The Mystery Dinner

As a mom, I was always looking for new fun ways for us to connect as a family. So, I proposed a Mystery Dinner. Each family member was to invite a friend for dinner on Friday night at 6:30. The boys’ friends were coming to spend the night. Everyone was to keep their guest choice a secret. We played “Guess the Mystery Name” all week before the selected date. My husband and I chose people who were new to our church. This was an opportunity to make new friends. Our boys had no idea who we might invite, but we both thought that we had our sons pegged. We fully expected them to invite their best buddies. Eight-year-old Matt’s best friend, Chris, lived up the street. He had been in our home almost daily since we had moved to Knoxville.  Robbie was Jonathan’s friend from church.

When Friday came, we were all excited. The dinner was informal. We grilled hamburgers and hot dogs with all of the trimmings. Everyone eagerly anticipated the arrival of our guests. When the doorbell rang, all four of us raced to open the door. The adult guests arrived first. We introduced them to our sons and again waited for the sound of the bell. We quickly responded to the next ring of the doorbell. As expected, Chris stood at the door with his things for the night, but we were a little confused that he had brought his little brother, 5-year-old, David. I said, “David, did you decide to join us for dinner tonight?” Twelve-year-old, Jonathan, said, “David is my guest tonight. He’ll be staying.”

I hope the astonishment, on my face, wasn’t too evident, but Jonathan truly provided the biggest surprise of the evening. Out of curiosity, I later asked him about his guest choice. He touched my mom’s heart when he said, “I knew Matt would invite Chris. I didn’t want David to feel left out.”

It was a fun night with new friends and old. Laughter filled the air as the children, five years to twelve, played together as if they were peers. Jonathan understood when he invited David, he had to play like he was one of the younger kids.

My goal was achieved with the Mystery Dinner, but real success was realized in a way I had not considered. I know the pain of exclusion. Haven't we all felt left out at some point in our lives? It hurts. But, on that evening, little David felt no heartache. He just had fun, feeling like one of the big boys.

Inspire!

Inspiration

What inspires you? Is it a sunset that leaves you breathless? What about a young child who asks you a surprising insightful question? Perhaps it’s overwhelming need: great poverty, a child with birth defects, or an abused woman. Maybe hearing a message from a professor or minister has provoked new thoughts or feelings.

If we are truly inspired, shouldn’t it motivate us to act differently in some way? We may talk about feeling inspired by the performance of a magnificent symphony orchestra, but if it doesn’t instigate some sort of change, was it truly inspiring or just a beautiful concert that provided an enjoyable experience for an evening?

Inspiration is rare, therefore, precious. I can count, on my fingers, the times I have been inspired, to act, as a result of something I have seen, heard, or experienced.

·       I was inspired to teach history after experiencing the story-telling style of my high-school American history teacher, Ms. Youngblood. She helped me understand the men and women of history. I could see them, in their time, and feel what they felt as she wove the tales of the past in a meaningful way. 

·       I was inspired, by a sermon, to pray for God to show me needs. It was a joy each time He revealed a need I could meet with His help. One day I said to my husband, “I don’t know of any need this family could possibly have, but as I was praying today, God said we should give money to the Richmond family.” Jack laughed and said, “God gave you the solution, but he presented me with the need.” The man had come to Jack that day, not asking for a hand-out, but asking for prayer. His family had come face-to-face with a financial roadblock, and he didn’t know what to do.

·       I was inspired by a phone call. My mother, in Michigan, was upset because her brother was in a Nashville hospital, with emphysema. She asked me to pray for him and his family. Mother was concerned for him, both physically and spiritually. I was inspired, to make the three-hour-drive across the state, to share the love of Christ with him. As a result, God saved him.

·       I was inspired to write, by a man who said I should be speaking professionally. He said writing usually led to speaking opportunities. He created an itch I needed to scratch. I started writing, and within the next month, I saw my second book published.

There are a few other inspirational moments I could point to, but I think you see what I mean. True inspiration leads to action. 

Years after moving to another state, I received a letter from Joel, a former sixth-grade student. He had just graduated from Vanderbilt University, and was continuing to work towards his Master’s degree. He discovered where I was living and wrote me a letter. He thanked me. He said that I had given him a joy in learning that inspired him to go beyond his original intentions. After his Master’s work was completed, he planned to earn a PhD. He said I’d given him a longing to learn all he could to be equipped to do all God intended for him to do.

The magnificence of inspiration comes in its inherent legacy. I knew something Joel didn’t know. If not for the inspiration I received from Ms. Youngblood, I might never have been in that sixth-grade classroom to inspire him. Had it not been for the inspiration he felt from me, he might never have made it to Vanderbilt. And, I believe Joel will likely inspire others to act beyond their dreams.

Inspiration is more than a beautiful moment spent enjoying a sunset or concert. It is beauty, a need, concern, or a message that seems meant for us alone. It leads us to think or act differently than we had previously intended. It makes us a little better than we were before we were inspired.

I bet you have enjoyed a legacy of inspiration. Pass it on.

