Are You Someone's Little Chick?

                                                                   

     I thought that everyone should know my Uncle Jimmy, so when I was in first grade, I took him to school for Show and Tell. He was my favorite uncle for a number of reasons. He loved me and showed it in a multitude of ways. He listened and laughed at my childhood jokes.  He was patient, and my father wasn’t, so it was especially nice to have a male family member who was. He didn’t have children of his own, so he and my aunt invited me to spend summers with them in Michigan. Uncle Jimmy was a milkman, and his truck was full of treats. He always had chocolate milk, ice cream, and even soft drinks. At the end of my day, after riding my bike or playing in the sprinklers, he’d return home and let me ravage through the back of the refrigerated truck. I could get what I wanted and we would sit together on the back porch. While I enjoyed my treats, he would tell me about the people on his route. He always had good stories. And for some unknown reason, from my earliest days, he always called me his little chick.

     He and my aunt often took me on vacations with them. We went to the World’s Fair in New York City and to the International Exposition in Montreal, to Niagara Falls, and other places of interest. Uncle Jimmy saw each excursion as an educational opportunity. At each site, he would ask a plethora of questions. In turn, he passed his new understanding on to me. He also taught me how to drive, and attempted to teach me all about the Stock Market.

     Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Kaye traveled to be part of every big event in my life. They came five hundred miles for my high school and college graduations. They paid for my wedding dress and were present for the big day. They traveled to Texas when I had my first child and later came to Tennessee for my second.

     My sweet uncle wiped my tears when life became difficult for me, and then it got difficult for him. It was just the little things at first. You know how we can become a little forgetful with age. So, it didn’t seem a worry in the beginning. Then, my brother, his golf partner, noticed that his game was a little off. Uncle Jimmy was a great golfer, and Billy seldom approached his score, but that began to change. Then, one day, Uncle Jimmy left the course, and couldn’t find his way home. The police found him on the side of the road in tears. He was lost and could not remember his address of thirty years. It was Alzheimer’s. It broke my heart to see his decline.

     Because I lived so far away, I didn’t see him but a couple of times a year. I called my aunt every Sunday to check on him and visited when I could. The changes became more evident with time. Many Alzheimer’s patients become belligerent, but he was an exception. He kept his sweet gentle attitude. One obvious change was that my uncle was singing. I had never ever heard him sing. Now he was singing funny commercial ditties from the 1940’s. His favorite was a Pepsi jingle. He would sing and laugh, and I’d laugh with him.

     As the condition worsened, my aunt had to do more and more for him. The time came when he could no longer bathe or shave himself. He couldn’t feed himself or even swallow without help. Uncle Jimmy could no longer walk on his own. There was nothing wrong with his legs, but his brain could no longer give his limbs the needed signal.

     Before I made my last visit, my aunt prepared him. She told him that I was coming and showed him old photos, hoping to spark a memory of me. I arrived at their home at night, and he was already in bed asleep. My aunt said that though she’d been trying to help him remember, I shouldn’t be hurt if he didn’t recognize me or remember my name. The next morning, my aunt saw him trying to get out of bed by himself. She asked what he was doing. Uncle Jimmy said, “I’m going to see my little chick.” He remembered, if only for a little while. That night, after supper, my aunt settled him into his favorite chair in the den and turned on the TV. She left me to keep an eye on him while she washed dishes. After finishing, she brought him a cup of coffee. He thanked her. Then, after she left the room, he looked at me and said, “You’re my little chick, and you know I’ve always thought you were such a pretty little thing. But, isn’t she the most beautiful woman in the world? She takes such good care of me.” At this point, my aunt was white headed, somewhat bent over, and they’d been married for over 60 years. His lucid moments were few at this point, but his love and appreciation prevailed until the end.

     Our family history is a collection of stories. There are many who help shape our lives. If we evaluate those relationships, we realize that there is something to be learned from each of them. Uncle Jimmy has been gone for years. Yet here I am, over a decade later, bringing him for show and tell.

     It occurs to me that we all impact the lives of those we touch. I need to be cognizant of that, so that my touch will be gentle, kind, and supportive. I want to be remembered with love and laughter as stories are told. I want to sing silly songs and show gratitude for kind acts and be remembered as a woman of faith. I will be part of someone else’s story; so will you. How do you want to be remembered?

When the Funeral's Over

I recently talked with someone in the throes of grief. Her husband died several months ago, and she wondered if her tears were a sign of faithlessness. She held up well through the funeral, but in subsequent days and weeks, memories flowed forth in both her waking and sleeping hours. Whether they were sweet memories or difficult ones, they resulted in tears. Many spoke to her with spiritual platitudes. She was told: “If you trust God, you won’t have to cry; there will only be joy.” “Why are you crying? Your husband is in a better place.” “You need to move on with life.” Though, these people were well-meaning, they made her feel judged, inadequate, and weak.

My parents died a week apart, and their deaths came six-months after my brother’s. I learned that the memories and emotions do not cease when the funeral is over and the crowds go home. For the next year, tears assaulted me at unexpected times. Words of a song or a particular scent would bring back a special moment, and that’s all it took. Grief is a process that plays itself out differently for each of us. Tears are not a sign of weakness. How do I know? Because, “Jesus wept” John 11:35. Jesus related to us when He cried over the death of His friend, Lazarus. Tears are healing. I learned to rejoice in the midst of heartache, but weeping often accompanied the rejoicing. God walks with us through our darkest days. And, if we allow it, God can and will grow us in our deepest valleys, but there is no set time table. When we turn it over to Him, He provides us with comfort and strength. He gives us a testimony to later encourage others in similar trials. God never wastes a hurt. He’s ready to wipe away your tears, but only after they’ve done their work of healing.

