Last week I was fighting an abscessed tooth. It was painful and while I tried putting off the dental visit, the pain finally won out. So I called, got a quick appointment, and headed in to visit my dentist. They took the x-ray and then proceeded to bang on my teeth to find out which one makes me jump off the chair. There has got to be a better way of figuring out which tooth is the culprit. Anyway, we decided it was my upper right second molar. We also decided it would need a root canal. And so one hour later with a drilled tooth, temporary filling, an appointment for next week, and a very large bill, I left the dentist office.
I was very frustrated over the bill. This tends to be the time of year for our family to buckle down on spending and watch the budget much closer. So getting an unexpected bill for a root canal without dental insurance was not part of our plan this summer. Hmm, I guess that’s what “unexpected” points out. I stood at the office counter and inwardly whined to myself about the bill and the money flowing out and why now. I stood there bemoaning that just when we got a break and a little extra had come in we have to spend it on this.
Yup, I little extra had come in. Interesting, huh? I didn’t catch it then though.
Off I went on the other errands with my son in the passenger seat. Still lamenting my bad fortune and how I had this extra bill, my son began complaining of the gnawing, excruciating pain growing and growling in his stomach. After all, he is 13 and had not eaten in two hours; I know you are thinking I am a wickedly horrid mother to not feed this poor growing boy more regularly. I have no excuses, but to save his dwindling existence I headed to Mc D’s for a quick bite off the dollar menu (much to my son’s disappointment, after all 2 big macs, 2 large fries, an apple pie, and a milk shake would be a nice appetizer).
As I turned the corner into the shopping center there stood a homeless person with a sign. This person caught my attention a little more than the others normally do. The reason is first she was a woman, in a dress with a bag sitting next to her; her tangled curls, gray and long hung down on her shoulders despite what looked like an attempt at some point to pin it up. She looked close to 60, but being on the street and in the rags she had on, I judged her to be probably closer to my own age, although I have no way of knowing for certain. Her sign read something like “I’m hungry, will work for food.”
At first I felt compassion for her, but as I drove past I felt extremely convicted. As I pulled up to the drive thru lane I felt tears in my eyes. Last week my husband brought home early the check we usually get in late June or early July. In addition to that check coming early, he had an extra check. The extra check just happened to be in the amount of money the dentist had charged me this morning. Instead of seeing that and praising God for His gracious and abundant provision in my life, I whined about having to spend the money on that instead of some other things I had in mind.
One of the fastest ways one of my kids can anger me is to show selfishness or be unappreciative. Here I sat with my own attitude issue and the reality of God’s mercy and goodness hitting me right in the face in the form of a homeless woman just hoping for daily bread.
We drove through and picked up our stuff and hers. We gave it to her and left. Later I wish I had took the time to ask her if she needed anything else and to tell her thank you for being there that day. Her presence in that place was a powerful reminder that my Heavenly Father truly takes care of me and set a deep conviction of repentance and gratitude in my heart.
So last week I gave thanks. I thanked my sweet Savior for His tender mercy toward me, His good provision that covers my every need long before I need, and for placing that 50 something, gray curly haired lady at that entrance of the shopping center for my good and His purpose. May His Name be blessed and lifted up.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Nothing could separate him
I hadn’t seen Tommy in years. We were childhood friends that had lost each other when his parents divorced and he moved away. Tommy was the pudgy kid that got teased and desperately wanted to fit in. He was fun to be around and he was a gentle soul. But he had a daddy that had a belt and knew how to use it. Tommy saw his dad as cool, and smooth. In his own way he tried to be like his father as he grew up and into his teen years Tom began to get into trouble.
Trouble became all he knew and he was lying, stealing, and doing drugs all the time. He found a bunch of rowdy friends to hang with and learned new tricks with them. I remember seeing him once when I was around 17. I was in a March of Dimes walk-a-thon. It was the only thing like it in those days. You signed up and got as many people as possible to sponsor you. They could sponsor a nickel a mile or a quarter a mile or even a whole dollar! The day of the walk you showed up with your sponsor sheet, paid the entry fee, and then got a map of the twenty mile route. Following the route meant safety as there were crowds who did it each year and people would set up water tables to hand out cups to the walkers as we went passed by their homes. It was a day of fun and making money for a good cause. Along the route that year, I saw Tom. He was with a bunch of guys and I thought they were walkers too. They did walk along with the groups but after a short time I realized they were high and laughing at the walkers.
I was sad for Tommy. Sad for the broken homes he had passed through as his dad divorced and re-married four times during his growing years. Sad for the abuse he had received. Sad for the path he had chosen so early in life. Sad knowing that it didn’t look like he was heading anyway worth going in the future.
If I had only known how true those assumptions would turn out to be I would have made an effort to become his friend again. I had no way of knowing that , so on the day on the walk a thon, I got away as fast as I could. It was obvious that the guys he was with were up to no good and looking for trouble. I didn’t intend to be an invitation for it, so I hurried my friends on.
