a nearby drawer. She got it out, pulled up the sheet from the foot of the bed, and started massaging Aunt Fannie’s feet with the lotion.
Aunt Fannie started to protest, but she could see that this battle was already lost. She laid back and enjoyed the cool, soothing lotion rubbed on by loving hands. Mother could feel her relax and “get easy” in her bed.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to rub your feet again,” Mother told her as she left.
“Miss Mary,” Aunt Fannie said, shaking her white head, “you is the nicest white lady I ever knew, and I mean that for sure!”
Mother just laughed, delighted at such a compliment, and especially delighted that she finally could convince Aunt Fannie that there was neither “Greek or Jew, male or female,” black or white, “but we are all one in Christ Jesus.”
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Generational Hospitality
I’ve been thinking about what’s needed to show hospitality. A person in our church small group did not have us into his home, but hosted us at the church building and showed great hospitality. Others volunteered to bring additional food and showed their hospitality in that way. But nothing compares with having someone in your home. When I’ve spent time in someone’s home, I feel that I know them better and it increases how much I care about them. The same is true when I have them in my own home.
My parents demonstrated throughout their lives that hospitality is not based on possessions or surroundings. My earliest memories are when they invited people into their home when we lived in a drafty, rickety house with linoleum floors and a kerosene stove. The warmth of their hospitality overcame the physical obstacles. So when they finally built a house, it was built specifically for hosting lots of people at a time and with enough bedrooms that no homeless person or one in personal difficulty was ever turned away.
When we were first married and invited people to dinner, no one seemed to mind that they could only stand upright in the center of our attic apartment. When we moved to a shotgun half of a small house, guests never complained about the tiny kitchen or the little table we ate on being within two feet of the bathroom door. Now that our children are grown and gone, our home is large enough to accommodate a visiting missionary family with the parents and children having separate rooms. Hosting is a bit easier but the warmth is the same.
When our son and his wife married, their apartment was so small that there was no table at all! Guests ate on their laps on the sofa or sitting on the floor. Fourteen years later, that couple is still using the same sofa, but now in their guest house that shelters those in need of retreat time or temporary housing.
Our daughter and son-in-law host so many people on a regular basis that when they have a party the numbers overflow their modest home. Sometimes they overflow into our house, which is fine with us. They host various groups regularly and welcome the diversity of their friendships.
God will always bless our resources and our examples. He provides what we need so that we can provide for others. I am humbled to see through the generations that “given to hospitality” (Romans 12:13, KJV) is a family trait that God continues to encourage and bless. Blessings upon all who invite and are invited!
My parents demonstrated throughout their lives that hospitality is not based on possessions or surroundings. My earliest memories are when they invited people into their home when we lived in a drafty, rickety house with linoleum floors and a kerosene stove. The warmth of their hospitality overcame the physical obstacles. So when they finally built a house, it was built specifically for hosting lots of people at a time and with enough bedrooms that no homeless person or one in personal difficulty was ever turned away.
When we were first married and invited people to dinner, no one seemed to mind that they could only stand upright in the center of our attic apartment. When we moved to a shotgun half of a small house, guests never complained about the tiny kitchen or the little table we ate on being within two feet of the bathroom door. Now that our children are grown and gone, our home is large enough to accommodate a visiting missionary family with the parents and children having separate rooms. Hosting is a bit easier but the warmth is the same.
When our son and his wife married, their apartment was so small that there was no table at all! Guests ate on their laps on the sofa or sitting on the floor. Fourteen years later, that couple is still using the same sofa, but now in their guest house that shelters those in need of retreat time or temporary housing.
Our daughter and son-in-law host so many people on a regular basis that when they have a party the numbers overflow their modest home. Sometimes they overflow into our house, which is fine with us. They host various groups regularly and welcome the diversity of their friendships.
God will always bless our resources and our examples. He provides what we need so that we can provide for others. I am humbled to see through the generations that “given to hospitality” (Romans 12:13, KJV) is a family trait that God continues to encourage and bless. Blessings upon all who invite and are invited!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The Numbers on the Door
I’ve always found it handy to tape significant phone numbers inside the cupboard door nearest the kitchen phone. There you may find current numbers, but also numbers of the girls on Kelsey’s 1994 softball team, of stores no longer in business, of friends or relatives long dead.