It's Time!

Some mornings it’s just hard to roll out of bed. We all know the feeling, but why do we linger? We have a new day, a new opportunity just waiting for us, but we procrastinate. When visiting with my grandmother in a nursing home years ago, I sensed regret from many of the residents. My grandmother felt none of this. She was suffering from dementia. Physically she was fine. In her mind she was a live-in employee of the facility. Each morning the nurse would come to her room first. She would see to Grandma’s needs, then say, “Are you ready, Mrs. Edge?” They would walk room to room to see to patient needs. Yes, Grandma was probably in the nurse’s way sometimes, but she didn’t hesitate to get out of bed. She felt needed. She had purpose. And, in truth, she was needed. The other patients seemed to enjoy the banter that Grandma provided as the nurse checked their vitals. Perhaps even this was useful to the nurse. Grandma kept the patients engaged in conversation, so the nurse could get things done that might have been halted if the patient was complaining or just wanted to keep the nurse there so that she had someone to talk with. Grandma provided those moments of socializing. She found humor in most things even after her mind turned on her. This was a blessing to all, and Grandma did provide minor services like filling water glasses

Perhaps there had been days when some had lain in bed unnecessarily, not appreciating the fact that their days, their opportunities, were numbered. At this point, many no longer had a choice. They could no longer get up. Their bodies had failed them. They had little to look forward to as their bodies atrophied.

When awakening each morning, it may be difficult to throw back the covers and step out into the relative cold, but remember, your days are numbered. Praise God that you can do this small act on your own, and step into the day’s opportunities with anticipation and thanksgiving.                      “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24

What Happened to My Sweet Child? THE Question of Parents of Tweens

Remember reading the classic, Dr.Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? I’m reminded of this tale when listening to parents of tweens. As a middle school teacher I would have been confused, by this phenomenon of temporary schizophrenia, had I not experienced it first as a mother.

Jonathan was the child that every parent and teacher wanted to clone. He was kind and thoughtful to others; he was obedient and respectful to the adults in his sphere. He got along with most everyone. He was a good student but enjoyed success in other areas, too. And, he was generally responsible. This was the eleven-year-old that kissed his parents good night and went to bed.

But, another eleven-year-old boy emerged from that room the next morning. He looked like Jonathan. His voice sounded the same, but some altered universe had apparently taken hold of him during the night. He awoke with a sneer on his face and a snarky response to our every question and comment at the breakfast table. Who was this child? I thought he’d just awakened on the wrong side of the bed. I soon realized that this was to be our new norm. As weeks passed, I became more and more confused by this strange version of my son. I recall one particular incident in which he proudly showed me a completed school project he was to turn in that day. I was impressed and sure his teacher would be, too. The project was to represent a large percentage of his grade that term, so this was important. But, when he returned home and I questioned him about it. He just said, "I didn’t turn it in. I couldn’t find it." What did he mean, he couldn’t find it? I saw him put it into his backpack that morning. He was now insisting it disappeared. I went through the bag carefully straightening each wadded up paper that I found, discarding a banana peel and a couple of Goldfish in the process. And, I did discover other pieces of overdue work, but not the project. It couldn’t just vanish. While my frustration level was at its peak, Jonathan seemed nonchalant. What was going on here? I felt as if I’d been transported into the pages of Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic. Mr. Hyde had taken up residence in our home.

When I was later teaching eleven-year-olds in sixth grade, I noticed there seemed to be a transition in my students around the mid-point of the year. They came to me as children in August, but when they returned from Christmas break, something significant had occurred to many of them during that two week period. Mr. Hyde or Miss Hyde had emerged. They were now tweens! Within the next month, parents began to call for conferences. Generally, the conversation would go something like this:

Have you noticed any changes in my child lately? He/She is like a different person. What happened to my sweet child? Help me! I’m at my wit’s end. I’ve tried everything, and I don’t like what I’m seeing.

At this point, I looked like the wisest teacher in the world. Why? Because I realized this was the norm for most tweens. I was able to relate the story of my own child’s transition. I recommended the parents be firm but consistent. If they followed this advice, knowing I would do the same at school, they could expect their Dr. Jekyll to return home eventually. It encouraged them to hear that after two years my sweet child came back. Mr. Hyde, with all of his unpleasant traits, went to bed, and a teenaged Dr. Jekyll joined us for breakfast the next morning. He was a welcomed sight!

Each year parents left this conference feeling somewhat better. They realized this was not a permanent condition, and it was not a result of some parenting flaw of theirs. They knew I was committed to helping with the same firm consistency they would apply at home. Though each child is unique, a transition is going to take place. It is God’s plan they transform from children to more mature teenagers toward becoming independent adults. For some the change is drastic. For others, it’s more subtle. The transition time is different. Jonathan’s took two years, a long two years, but there’s no set timetable.

Parents would often come back to see me a year or two later. They would offer thanks for the support and tell me their sweet child had returned. It was just a journey that was, at times, unpleasant for the whole family. But, I was usually told the wait was worth it.