As adulthood pushed its way into my life I married and settled into the life of being a mommy and a homemaker. I didn’t think often of Tommy. But I remember reading the news and seeing that he had been accused of murder and was going to trial. I don’t remember hearing it specifically, but somehow I had learned that he had been convicted and sentence for life. Years went by and no word or contact with my childhood friend . Then one day, in my late twenties, four children and grounded deeply in my faith finally, I saw a letter at my mother’s house.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, it’s a letter from Tommy.
Can you believe the nerve of that guy? That kind of crime and he’s looking for our friendship now? I don’t know what to do with that.” My mom was not an unkind person; neither was she usually very judgmental. But Tommy had killed a man while robbing his home just to shut the guy up. Skilled police work had caught up with Tom and in the end he received justice for his crime. She had never had a murderer reach out for her friendship before.
I took the letter and read it. I heard a sincere longing of someone who was sorry. Sorry for the bad choices, all of them, not just the one that landed him in prison. He wasn’t even seeking friendship or forgiveness. He was just saying he was repentant if there was anything he had done to hurt us along the way and that we had been one of the few good and stable families he had known in life. Tom went on to say that he remembered so many sad and terrible things from childhood, but all of his memories that included us were sweet remembrances.
I saw in Tommy’s letter something that seemed different, changed about him. So I wrote down the address and took it home. I began to correspond with him almost weekly and included my husband and children in writing him. Tommy had been introduced to Jesus by a Mennonite pastor that worked in the prison and Tom had received the Lord. Even through written words, there was a sweet spirit about him. We made an appointment to visit him.
I had never been to state penitentiary before and there was a heaviness of spirit in the parking lot of that place. The long, tall fences, decorated with barbed wire across the top were only a taste of the oppressive weight that hung like lead in the air. Signing in, being checked for contraband, seeing not one smiling face along the way, was enough to scare me to death. We were escorted into the visitation room and told to sit on the “this side” of the table with no contact with the inmate. We did exactly as we were told.
I sat there wondering who I would see when they brought Tom in. I had not seen him except for the once as a teen since I was around 12, maybe younger. The guards called several names, opened the door and in walked the inmates. Tommy walked over with this huge grin and I wanted to jump up and hug him. That was against the rules and you did not break the rules here. He sat down across the table and we all began to chat a little uncomfortably at first and then more and more like the old friends we had been.
Sitting there and looking at him I was completely struck at the difference between the badge on his uniform and his real face. The picture on the badge was a scary hardened criminal whom I would have feared if I had met him. Then I remembered seeing him as a teen and already that was what I saw in him and his friends that day. The guy in the badge picture was staring, unsmiling at the photographer, and the look said, “Back off, you do NOT want to mess with me.” The guy sitting across the table though was a teddy bear, not the Kodiak Grizzly in the pic. It was not just because he was happy. It was not because he had made a mean face in the picture. It was the spirit of joy I saw in him now and the spirit of hate, oppression, and self-loathing I saw in him in the photo.
I knew Jesus had made me a new creature. I knew that he had washed the sin of my old life and my bad choices away and given me a heart of flesh for a heart of stone. I knew the theology and even the reality of my experience. I had seen it in my husband and others as Jesus changed them. Tommy’s picture moved me to a fresh sense of the depth of difference. The total change of heart and spirit was so completely evident and he carried the badge to prove it. It was an amazing and beautiful sight to behold.
As I walked through the several gates, past the guards, through the barbed wired electric fencing, I felt more grateful for the freedom my Lord and Savior had bought for me. That gratefulness came from a deeper understanding having seen it on the face of an inmate who carried that freedom in his heart every day behind the gates and fencing. There were no bars, no wires, no guards that could separate him from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus. And the truth of that promise had just impressed itself indelibly on my heart of flesh. I would never forget that day when the truth of the amazing grace of God’s love taught me anew in the face of a lifer sitting across a visitation table in a state penitentiary.
Trouble became all he knew and he was lying, stealing, and doing drugs all the time. He found a bunch of rowdy friends to hang with and learned new tricks with them. I remember seeing him once when I was around 17. I was in a March of Dimes walk-a-thon. It was the only thing like it in those days. You signed up and got as many people as possible to sponsor you. They could sponsor a nickel a mile or a quarter a mile or even a whole dollar! The day of the walk you showed up with your sponsor sheet, paid the entry fee, and then got a map of the twenty mile route. Following the route meant safety as there were crowds who did it each year and people would set up water tables to hand out cups to the walkers as we went passed by their homes. It was a day of fun and making money for a good cause. Along the route that year, I saw Tom. He was with a bunch of guys and I thought they were walkers too. They did walk along with the groups but after a short time I realized they were high and laughing at the walkers.
I was sad for Tommy. Sad for the broken homes he had passed through as his dad divorced and re-married four times during his growing years. Sad for the abuse he had received. Sad for the path he had chosen so early in life. Sad knowing that it didn’t look like he was heading anyway worth going in the future.