“I think all this needs to be thrown away!” Steve says when I go there to get him a list of favorite family entrees.
But I’m not discarding that cluttered mess any time soon. When I open that door, I’m briefly transported to a time when our house was busier, our schedules more hectic, our time not our own. I love the life I have now, but I loved that one, too. All those outdated phone numbers and lists remind me of the days when I was introduced as “Kelsey’s mom” or “Josh’s mom.” Those were good times, worth remembering—worth honoring for a few moments before this life picks up the pace and I’m off again.
“I think all this needs to be thrown away!” Steve says when I go there to get him a list of favorite family entrees.
But I’m not discarding that cluttered mess any time soon. When I open that door, I’m briefly transported to a time when our house was busier, our schedules more hectic, our time not our own. I love the life I have now, but I loved that one, too. All those outdated phone numbers and lists remind me of the days when I was introduced as “Kelsey’s mom” or “Josh’s mom.” Those were good times, worth remembering—worth honoring for a few moments before this life picks up the pace and I’m off again.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Happy new year!
“Julie and Julia,” surely by many considered a “chick flick,” is the most recent favorite movie of my brother John, age 55. After seeing it in the fall, he told me he wanted to try Julia Child’s cookbook, so I determined to get it for him for Christmas. When he and his family arrived at our house on January 1 for our “Christmas” together, I gave him Mastering the Art of French Cooking. He was delighted, turning immediately to the recipe for Beef Bourguignon. Then he spotted Hollandaise Sauce, and our course was set for the coming day.
I had on hand the ingredients for Eggs Benedict, so we did that for everyone for brunch. Fabulous! The cookbook is definitely easy to follow—ingredients in the left column and in the right column the instructions for what to do with that ingredient. After an interesting foray to the nearby grocery superstore in which an unflappable butcher cut a prime rump roast into stew meat, we were able to cook Beef Bourguignon for dinner. It was marvelous! We were all pretty impressed with ourselves. It was mainly John and me, but his daughter Katie assisted and wife Liz washed up all the pots and pans—a terrific help. A hint about why it was so good, besides being labor-intensive: it had a bottle of merlot in it!
Cooking together was such fun! I discovered that even though he cooks a lot, there are kitchen basics that he doesn’t know how to do, such as separate egg yolks from the whites. It was a great blessing to work well together, and in between we played games and just talked.
They had not known until the last minute when they were going to be able to come the four hours to visit us. Then when they arrived they didn’t know how long they would stay. Due to their flexibility, I discovered that I don’t have to have a plan when someone visits. When we love each other, the time takes care of itself and may turn out even better than if I’d planned it. I'm hoping to continue my flexibility throughout 2010. Happy new year!
I had on hand the ingredients for Eggs Benedict, so we did that for everyone for brunch. Fabulous! The cookbook is definitely easy to follow—ingredients in the left column and in the right column the instructions for what to do with that ingredient. After an interesting foray to the nearby grocery superstore in which an unflappable butcher cut a prime rump roast into stew meat, we were able to cook Beef Bourguignon for dinner. It was marvelous! We were all pretty impressed with ourselves. It was mainly John and me, but his daughter Katie assisted and wife Liz washed up all the pots and pans—a terrific help. A hint about why it was so good, besides being labor-intensive: it had a bottle of merlot in it!
Cooking together was such fun! I discovered that even though he cooks a lot, there are kitchen basics that he doesn’t know how to do, such as separate egg yolks from the whites. It was a great blessing to work well together, and in between we played games and just talked.
They had not known until the last minute when they were going to be able to come the four hours to visit us. Then when they arrived they didn’t know how long they would stay. Due to their flexibility, I discovered that I don’t have to have a plan when someone visits. When we love each other, the time takes care of itself and may turn out even better than if I’d planned it. I'm hoping to continue my flexibility throughout 2010. Happy new year!
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