What about you? Are you dealing with a tween? Do you have one of your own? Maybe you have a tween grandchild or a classroom of them. If dealing with a tween is causing you frustration, anxiety, or confusion, take a deep breath. Take it all to the Lord, and rest in Him. And, if you listen closely, I expect He will confirm what I have conveyed. Your child is going through a natural process of change. Yes, it is difficult. Yes, it impacts the entire family. You may feel overwhelmed, but it’s temporary. He/She is as confused as you are, and your love and consistency are needed, if not appreciated.

In Psalm 102:17 we read, “I call on you my God, for you will answer me; turn your ear to me and hear my prayer.” Remember this, He hears you. You’re not alone. You can do this! And, your sweet child will return home.

It's All in the Mind

Ten Tips for Optimal Brain Functioning

Have you ever asked yourself the question, "Am I out of my mind?" Optimal brain functioning is different for each of us, but we’d like for our brains to be healthy and working at their full potential.

I don’t pretend to have any medical knowledge beyond the average person. As an educator, I have studied the impact of the brain on learning. These are the ten best directives I have found to lead to optimal brain functioning.

1.      Increased oxygen: The brain must have oxygen flowing into it for it to function well. Both exercise and increased water will produce this. If students are allowed to stand and stretch on a regular basis, this will help in the classroom. Some school districts have experimented with longer periods of recess, especially in the early grades, to see if it impacts classroom productivity. Early studies suggest there is a positive correlation between greater physical activity and improved classroom performance.

2.      A healthy diet positively impacts both physical and mental functioning.

3.      Extended uninterrupted sleep is necessary for optimal functioning. Since teachers do not have control over their students’ sleep habits, it may help to start the morning with a few stretches or even jumping jacks.

4.      De-clutter! Both the mind and the space in which one functions, need order for optimal performance. As distractions are removed, greater clarity sets in.

5.      Challenge the mind. Though this is the goal of every teacher, it is important to realize the brain is a muscle. Its long-term health is dependent on its pliability. It needs to be stretched just as other muscles do.

6.      If a learner sees a purpose in the day’s subject matter, he/she is more motivated to become involved.

7.      Create more connections. Every time a student learns something new, the brain makes a new connection. The more connections that the brain makes, the longer the memory will hold the information.

8.      Engage has become something of a buzz word in educational circles within the last ten to fifteen years. But, it is one with merit. Students who are actively involved in their own learning process, take ownership of it. One element, of this engagement that is often overlooked, is reaction. Student memory will increase when he/she is allowed to react to what they have seen, heard, or read. 

9.      The brain is stimulated more with the involvement of each sense. Therefore, multi-sensory learning increases memory and greater brain functioning. By involving more senses per lesson, the teacher increases the effectiveness of the learning process.

10.   Stress is the enemy of the brain. When under stress, the brain has difficulty focusing. Though there is no stress-free environment, if stress is reduced, the brain will function in a more productive way. Listening to soft music and deep breathing exercises can help reduce stress. Too, if a classroom has dimmer-lights, a teacher may help reduce some stress by dimming them a little.

Scientists are constantly learning new things about the brain. Each new revelation provides greater insight into understanding the way we learn. If these tips are useful for the student in the classroom, I must assume they would be helpful in brain functioning, regardless of age.

It's What Time?

Tick...Tick...Tick

Perhaps it’s my age, I’m not sure. But, with my sixtieth birthday came an awareness of the ticking clock. It was the diminishing moments of life that got my attention in a different way. Though most of us have no idea how long we may live, there are certain markers in life that are reminders of time passing. My sixtieth birthday was one of those.

Someone said, “To know the value of a minute, ask the person who just missed his train.” I began to wonder how many minutes, life-giving precious moments, I had wasted in totally useless inane activities. Many worry about wasted money, but which is more important? In my mind, there’s no question. Time has much greater value. If money is wasted or even lost, there is always a chance to recoup it at some point. But, time is a measure of life in seconds, minutes, hours. Once it is lost, it is gone forever. We cannot get it back. The clock ticks a reminder of each moment passing.

So, the immediate question is, what will I do with today? How can I make the next twenty-four hours count in a significant way? How can I bring value to others? How do I bring honor to a praise-worthy God?

What about you? Can you hear the clock ticking?

They're Lost!

Keys

I spent a wonderful weekend on a retreat with the women of my church. I left my car at the church and rode to the retreat site with friends. When we returned on Sunday, I discovered that my keys were gone. I bet you know the feeling. It wasn’t just one key. I had keys to two separate cars along with keys to every door in our house. In addition, they were all attached to a costly fob. I searched all of the bags that I had taken on the trip. I looked over the grass and pavement around the car. I checked the cars in which I traveled both coming and going. I then called the retreat center to see if they had found any keys. I checked all of the obvious places. Then, I searched the ridiculous. Why else would anyone search their cosmetic bag for keys? Only because all sensible sources had been checked, and I was desperate.

I called my husband, and he came to pick me up at the church. He picked up the search. He  proceeded to dump out all of the bags that I had already been through. I have been known to look right at something and still not see it, so I was not offended by this. Still, no keys! So, now what do we do?

The car was necessary, so my husband called a locksmith. The cost, with the service charge was to be over $200, and that didn’t count the fob. The cost was not outrageous, but $20 would have been enough to frustrate me, because this was a result of my own negligence. I spent an abnormal amount of time in the search, and it stole the time of others, too. I had been inattentive, and laid my keys down somewhere without thought. Predictably, I found them after making the call to the locksmith. Fortunately, Jack was able to call him back before new keys were created.