If I had only known how true those assumptions would turn out to be I would have made an effort to become his friend again. I had no way of knowing that , so on the day on the walk a thon, I got away as fast as I could. It was obvious that the guys he was with were up to no good and looking for trouble. I didn’t intend to be an invitation for it, so I hurried my friends on.
As adulthood pushed its way into my life I married and settled into the life of being a mommy and a homemaker. I didn’t think often of Tommy. But I remember reading the news and seeing that he had been accused of murder and was going to trial. I don’t remember hearing it specifically, but somehow I had learned that he had been convicted and sentence for life. Years went by and no word or contact with my childhood friend . Then one day, in my late twenties, four children and grounded deeply in my faith finally, I saw a letter at my mother’s house.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, it’s a letter from Tommy.
Can you believe the nerve of that guy? That kind of crime and he’s looking for our friendship now? I don’t know what to do with that.” My mom was not an unkind person; neither was she usually very judgmental. But Tommy had killed a man while robbing his home just to shut the guy up. Skilled police work had caught up with Tom and in the end he received justice for his crime. She had never had a murderer reach out for her friendship before.
I took the letter and read it. I heard a sincere longing of someone who was sorry. Sorry for the bad choices, all of them, not just the one that landed him in prison. He wasn’t even seeking friendship or forgiveness. He was just saying he was repentant if there was anything he had done to hurt us along the way and that we had been one of the few good and stable families he had known in life. Tom went on to say that he remembered so many sad and terrible things from childhood, but all of his memories that included us were sweet remembrances.
I saw in Tommy’s letter something that seemed different, changed about him. So I wrote down the address and took it home. I began to correspond with him almost weekly and included my husband and children in writing him. Tommy had been introduced to Jesus by a Mennonite pastor that worked in the prison and Tom had received the Lord. Even through written words, there was a sweet spirit about him. We made an appointment to visit him.
I had never been to state penitentiary before and there was a heaviness of spirit in the parking lot of that place. The long, tall fences, decorated with barbed wire across the top were only a taste of the oppressive weight that hung like lead in the air. Signing in, being checked for contraband, seeing not one smiling face along the way, was enough to scare me to death. We were escorted into the visitation room and told to sit on the “this side” of the table with no contact with the inmate. We did exactly as we were told.
I sat there wondering who I would see when they brought Tom in. I had not seen him except for the once as a teen since I was around 12, maybe younger. The guards called several names, opened the door and in walked the inmates. Tommy walked over with this huge grin and I wanted to jump up and hug him. That was against the rules and you did not break the rules here. He sat down across the table and we all began to chat a little uncomfortably at first and then more and more like the old friends we had been.
Sitting there and looking at him I was completely struck at the difference between the badge on his uniform and his real face. The picture on the badge was a scary hardened criminal whom I would have feared if I had met him. Then I remembered seeing him as a teen and already that was what I saw in him and his friends that day. The guy in the badge picture was staring, unsmiling at the photographer, and the look said, “Back off, you do NOT want to mess with me.” The guy sitting across the table though was a teddy bear, not the Kodiak Grizzly in the pic. It was not just because he was happy. It was not because he had made a mean face in the picture. It was the spirit of joy I saw in him now and the spirit of hate, oppression, and self-loathing I saw in him in the photo.
I knew Jesus had made me a new creature. I knew that he had washed the sin of my old life and my bad choices away and given me a heart of flesh for a heart of stone. I knew the theology and even the reality of my experience. I had seen it in my husband and others as Jesus changed them. Tommy’s picture moved me to a fresh sense of the depth of difference. The total change of heart and spirit was so completely evident and he carried the badge to prove it. It was an amazing and beautiful sight to behold.
As I walked through the several gates, past the guards, through the barbed wired electric fencing, I felt more grateful for the freedom my Lord and Savior had bought for me. That gratefulness came from a deeper understanding having seen it on the face of an inmate who carried that freedom in his heart every day behind the gates and fencing. There were no bars, no wires, no guards that could separate him from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus. And the truth of that promise had just impressed itself indelibly on my heart of flesh. I would never forget that day when the truth of the amazing grace of God’s love taught me anew in the face of a lifer sitting across a visitation table in a state penitentiary.
Monday, May 31, 2010
HONEYSUCKLE IN THE PINES – Slow Choking Beauty
Driving along the road to home this morning I noticed an evergreen in someone’s front yard. It caught my attention because laced throughout the branches all the way to the top was honeysuckle. The soft yellow and white petals against the dark green boughs made for a stunning spring sight. I bet those flowers scent the whole yard. Honeysuckle has such a subtle but alluring smell and it hangs in the air with a fragrance that speaks of the coming of summer.
Honeysuckle is also an invasive plant. The vines will creep into a garden or up a tree and lace itself through with those pretty flowers and wonderful fragrance and no one will even notices as the original plant withers and dies away while the vine chokes the life out of it. The pine in the front yard looks beautiful draped with the lovely flowers. If the owners do not take time to pull the vines out of the branches, though, the tree will eventually die as the vines tighten and overcome the limbs and even the trunk.