Are You Up to the Task?  

I didn’t ease into a state of wakefulness. It was almost as if someone had shouted. In my mind, I heard, “Are you up to the task?” It was dark; I looked at the bedside clock which read 5:22. My immediate thought was, No, I’m not up to any task at this hour. The question repeated itself in my head. I spend time with the Lord every day. Like any good friend, I know His voice when I hear it. I laid there for another couple of minutes, but I heard His voice again, with a slightly different emphasis, “Are you UP to the task?” I got up.

The change of emphasis made me realize something that is actually quite obvious; I can hear your, “Duh!” now. We do have to get UP before most anything of significance can happen in our day. God’s word says, “This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad.” I am glad that I got up, but I wasn’t until I actually took that first step.

If you struggle to take that first step out of bed in the morning, remember, this day is a gift to you. God has a special task in store for you today, but you can’t discover the day’s treasures until you first GET UP!

Decisions...Decisions...Decisions!

Each day is made up of hundreds of decisions: what to eat, what to wear, what’s the best route to take, etc. Most of them are not likely to have any great impact on our lives, but some are potentially life-changing decisions. Where do I go to school? Who do I marry? Which job do I take? Where do I want to live? These decisions can have us pacing the floor, biting our nails, or keep

us up at night. Fear of making the wrong choice brings on worry and stress.

So, how do you choose? Do you make a pro/con list? Do you seek counsel from friends, family, or professionals? Ever just toss a coin? Or, do you pray and trust God to give you direction (Proverbs 3:5-7)? Is that your first or last resort?

I’d love to say that I’ve always gone to God first, therefore, I haven’t needed to go further. But, it would not be honest, and you’d probably realize it. After many years of critical decisions, I have learned it’s not when all else fails go to God. I’ve come to understand that all else will fail, if it’s not God’s will.  Through His constant faithfulness to guide, I now know when I pray, He listens. When I listen, I hear His answer. When He answers, I can trust the decision will work out for my good and His glory. And...there goes the stress.

What Does Connecting Mean to You?

Growing Up

As a child, I thought it was peculiar to hear “old” people talk about their childhood days as if they were somehow preferable to the childhood I was experiencing. I was having a pretty good time. What was wrong with it?

Now I realize there was nothing wrong with it. Today wasn’t part of their set of memories. Today they lacked the energy to enjoy some of the things they did as children. Maybe their memories were clouded. They didn’t remember complaining about the heat when there was no air conditioning in their youth. They didn’t remember arguing with their siblings over what radio program to listen to, as my brother and I argued over television selections. They didn’t remember complaining about the chores their parents expected them to do just as I did. The chores were different, but the childhood resistance was likely the same.

Today young parents, and especially grandparents, experience the same sense of nostalgia my relatives had. The attitudes are the same; it’s merely the actions and devices that have altered with time. It’s no longer the radio, TV, or even computer; it’s the I-pad, cell, or social media. Are any of these wrong? I think we would all agree that they aren’t. Are any of these preferable? Maybe. But, these are essentially each generation’s way of connecting with the world. This is important, regardless of the time. It’s important to stay current and relevant with the culture in which one lives.

Perhaps, what we are missing, is a link of understanding. My mother had a wonderful gift of relating to me when I was caught doing something wrong. She would recall a time, from her own young days, when she had done something similar. These stories brought laughter to an often tense situation. It was a comfort for me to realize, whatever I had done, wasn’t so bad. Mom understood. This didn’t get me off the hook. Punishment was still coming, but it eased the pain.

If we could accept our commonalities, we might begin to appreciate the ever progressing way of attempting to reach the same goal of connecting. If grandparents could share their stories of childhood joys, as well as frustrations, grandchildren might just feel free to open up about theirs. Recriminations shouldn't be allowed. The shared experiences can bring laughter and tears while creating new memories and new opportunities to grow as family. And, that might be the best definition of connecting.

Spring into Change

Change hurts. I know. I just tried on my spring wardrobe in order to see what I might need to discard and what needs to be purchased. Conclusion? If it goes around my waist, it has to be replaced. During the course of the winter, my mid-section has expanded to the point that the waist band ends don’t even touch. Ouch!

Change hurts. Just ask any minister trying to lead a church to be more contemporary or progressive. Though some support him, there are always those who staunchly hold on to the traditions of their childhood, even as they verbally proclaim they want to reach the younger generation.

Change hurts. Just ask any new CEO, school principal, or hospital administrator who wants to incorporate new technology or new service ideas into training employees, and they’ll testify to the hue and cry they hear from their staff.

Sometimes, change causes physical pain. Just ask a thirteen-year-old boy who can’t sleep because of the knee pains he’s experiencing from his rapid growth or what about the seventy-year-old whose knees keep him awake at night because of the arthritis that has set into his very being?

Though few seem to embrace it, change is inevitable. To paraphrase what John Maxwell said in The Difference Maker, change = growth or change = grief. The choice is yours. As for me, I think I’ll just go shopping.

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!