Yes, I was grateful to have found the keys. Money was saved, crisis averted. But, I was still aggravated with myself. My lack of focus caused unnecessary stress, and it created a loss of productivity, because my thoughts and actions were set on this one thing…finding my keys.

You are probably thinking, well don’t we all do that at times? I suppose that’s true, but it’s worth considering why. I was distracted by the urgency of leaving on time while ignoring the importance of keeping track of my keys. So, what about you?

Are you good about staying aware of what’s most important, as opposed to the pressures of the urgent? Do you continue working toward the important goals of your day, even when you hear the little ding on your computer or phone? Are you distracted by the perceived urgency of an e-mail, text, or FB message?

Life is full of distractions, so we must predetermine what’s important rather than just urgent. What are your priorities today? What must be accomplished? Once you know, eliminate as many potential distractions as possible. Determine now what you will, and will not, do to reach your goals. But, whatever you do…hold on to your keys!

Grieving?

Grief

It was the end of the day. I was tired, but still had supper to prepare. As I cooked, my teenage sons kept me entertained with tales of their day. The phone rang, and I answered in my usual peppy voice. It was my sister-in-law’s distinct mid-western accent. I started to say, “What a nice surprise!”, when I caught the tone of her voice, and my words changed to, “What’s wrong?”

In a split second everything changed. She told me that my forty-one year old brother had just died of a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe. I thought that I hadn’t heard correctly. Billy didn’t have a heart condition. He’d just had a good report from his doctor after an annual check-up. I had just been to Michigan, for a visit with him, two weeks before. He looked fine.

But, that’s how it is, isn’t it? Life, with its routine, is suddenly interrupted by the unthinkable. Our world is shattered, and we have to learn how to pick up the pieces. But, when death occurs, there is preparation that must be made, in the midst of the pain. For me, I had to make a plane reservation and pack.  

I needed to move quickly, but I found it difficult to focus. Memories were sweeping through my brain like a movie screen. Billy and I were just two years apart in age. As children, on a farm, we had no friends that lived near us. We had each other, but that was enough. We were extremely close, and now he was gone. It was like a big piece of the puzzle, which was me, was missing. How was I to move forward when I felt incomplete?

This is where the power of faith makes the difference. Life, on earth, was intended to be temporal. That’s part of God’s gift to us. Our time here is hard, but we do not have to endure it forever. Our eternal home is perfect. Billy had just moved on before I did. We would eventually be reunited. I struggled to feel whole without him, but I knew that my “completeness” was in my relationship to my heavenly father. It was not in my relationship with my brother, precious as that was.

You know what I mean. You understand loss and the inevitable pain. Loss is common to mankind, but it doesn’t feel common, at all, when going through it. The earth may feel shaky under one’s feet when the pronouncement of death comes. You may feel that you can’t handle this new reality. Life, on earth, is forever changing. We have no control, but Christ is constant.

When Billy died, I found the need to grab hold of “the solid rock”, Christ. It was important to realize that there was something that would never change. I can count on Him. You can, too!

Why Did I Think I Could Do This?

Birth

The baby’s birth is first announced by your slightly green complexion as you throw up your breakfast. With the nausea comes irritation with “the man”. Your face is in the toilet, and “the man” is grinning from ear to ear and strutting across the room as if he has done something remarkable. Not only that, he offers to help, so he makes the coffee. The very aroma turns your stomach, and the retching continues.

By the fourth or fifth month, the morning sickness has finally passed, but your waist has expanded. Nothing fits, and it’s time to go to the maternity department. You are now relegated to elastic pants. You thought those belonged to the geriatric set, didn’t you? Ha! The jokes on you. Nature seems to have turned on you.

By the seventh month, you are awkward from the displaced weight. Your back hurts, your feet are swollen, and the baby is using your bladder as a trampoline. You must remain close to a bathroom. Sleep has become impossible.

The blessed day finally comes for your baby to enter the world. You try to be excited, but it’s hard when you are writhing in pain. Words escape your mouth that are new to your vocabulary. Your husband has the nerve to look shocked.

Then the baby arrives. You’re in love. The nausea and pain are all forgotten. Your husband is once again your prince. When you see the father’s love flowing from his eyes, you love him even more.

Though the nine months are filled with nausea, exhaustion, mood swings, and pain, they are all quickly forgotten in light of God’s miracle of birth. You are awe-struck by the beauty of this child and the love that is beyond anything you have previously experienced. Already, you know that you would give your life for this precious baby. But, then the “What ifs” invade your thinking.

Fear strikes! What if I sleep through my baby's cries at night? What if I drop her? What if she hates me? What do I know about parenting? They’re going to send me home, with this baby, in a few days. I’m a neophyte. I know nothing. A child’s life is going to be placed in my hands. Help!

Help is available. Just as you are ready to do anything for your child, you should now have a better understanding of God’s sacrifice for you, His child. It is love beyond measure, undeserved but freely given. In that moment, you realize that God is the parent-model that you need to emulate.  He is going to walk with you through this whole parenting-thing. You are not alone. God is faithful. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. Acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)

Leave the hospital with confidence. You’re a parent; praise God!