I have “honeysuckle” in my days right now. You probably do also. You know, those things in our days that seem sweet and are enjoyable, but if we don’t keep control of them they become vines that strangle the life out of our day. Yesterday, I had one phone call after another. They were friendly calls from people “checking in”. They were enjoyable and sweet, but I spent more time chatting on the phone than I did doing house chores or writing. Every call was a twenty minute conversation and that took time away from the things I needed to do. At the end of the day, I still had several things on my list that should have been crossed off. Things like my time to exercise, getting my Bible study completed for the day, getting the kitchen sprayed for ants, and finishing the laundry for the week. Those calls were wonderful; losing the time to accomplish necessary and needed things was not.
Being able to enjoy the sweet smell and discover the beauty of a pleasant thing that comes into our life is not a bad thing. I can enjoy the honeysuckle in my yard if I desire to leave it. The key is to control it and not allow it to control my yard. That allows me to enjoy the garden I want and planned. In the same way, enjoying those sweet and pleasant things that wind their way into our day is a good thing. I can enjoy the phone calls and other honeysuckle vines if I choose to. The key is to control them and not allow them to control my day. So today, phone calls are given a time limit and then I excuse myself from the call. I have flowers to plant, ants to spray, and some laundry to finish. So excuse me now; I need to run. Prov. 6:6-11.
Honeysuckle is also an invasive plant. The vines will creep into a garden or up a tree and lace itself through with those pretty flowers and wonderful fragrance and no one will even notices as the original plant withers and dies away while the vine chokes the life out of it. The pine in the front yard looks beautiful draped with the lovely flowers. If the owners do not take time to pull the vines out of the branches, though, the tree will eventually die as the vines tighten and overcome the limbs and even the trunk.
I have “honeysuckle” in my days right now. You probably do also. You know, those things in our days that seem sweet and are enjoyable, but if we don’t keep control of them they become vines that strangle the life out of our day. Yesterday, I had one phone call after another. They were friendly calls from people “checking in”. They were enjoyable and sweet, but I spent more time chatting on the phone than I did doing house chores or writing. Every call was a twenty minute conversation and that took time away from the things I needed to do. At the end of the day, I still had several things on my list that should have been crossed off. Things like my time to exercise, getting my Bible study completed for the day, getting the kitchen sprayed for ants, and finishing the laundry for the week. Those calls were wonderful; losing the time to accomplish necessary and needed things was not.
Being able to enjoy the sweet smell and discover the beauty of a pleasant thing that comes into our life is not a bad thing. I can enjoy the honeysuckle in my yard if I desire to leave it. The key is to control it and not allow it to control my yard. That allows me to enjoy the garden I want and planned. In the same way, enjoying those sweet and pleasant things that wind their way into our day is a good thing. I can enjoy the phone calls and other honeysuckle vines if I choose to. The key is to control them and not allow them to control my day. So today, phone calls are given a time limit and then I excuse myself from the call. I have flowers to plant, ants to spray, and some laundry to finish. So excuse me now; I need to run. Prov. 6:6-11.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Song birds in the Night
Recently I have been getting up early a few times a week to walk with my daughter Kristi. Because of her work schedule we meet early enough for her to go home and get ready for work afterward. Rising in the dark when it is silent, and very still, has been an unexpectant blessing.
In the darkness I have thought about how we call it "morning" and yet it is the darkest part of the night. And how quickly and almost unnoticed the bits of lights begin to pierce into the moment. It is as if all of a sudden I can begin to see shadows and movement and eventually shapes and objects that were not there just seconds before.
I have noticed that often the "darkness" that I feel or face in life is like that. The dark is worst and most hopeless just before bits of His light and hope begin to pierce into my life. Sometimes I barely notice the change and in my struggle. I am often a unaware that my vision is being changed, that I am being allowed to see through the filter of His light. First shadows and movement of what is there and what His Spirit is doing takes shape before my "eyes". Slowly shapes and objects that were not there just seconds before become clear before me. And then the dawn comes and I see more clearly and know more fully, even if in part, that He was there all time, and still able to make good from the worst of it; molding me into His image.
This morning I sat sipping my morning tea and it was still very dark outside. No birds, no noise, not even the hum of passing cars pierced my moment. I love those few moments of quiet before the business of the day pushes its way in. As I sat there though I heard first one note, and then another, and within a few seconds I was being seranaded by a host of song birds calling to one another, marking their territory, and singing God's praise. And they took me right along with them. I closed my eyes and entered with creation into the throne room where I sat at His feet for just a minute, enjoying the song of nature, His sweet creation filled up with His presence and realizing that this sweet chorus goes on every morningw with or without an audience. Their audience is the One who gave them voice to sing. I heard them and a few seconds later I saw the light. It was as if they ushered in the morning.
I wandered in my mind to a moment of darkness when I felt so alone and lost. And one by one there were sweet voices of friends and family, speaking scripture, praying for me, and encouraging me as they ushered in His light and brought my attention to His presence, healing, and wisdom. Song birds in the darkness and slivers of light entering into that deep solitude with joy, peace, and His love.
I always thought "it is darkest just before dawn" was scripture. But to my surprise, I couldn't find it in scripture. Not in those words anyway. I did find some amazing wonderful truths though. Like Is. 58:8-10 Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard... and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday. "Break forth like the dawn", a startling all of a sudden piercing in the dark moment, even in the quiet solitude of peace, the light brings His presence, his healing, His glory.
Psalm 77:6 I call to remembrance my song in the night: I commune with mine own heart: and my spirit made diligent search. (KJV) These songs (both the birds and the friends) are gifts not just for that moment but also for later, that we might bring their songs to memory and be encouraged and strengthened once more. "I commune with mine own heart and my spirit made diligent search" spoke to me also, for it is an active effort to think upon and bring to my mind what God has already provided in encouragement and answer.
I pray that sometime soon you too have a few minutes to enjoy the quiet of morning before life stirs, and to hear your song birds usher in His light. And I pray that you find yourself resting at the foot of His throne being wrapped in His presence. In the moments of darkness may the song birds of His Word sing sweetly to your spirit, leaving an imprint in the recesses of your heart that you may with diligence search and find them in later dark moments. Blessings, Cheri
In the darkness I have thought about how we call it "morning" and yet it is the darkest part of the night. And how quickly and almost unnoticed the bits of lights begin to pierce into the moment. It is as if all of a sudden I can begin to see shadows and movement and eventually shapes and objects that were not there just seconds before.
I have noticed that often the "darkness" that I feel or face in life is like that. The dark is worst and most hopeless just before bits of His light and hope begin to pierce into my life. Sometimes I barely notice the change and in my struggle. I am often a unaware that my vision is being changed, that I am being allowed to see through the filter of His light. First shadows and movement of what is there and what His Spirit is doing takes shape before my "eyes". Slowly shapes and objects that were not there just seconds before become clear before me. And then the dawn comes and I see more clearly and know more fully, even if in part, that He was there all time, and still able to make good from the worst of it; molding me into His image.
This morning I sat sipping my morning tea and it was still very dark outside. No birds, no noise, not even the hum of passing cars pierced my moment. I love those few moments of quiet before the business of the day pushes its way in. As I sat there though I heard first one note, and then another, and within a few seconds I was being seranaded by a host of song birds calling to one another, marking their territory, and singing God's praise. And they took me right along with them. I closed my eyes and entered with creation into the throne room where I sat at His feet for just a minute, enjoying the song of nature, His sweet creation filled up with His presence and realizing that this sweet chorus goes on every morningw with or without an audience. Their audience is the One who gave them voice to sing. I heard them and a few seconds later I saw the light. It was as if they ushered in the morning.
I wandered in my mind to a moment of darkness when I felt so alone and lost. And one by one there were sweet voices of friends and family, speaking scripture, praying for me, and encouraging me as they ushered in His light and brought my attention to His presence, healing, and wisdom. Song birds in the darkness and slivers of light entering into that deep solitude with joy, peace, and His love.
I always thought "it is darkest just before dawn" was scripture. But to my surprise, I couldn't find it in scripture. Not in those words anyway. I did find some amazing wonderful truths though. Like Is. 58:8-10 Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard... and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday. "Break forth like the dawn", a startling all of a sudden piercing in the dark moment, even in the quiet solitude of peace, the light brings His presence, his healing, His glory.
Psalm 77:6 I call to remembrance my song in the night: I commune with mine own heart: and my spirit made diligent search. (KJV) These songs (both the birds and the friends) are gifts not just for that moment but also for later, that we might bring their songs to memory and be encouraged and strengthened once more. "I commune with mine own heart and my spirit made diligent search" spoke to me also, for it is an active effort to think upon and bring to my mind what God has already provided in encouragement and answer.
I pray that sometime soon you too have a few minutes to enjoy the quiet of morning before life stirs, and to hear your song birds usher in His light. And I pray that you find yourself resting at the foot of His throne being wrapped in His presence. In the moments of darkness may the song birds of His Word sing sweetly to your spirit, leaving an imprint in the recesses of your heart that you may with diligence search and find them in later dark moments. Blessings, Cheri
Monday, May 17, 2010
Sing in Me Spirit
Let the melody blend and flow
Sing in me, Spirit.
Let the harmony of your notes
Sing through me, Spirit.
Let the rhythm of my life
Be a song of praise.
Let the music of my voice
Always lift your Name.
Let the waves of your symphony
Wrap me
Envelope me
Hold me close
I want to be your song.
I want to be your praise.
Cheri 2003
A song of Praise
Sing in me, Spirit.
Let the harmony of your notes
Sing through me, Spirit.
Let the rhythm of my life
Be a song of praise.
Let the music of my voice
Always lift your Name.
Let the waves of your symphony
Wrap me
Envelope me
Hold me close
I want to be your song.
I want to be your praise.