Can You Identify the Real Mrs. Carver?

The Wrong Mrs. Carver

I walked into my fifth-grade classroom and was surprised to find a student already there. He was sitting on the window sill talking to one on the outside. Before he realized I was there, he said, “Come here, Mrs. Carver.” I didn’t understand why he was talking to me as if I was outside, but I said, “What did you say?” He had a startled look as if he was caught doing something that he shouldn’t. When I questioned him again, he said, “I wasn’t talking to you.” I told him that I had distinctly heard him say my name. Looking a little embarrassed, he told me that he was talking with the neighbor’s emu. He went on to explain that the kids had named it after me. How does one respond to that?

The emu was something of an annoyance to all but the students. The principal had spoken to the farmer whose land abutted the school property. He explained to the gentleman that both the school and the farmer could be sued if the animal hurt a child. Since there were some students on the playground at most anytime during the day, this was a cause of concern. He insisted that the man keep the emu locked up. This particular emu was something of an escape artist. Even though she was in a confined space, she continued to break free, and she had endeared herself to the children. So, they named her.

About a week later I entered the school building and noticed that faculty members were looking at me in shock, through their tears. I was told that the children said that I was dead. The cause of misinformation was soon discovered. When the principal arrived at the school that morning, he found the emu on campus. This was one time too many. The farmer had been warned. The principal was determined to get the animal off of the property before the students arrived. He chased after it until the animal collapsed. It was dead. Apparently, emus have bodies that are too large for their hearts to take much stress. When the principal ran after it, the animal died. The first student arrived before the bird’s remains could be removed. Word quickly spread…Mrs. Carver was dead!

Misinformation can lead to rumors, and sometimes, unnecessary alarm. It does not lead to effective education. Communication requires that the listener understands what the speaker is trying to say, not just the definition of her words. So, if you want to make sure that your listeners understand what you really intend to convey, ask a few questions. It may prevent you from proclaiming the death of the wrong Mrs. Carver.

 

Forget the Excuses! What is Your Dream?

Achievement

Here I am without a thought as to what I should write, but nevertheless, I’m clicking the computer keys. Someone said to me a few days ago, “I have two books within me, but I just can’t seem to sit down and get them on paper.” They asked how I had managed to write a book. I said I had scheduled one hour per day in which I determined to write without distraction. The would-be-writer said, “That’s what I was afraid of. It’s a matter of discipline, and that’s what I lack.” I suppose it’s that discipline that has me clicking away when I have nothing in particular to say. I feel compelled to keep to my schedule.

The reasons, or sometimes excuses, that I most often hear people use for lack of achievement are:

1.      I don’t have time.

2.      It requires too much discipline.

I’m not sure who said this, but I once read, “When I lost all of my excuses, I found my results.” If I want to achieve, I must recognize my excuses for what they are and move toward the goal in spite of them.

A week or two after I started to write my first book, I went to my husband, Jack, and said, “I must be crazy. I only know two things about writing a book. It will cost a lot of money and take a huge amount of time. I’m sixty-three years old, and if I’m lucky it will take me two years before I can get a book written and published. By that time, I’ll be SIXTY-FIVE years old!”

My sweet husband looked me right in the eyes and said, “That’s true. How old will you be in two years if you don’t write the book?” He continued, “In two years you will be sixty-five as a published author, or you will just be sixty-five. The question is, on that birthday, will you regret it if you don’t write the book?” So…I returned to my computer and continued writing.

When I went to Jack in exasperation, Satan had been feeding my doubts and fears. Jack was there to encourage me. He provided perspective when I lost mine. If not for his support, I would not have gotten past the first two weeks of writing.  If you hope to achieve anything of real significance, you will need support. 

I am now sixty-five, and I have two published works to my name. God provided the topic and the resources. Jack provided the encouragement, and I didn’t allow myself the excuse of lack of time or discipline.

Don’t let your dream pass you by, and don’t let those who have given up on their dream talk you out of yours. Pray about it. See what God would have you to do. Then, in obedience, work out a plan that will help you move forward. Don’t accept excuses. Seek support; you’ll need it. But remember, the joy of achieving a worthy goal can be yours... just keep “clicking those keys".

You Want Me to Go WHERE, God?

Finding God’s Way

When I went off to college, for the first time, I was filled with excitement and apprehension. This was a time for adult decisions, like what am I supposed to do with the rest of my life. That’s true of most college freshmen, but I was also a Christ-follower. I wanted to live according to His direction; I just wasn’t sure what that was. However, for a few years, I had the sneaking suspicion that God was going to send me into full-time Christian service. At the time, I had only one female model for that, and it was not comforting.

The Walker sisters, had given their lives to medical missions in Nigeria. Every four years they would return to their home church, and mine, to tell us about their experiences on the field. Using the day’s best technology, slides, they showed pictures of the country, its people, and their own living quarters. As nurses, they were constantly traveling from one village to another, so they lived in tents. One visual, that permanently implanted itself into my psyche, was a picture of the largest snake I had ever seen. It visited their tent one night. They were untouched, but I was afraid of even a garter snake. You can imagine what this did to my imagination.

Since the Walker sisters were the only models I had of women, in ministry, I began to fear it. God could not possibly be calling me to this, could He? As I was first entering my life as a university student, the gnawing idea that this would have to be decided relatively soon, frightened me even further.