Cheri 2003
A song of Praise
Sunday, May 9, 2010
a tribute to the Moms in my life
This week I was thinking about the women who have helped me become the woman, especially the mother, I am. I hope that as you read through my words, the women who have touched your life, the ones who have “mothered” you, will come to mind and give you a moment to pause and thank the Lord for the effort, the prayers perhaps, the life each one has poured into who you are today.
My mom, Barbara Pyle, first on the list, I don’t think I really appreciated the strength of this woman until a few years ago. I loved her and respected her, but somehow I don’t think I really “got it” until she moved away and left a void in my days. Somehow, my mom managed to keep an orderly home, work a full time job, and get us to our various scout meetings, dance lessons, and whatevers, while still being “mommy”. Together, she and my dad taught my siblings and me what it is to really love one another. My mom taught me to be humble enough to say “I was wrong, please forgive me.” That wasn’t taught by lecture or scolding. It was a gracious example she never missed to show. Mommy also made sure to “tuck” me in at bedtime almost every night of my life until the day I got married. May sound silly to some of you, but sitting on my bed the night before my wedding with my Mom is one of the sweetest memories I have. It signified to me the bigness of the coming moment, the newness that was coming with the dawn, and the love of my mother as she sent me into adulthood. When my dad was in ‘Nam, I sat with my mom most nights and learned to play card games. I was only 8 or 9 and probably should not have been watching Laugh In or the Smothers Brothers. But at the time I felt privileged and comforted by the special attention from her with my Daddy so far away in a place I knew was not good to be. I didn’t know she needed me as much as I needed her back then. She protected me the best she could, but having been “Daddy’s girl” from the start, it was good to be “Mommy’s helper” then. A few years ago, while she and Daddy were living in Texas, I had the opportunity to walk with her several mornings while visiting. We talked and laughed, and I found out things about my mom that I never knew. I think it was sometime during those walks that I realized, not how much I love her, that was already a given, but how much I really like my mom; how privileged I am to be her daughter, to be loved by this woman; and that somewhere between that little girl learning to play cards and the woman walking with her along a road in Texas, she became my friend as well as my mom. A friendship that is one more treasure she has laid in my life.
When I look in the mirror I see more than me, I see my Grandmom Pyle’s mouth. Odd thing to notice maybe, but I remember her mouth. Because one of my earliest memories is Grandmom playing Airplane with the spoon to get me to eat and it’s her mouth making the noises that I see when I close my eyes and remember. I remember the sweet sound of her humming, and the way she pursed those lips sometimes. I find myself standing with my hands clasped behind me in her manner and playing airplane with my grandbabies. And I love pansies and lilacs because of her. She was the grandmother who did crafts and who had a tambourine she took to church. I see much of her in me (even if I don’t carry my tambourine to church any longer, I do still stand in her manner).
I have a fierce love for my family. Playing with my children and now my grandjoys is every bit as important as discipline is, and entertaining in my home is one of the best things in the world to me. I know that all was planted in my being by a grandmother I called Mom Mom. This is the grandmother I remember playing Rapunzel and Cinderella with, baking peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies along side of, and eating drumstick ice cream brought home from her job. Mom Mom loved her family and she enjoyed us as well. She had a high chair in her kitchen when I was little. It was metal with steps that pulled out from underneath. She would pull that chair into the middle of the kitchen and then she would pin a towel into my hair so that my “hair” hung down to my toes. She would become the evil witch who locked me (Rapunzel) into the tall tower (the chair); from the tower I would call for the prince and she would become the prince. On her knees below the seat where I stood she would quote the line, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your long hair!” and I would kneel down and toss the towel-hair over the back so the “prince” could “climb” the tower and release me from my prison! The taste of raw homemade cookie dough, those metal chairs, and so many other wonderful things fill my memory with her. She loved me and I knew it without reservation or want. She had an energy that we used to joke was the caffeine from all the coffee she drank (and there was some truth to that). But her energy flowed from a deeper, simpler, sweeter place than that. It was a place of service; a place that was grounded in faith and a simpler time, of farm life in the depression and being the youngest daughter in a family of eleven children. To Mom Mom serving her family was the same as saying “I love you; you are important to me.” Serving others was as natural as breathing to her. Anyone walking into her home was welcomed with a fresh glass of iced tea, a hot cup of coffee, or a fresh piece of pie. I see her every time I look into my granddaughter’s face. She was named after Mom Mom, but she looks like the pictures of my grandmother at two years old. I miss her dearly, but I am thankful every day that she was mine to have, and I pray that someday if the Lord waits, my grandchildren will remember with a tenderness that says “I’m glad she was mine,” about me.
At 20 years old I married a man I had known for five months, but knew I wanted to spend the rest of days next to. And in doing so, I met a woman who was destined to own her place in my heart, my mother-in-law, Shirley Collins. I have said it many times, but it is still true, I would still be married to my husband if I had picked him out according to who was his mother. She befriended me and spent most days with me during that first year of marriage. She encouraged, taught, advised in the most gentle of ways, and loved me. This immature, naïve girl, trying to be the woman she thought she was supposed to be, fell short, so very short almost every day. But “Mom” helped me to navigate those rough waters and understand this man that, in truth, I knew very little about. Through the almost 30 years she has been my mother-in-love, I have come to respect her gentleness, her good nature, her wisdom, and her strength. She accepted me into the family and was my ally from the beginning. From her I have learned how to accept and love my son-in-laws and my someday daughter-in-law. From her I have learned (well, I hope I have learned) how to offer advice gently and how to allow my children to be adults. (My mom was pretty good at that too. I suppose I needed a lot of gracious examples.) I have been richer and become a better mother and woman because Shirley Collins is my mother-in-love, not just in-law.
Lastly, three special young women have taught me some important things about mothering as well as offering me the sweetest of treasures. These young women are my daughters Kristi, Melanie, and Amy. Watching each of them as mothers, doing things they learned from me or have improved on from me, seeing them gentle their babies, laugh with their toddlers, discipline in love, and loving their children reminds me that all that came before was worth it. Every bit of hard or tough road, every unsure moment as mom, every tear and every prayer were worth getting to this moment, when on Mother’s Day I celebrate with these three young woman whom I have the privilege of calling “daughter”. I know they can say I am their mentor, their Mom, but I also hope they can say I am their friend. And that treasure? Well, Proverbs 17:6 says it best: “Children's children are a crown to the aged, and parents are the pride of their children.” That’s why I call them my grandjoys.
There is not room to tell you of the impact others had, aunts and friends, teachers and sisters. Who has had an impact on your life, on who you are today? Who would you like to remind that you are the incredible person you are because of the love and encouragement that person had in your life? (And I can prove you’re incredible with a few scriptures, but that is a topic for another time).
My mom, Barbara Pyle, first on the list, I don’t think I really appreciated the strength of this woman until a few years ago. I loved her and respected her, but somehow I don’t think I really “got it” until she moved away and left a void in my days. Somehow, my mom managed to keep an orderly home, work a full time job, and get us to our various scout meetings, dance lessons, and whatevers, while still being “mommy”. Together, she and my dad taught my siblings and me what it is to really love one another. My mom taught me to be humble enough to say “I was wrong, please forgive me.” That wasn’t taught by lecture or scolding. It was a gracious example she never missed to show. Mommy also made sure to “tuck” me in at bedtime almost every night of my life until the day I got married. May sound silly to some of you, but sitting on my bed the night before my wedding with my Mom is one of the sweetest memories I have. It signified to me the bigness of the coming moment, the newness that was coming with the dawn, and the love of my mother as she sent me into adulthood. When my dad was in ‘Nam, I sat with my mom most nights and learned to play card games. I was only 8 or 9 and probably should not have been watching Laugh In or the Smothers Brothers. But at the time I felt privileged and comforted by the special attention from her with my Daddy so far away in a place I knew was not good to be. I didn’t know she needed me as much as I needed her back then. She protected me the best she could, but having been “Daddy’s girl” from the start, it was good to be “Mommy’s helper” then. A few years ago, while she and Daddy were living in Texas, I had the opportunity to walk with her several mornings while visiting. We talked and laughed, and I found out things about my mom that I never knew. I think it was sometime during those walks that I realized, not how much I love her, that was already a given, but how much I really like my mom; how privileged I am to be her daughter, to be loved by this woman; and that somewhere between that little girl learning to play cards and the woman walking with her along a road in Texas, she became my friend as well as my mom. A friendship that is one more treasure she has laid in my life.
When I look in the mirror I see more than me, I see my Grandmom Pyle’s mouth. Odd thing to notice maybe, but I remember her mouth. Because one of my earliest memories is Grandmom playing Airplane with the spoon to get me to eat and it’s her mouth making the noises that I see when I close my eyes and remember. I remember the sweet sound of her humming, and the way she pursed those lips sometimes. I find myself standing with my hands clasped behind me in her manner and playing airplane with my grandbabies. And I love pansies and lilacs because of her. She was the grandmother who did crafts and who had a tambourine she took to church. I see much of her in me (even if I don’t carry my tambourine to church any longer, I do still stand in her manner).