I looked forward to my second weekend at Middle Tennessee State University. I was going on a weekend retreat planned by the Baptist Student Ministry. This was a great way to meet others with similar values.

The weekend was all that I expected and more. I met a lot of great people, both students and adult leaders who were committed to mentoring us if we needed it. The weekend was full of fun with plenty of opportunities to engage with other students. There was also Bible study that was directed towards our lives as we began this new transition toward independence.

One afternoon, after an intense study, it was suggested that we go find a place to be alone with the Lord. I walked out into the woods surrounding the retreat site. I found a downed tree to use as my prayer altar. In the midst of prayer, the Lord asked if I was ready to follow His call on my life. He showed me that I had nothing to fear when walking in His path. No snake was too big for Him. I finally realized the absurdity of thinking that God couldn’t handle one of His own creatures. I said, with a loud resounding voice, “Yes, God! I’ll follow you wherever you lead. I’ll go to Africa.” It was a joyful relief just saying that with confidence. But then the Lord took me off guard. I could almost sense a smile on His face as He said, “I don’t want you in Africa.”

When I got up from my prayer stoop, I went to find one of our counselors. I told him about my encounter with God. I told him that I was totally confused. Why would God call me to something and then say, “No, thank you”? The counselor reminded me of the story of Abraham and Isaac. God told Abraham to offer his only son, as a sacrifice, to his Heavenly Father. When God saw that Abraham was ready to do whatever he was called to do, in obedience to his Lord, God stopped him. He didn’t want the death of Isaac, but Abraham had to be willing to follow His lead, regardless of the sacrifice required. The counselor said, “Perhaps, that’s what God needed from you”.

Yes, the weekend provided all that I expected and much more. There’s no reason to fear when following God’s plan for one’s life.

Friendship Tales

Friendship: Mom, Mary, and Bert

My mom, Eva, had two close girlfriends during high school. According to my grandmother, she always quietly opened the door, to my mother’s room, before making breakfast each morning. Until then, she didn’t know how many to prepare for. She often found three girls stretched out horizontally, across the double bed. Bert and Mary were often guests, and Grandma had to stretch the meal accordingly. With war rations, that was often a challenge.

Eva’s teen and young adult years were spent during World War II. As a result, there were few available young men to date after high school. Bert, Mary, and Eva were a fun bunch, though, and they often got into amusing situations, with my mother the usual instigator.

Eva was a dark-haired beauty. She had green eyes and an olive complexion. At almost 5’9”, she turned heads when she walked into a room. But, the screen idol image, of the day, was the voluptuous blonde.                                                                                                                                                                                       

Occasionally, Mary and Eva were lucky enough to meet sailors on shore-leave. One evening they were to go on a double date with some good-looking men in uniform. The girls wanted to look their very best. They carefully chose their wardrobe, for the evening, and applied their make-up with care. Mary was not satisfied with the over-all affect when she looked in the mirror. She was not exactly full-figured, so they decided to improvise. Eva gave Mary a bunch of tissues and told her to stuff them into her bra. Eva gave her direction until “the girls” looked even. Mary and Eva were finally ready, agreeing that they almost looked like film stars.
Eva’s date was driving a car that he’d borrowed from a friend. This was a big deal! They went to a movie and afterwards had fun at the local soda shop. But, while riding home, Mom heard some muffled sounds from the backseat. Then she heard Mary loudly say, “If you want them so badly, here take them!” Mom turned around just in time to see Mary removing the tissues, throwing them in the face of a very disappointed sailor.

For a young woman, during WWII, it was often tough to find a date. Most eligible men were at war. But girls could dream. Mom, and her best friend, Bert, were no different. They would go to the movies, imagining that they were as glamorous as Lana Turner or Betty Grable, both beautiful blondes who always attracted soldiers, on screen. On occasion, Bert and Eva, would meet some sailors, on leave, and they imagined themselves in the role of their favorite film star. One day they met some young men who asked them out, and the girls didn’t want to miss their opportunity to really get their attention. Eva had an idea. The girls went to the drug store down the street and bought two boxes of bleach to change themselves from attractive brunettes to stunning blondes that no man could resist. Neither had any experience with hair dyes. Mom was a little uneasy, so she told Bert that she could be the first bombshell. What happened could have caused a permanent rift in their friendship. The box of bleach gave instructions on how long it should be left on the hair. However, Eva reasoned that since they both had such dark hair, it might be a good idea to leave it in a little longer. After they determined that it was long enough, Eva rinsed out Bert’s hair. They were both horrified. Instead of blonde, Bert’s hair was now orange. Eva tried to tell her that it wasn’t really bad. In fact, it was kind of cute. But, her words failed to ring true when Eva refused to let Bert work on her head.

Bert was in no mood for a double-date. She was mad at Eva, and she was fearful of her date’s reaction. Her date, trying to be gracious, just said, “Wow! Look at that hair!”  Eva regaled the young men with the story, exaggerating every step of the way. Their laughter ensured that the evening was going to be a fun one that they’d all retell frequently.

The friendship was saved, but it was agreed that if Eva ever decided that they should change hair color again, Eva was going first!

Choices Change your Direction

Choices

A friend’s son is in the military. He recently came home, after basic training, and found a “Dear John” letter. His wife took their infant son, and moved across the country. She said she didn’t love him anymore. My friend and his wife are devastated. They are afraid they’ll never have a relationship with their grandchild. In frustration, James told me, “I told him that they were too young to get married. They needed to wait, and I was right.” I asked how old they were when they married, and he said they were in their late twenties.

Having been married for forty-four years, I realize that many things have changed, but I was twenty-one and my husband was twenty-two on our wedding day. Not only that, our son and his wife were the same ages we were when they married fifteen years ago. So, I can’t help but think that age really isn’t the important issue. So, what is?

After reflection, I think it all comes down to our choices. Fortunately, I was taught, at a young age, that God is concerned about all of our choices. I realized the need to pray about the important decisions of life. I also came to see that each choice led to another. There is a snowball effect, so I need God’s wisdom.

I dated some in high school, but it was just fun. When I started college, I took it more seriously. I thought about how many people I knew who met their spouse at this point in life. So, as a freshman, I made a commitment to the Lord. I would not date anyone who was not a committed Christian. I realized that anyone I dated was a potential spouse. I didn’t need to take the chance of becoming emotionally invested in someone who did not share my love for Christ.

That choice eventually led me to Jack. He was not only a strong believer, but he had accepted the call to the ministry. Our dating relationship was one of growing, both together and in the Lord. We prayed about our relationship. We were people of commitment. So when Jack proposed, I already knew with assurance that he was God’s choice for me. I knew we could expect ups and downs in our relationship, but dependence on God would get us through the tough times. And…it has.

Perhaps maturity, rather than age, was a factor in the dissolution of my friend’s son’s marriage. But maybe committed choices had something to do with it, too. Life is just a series of choices. We all make some that are good and some that are not so good. But, if we take the time to turn to a loving, all-wise God before making vital decisions, we just might find that we will make more good choices than bad.

Your Creative Spirit...In His Likeness

Creativity 

As I was taking a prayer walk today, it struck me that all of our “creativity” is merely tapping into the Creator himself. We are emulating Him.

He is the God of color. We see it in the ever changing sky, the red and gold leaves that were once a soft green. We see it in the myriad of bird, insect, and snake species. We are even encouraged to daily eat food of every color. We have different hair and skin tones.

God is the creator of sounds. We hear his handy-work in the melody of a brook flowing over the rocks or the powerful sound of crashing ocean waves. It’s evident in the sounds of animals…the roar of a lion or the mew of a house cat, a gentle tapping of rain or a great clap of thunder. And, if you listen closely, you can almost hear the soft fall of snow on a winter’s morning.

God knew that His children would want to experience the world through touch. So, He created textures to enrich the beauty around us. The rough feel of bark is in great contrast to the velvet texture of an iris in spring. A newborn baby’s skin is different than Grandpa’s. The grittiness of sand leaves one with a totally different sensation than the soft luxury found in forest moss.

He is the God of structure. Look at the rolling hills of the Smoky Mountains as opposed to the crags of the Rockies. The majesty of the Grand Canyon is an amazing piece of sculpture, and you can’t ignore the shape and design of a volcano.

We spend our lives trying to mimic the creative stroke of God. The visual artist tries to mix oils or pastels in an attempt to copy the beauty of a sunset. The musician takes the sounds that have touched his life and works to create similar beauty through instrumentation. The sculptor or architect looks at the shapes and textures of nature and hopes to find satisfaction in his own aped formation.

But, we are God’s supreme creation. Loving us as only He can, He created us in His own image. As such, He gifted us with the ability to both appreciate and emulate His works. He planted within each of us a joy and responsiveness to beauty. We find ourselves one with Him as we exercise these gifts. It is beauty that could come from no other source.  

You are a created and creative being. As you consider your own creative bent, thank God for this gift. This is your spiritual genetic inheritance. This is a touch of the Father in you. Create and Celebrate!

Who's Angry in Your Life?

Dealing with Anger

I was in a hurry that Wednesday night at church. I was to direct a planning meeting of youth workers, but the pastor had asked that we take a minimal amount of time that evening. We had a church-wide discussion that was to take place afterward. Per his instructions, I led the group in prayer then dived right into the evening's agenda. We were able to finish in the allotted time to join the church discussion.

When adjourned, I went down the hall towards the exit to go home. The hallway was crowded with friends talking about a myriad of things. I was enjoying the talk around me when Paula, one of our youth workers, started shouting at me. She was red in the face, obviously very angry. She was talking so fast that I wasn’t understanding all that she said, but she was certainly gaining the attention of the crowd.

I said, “Paula I’m not sure what’s wrong, but let’s go sit somewhere privately, so that I can focus on what you’re saying.” I discovered that Paula was upset about the meeting. I jumped into prayer, giving no time for requests or even a little small talk. At first, I couldn’t understand what the big deal was. The problem was, Paula felt overlooked. It wasn’t intentional. I was merely trying to honor the pastor’s request for time, but she saw it as a personal slight. I apologized, but she wasn’t satisfied. She said many hurtful things. Venom was spewing from her mouth. I asked the Lord for help while fighting back tears. He reminded me, “A soft answer turns away wrath.” So, I was able to respond to her screams with a soft controlled tone.

When I went home, the tears burst forth. I told my husband, Jack, what happened. We talked and prayed for Paula. The next morning, she called. She was still angry. Some church members had called her. She accused me, or perhaps Jack, of calling the deacons to chastise her. I said, “Paula, we haven’t talked with anyone. Remember, until we sought a separate room, we were in the midst of a crowd of church members when you approached me. The calls were in response to what they heard from you, not a phone call from me. Paula, Jack and I love you. We’re sorry about all of this, and the only one we’ve gone to is the Lord. I came straight home, and we prayed for you.” She hung up without saying anything else.

At the end of the service, on the following Sunday morning, Paula came forth and asked for a moment to speak to the congregation. She said, “This week many of you witnessed my anger, directed at our pastor’s wife. I want you to know what kind of leaders we have in our church.” At this point I was holding my breath. I didn’t know what was coming. She continued, “My hot temper was unleashed on Wanda. She never raised her voice. She listened to me. The next morning I called her and ranted some more, making unfounded accusations. She responded with patience and kindness. Instead of yelling back at me, she and Jack prayed for me. I’m here to publicly apologize, but I’m also here to say that we are a fortunate church to have such a loving pastor and wife.”

Once again, I went home in tears. I cried out in praise. I had not refrained from anger on my own. God, and His word, guided me. In turn, He spoke to Paula, giving her the courage to humbly come before the church. The Lord looked into each of our hearts, and “He supplied all our need according to His glorious riches, in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:19

Spiritual DNA

I was in a room full of creative women. I was part of an event focused on media. The ladies were authors, speakers, visual artists, singers, song writers, television hosts, and more. I was in awe at the talent present in the room. But, as we sat around the dinner table and talked, some began to open up. Maybe they were freed by the fact that they were surrounded by professional peers. I was struck by the insecurities that were shared. These beautiful women, that generally appeared so confident, took off their masks for a moment, revealing their self-doubt.

Most of us, mere mortals, tend to believe the illusion. We see the outer picture and envy that person who commands attention just by walking into a room. As I listened at the table, though, I realized that some were confused by the attention. They didn’t understand their affect on others. They didn’t fully see the value of their gift. These gifted women didn’t know why others were awed by them, and they wondered how long it would be before the accolades would disappear. 

Perhaps we need to understand that whether there is recognition for what we do, or not, is unimportant. Any talent that we have is a gift from God. When praise comes our way, we need to use it as a way to share the generosity of our creative Father who created us in His image. Our talents are a result of our God-likeness. It’s our spiritual DNA. When this sinks in, there will be no confusion; we will appreciate our value as a child of God. And we won’t worry about accolades, because we don’t deserve them. We are just the vessel.  And, it’s a privilege!

What is Your Most Valuable Lesson from Childhood?

I’m assuming that we all have memories of repeated sayings of our mothers. Some of them are probably common to most of our experiences. You may have heard, “Pretty is as pretty does” or “You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar”. My mother was fond of saying, “If wishes were horses, we’d all take a ride.” She also quoted Romans 8:28 frequently, “For all things work together for good to those who are the called according to His purposes.”

Mom lived what she preached. She always exhibited a positive attitude, and she could find humor in her darkest hours. One of her well-used sayings was, “Nobody wants to be invited to a pity party." Then, ..."If you insist on having one, go up to your room, and when it’s over you can join the rest of us for some fun.”  If I came home from school, feeling sorry for myself for some reason, she would listen for a few minutes. Then the “pity party” speech came.

When Mom was homebound from lung cancer, she was constantly receiving calls from friends. I was present during a few of those calls. I only heard her side of the conversation, but that was enough. The callers always asked how she was doing, and I heard her say, “It’s lung cancer, and I only have one lung. We know what that means, and it’s not interesting. I want to hear about…

·       ... Tommy’s soccer game Saturday.

·        ...Sara’s decision; is she going to the University of Michigan or Ohio State?”

·        ...your yard sale last week” or…

·        ...did you and Jim enjoy your first ballroom dancing class?”

She didn’t talk about her illness and prognosis of death. She wanted to hear about life. She was interested in others. The calls were always filled with laughter.

Women, from her office, came to enjoy lunch with her each week. They would stop at a fast food restaurant and bring food. They sat around the table sharing tales and laughter. There was never any sad talk, no talk of illness, hospitals, or death, because Mom wouldn’t allow it. She knew that nobody enjoyed a pity party. Because all of the women from the office enjoyed these luncheons, they established a rotation system. Mom was missed at work, because she was one who brought joy into the workplace.

When Mom died, hundreds came to the funeral home. It was filled with a mixture of tears and laughter. One young woman said, “Your mom was the coolest woman I ever knew.” Mom would have loved that. One came to ask a favor. She said, “Your mom always wore silly jewelry to celebrate the holidays. The girls at the office wondered if they could each have a piece as a remembrance of the fun she brought just walking into a room.” Her boss came and said, “Your mom is the one who encouraged me to go back to college, so that I could be the boss.” Mom had written her a poem on the day of her graduation, and it was her most prized possession. The poem was framed, along with her diploma and a photo of the two of them together, in a prominent spot in her home.

A few weeks after the funeral, someone said to me, “I’ve never seen anyone walk through grief the way you have. You were so close to your mom; I don’t understand.” I smiled as I thought of mom. I shed my tears, but I didn’t allow myself to have a pity party. You see, Mom always told me to focus on my blessings, especially in the midst of turmoil. Mother was one of my greatest blessings, and she taught me through repetition and example. So, I couldn’t have an extended pity party. As mother would say, “It’s a solo event. Go up to your room and get over it. Then, come down and join the rest of us for some fun.”

Four Generations