I have a fierce love for my family. Playing with my children and now my grandjoys is every bit as important as discipline is, and entertaining in my home is one of the best things in the world to me. I know that all was planted in my being by a grandmother I called Mom Mom. This is the grandmother I remember playing Rapunzel and Cinderella with, baking peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies along side of, and eating drumstick ice cream brought home from her job. Mom Mom loved her family and she enjoyed us as well. She had a high chair in her kitchen when I was little. It was metal with steps that pulled out from underneath. She would pull that chair into the middle of the kitchen and then she would pin a towel into my hair so that my “hair” hung down to my toes. She would become the evil witch who locked me (Rapunzel) into the tall tower (the chair); from the tower I would call for the prince and she would become the prince. On her knees below the seat where I stood she would quote the line, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your long hair!” and I would kneel down and toss the towel-hair over the back so the “prince” could “climb” the tower and release me from my prison! The taste of raw homemade cookie dough, those metal chairs, and so many other wonderful things fill my memory with her. She loved me and I knew it without reservation or want. She had an energy that we used to joke was the caffeine from all the coffee she drank (and there was some truth to that). But her energy flowed from a deeper, simpler, sweeter place than that. It was a place of service; a place that was grounded in faith and a simpler time, of farm life in the depression and being the youngest daughter in a family of eleven children. To Mom Mom serving her family was the same as saying “I love you; you are important to me.” Serving others was as natural as breathing to her. Anyone walking into her home was welcomed with a fresh glass of iced tea, a hot cup of coffee, or a fresh piece of pie. I see her every time I look into my granddaughter’s face. She was named after Mom Mom, but she looks like the pictures of my grandmother at two years old. I miss her dearly, but I am thankful every day that she was mine to have, and I pray that someday if the Lord waits, my grandchildren will remember with a tenderness that says “I’m glad she was mine,” about me.
At 20 years old I married a man I had known for five months, but knew I wanted to spend the rest of days next to. And in doing so, I met a woman who was destined to own her place in my heart, my mother-in-law, Shirley Collins. I have said it many times, but it is still true, I would still be married to my husband if I had picked him out according to who was his mother. She befriended me and spent most days with me during that first year of marriage. She encouraged, taught, advised in the most gentle of ways, and loved me. This immature, naïve girl, trying to be the woman she thought she was supposed to be, fell short, so very short almost every day. But “Mom” helped me to navigate those rough waters and understand this man that, in truth, I knew very little about. Through the almost 30 years she has been my mother-in-love, I have come to respect her gentleness, her good nature, her wisdom, and her strength. She accepted me into the family and was my ally from the beginning. From her I have learned how to accept and love my son-in-laws and my someday daughter-in-law. From her I have learned (well, I hope I have learned) how to offer advice gently and how to allow my children to be adults. (My mom was pretty good at that too. I suppose I needed a lot of gracious examples.) I have been richer and become a better mother and woman because Shirley Collins is my mother-in-love, not just in-law.
Lastly, three special young women have taught me some important things about mothering as well as offering me the sweetest of treasures. These young women are my daughters Kristi, Melanie, and Amy. Watching each of them as mothers, doing things they learned from me or have improved on from me, seeing them gentle their babies, laugh with their toddlers, discipline in love, and loving their children reminds me that all that came before was worth it. Every bit of hard or tough road, every unsure moment as mom, every tear and every prayer were worth getting to this moment, when on Mother’s Day I celebrate with these three young woman whom I have the privilege of calling “daughter”. I know they can say I am their mentor, their Mom, but I also hope they can say I am their friend. And that treasure? Well, Proverbs 17:6 says it best: “Children's children are a crown to the aged, and parents are the pride of their children.” That’s why I call them my grandjoys.
There is not room to tell you of the impact others had, aunts and friends, teachers and sisters. Who has had an impact on your life, on who you are today? Who would you like to remind that you are the incredible person you are because of the love and encouragement that person had in your life? (And I can prove you’re incredible with a few scriptures, but that is a topic for another time).
Monday, May 3, 2010
In the last several weeks I have had the privilege of reconnecting with some special people. April 1 a group of ladies I went to high school with all came together to enjoy a meal with one another, remember who we were, and to see where life had taken each of us. What fun it was to see pictures of families and hear stories of what each one has chosen to do with her life up to now. Some of these ladies had been good friends, some just barely, and some we really didn't get along "back in the day". But that night it was different we were adults and had a common point to come together on. That point was our 50th birthdays this year.
Just a week ago I met a friend that I hadn't seen in months and enjoyed a cup of tea with her as we chatted and reaquainted ourselves with each other's life. She and I share so much in common and so little. Our lives have woven through each other's now and then and I have learned much from her discernment mixed with compassion.
The very next day two friends came for tea. Nothing unusual in that, at least not at my house. But this day was special. These two women have never sat in my kitchen and enjoyed a cup of tea with me. I have not fellowshiped with either of them in almost 20 years. They came for tea and lunch and stayed until dinner time. We laughed and reminisced about the past, shared some tears over what has fallen into our lives, and found the precious relationship available through the Holy Spirit that makes us one in Him.
In the last year I have connected with cousins I have never met, others I haven't seen in years, long lost relatives and friends that I haven't seen since childhood.I found a friend on face book that I knew when I lived in Michigan for 2 years in 5th and part of 6th grade. I sort of recognized her picture, sent her a message asking if it was her and we have continued to communicate in what has become for me a special relationship. I have come to treasure her as a friend as I have learned about her and the things in common and the differences in our lives. I rejoiced with her long distance over her wedding in January, and hope that one of these days when she's traveling east with her husband on a truck run, she will have time to swing close enough to Delaware to stop for dinner. What a hoot that will be! A good friend moved away in 1983 and we met for lunch while I visited her area last summer. Picking up like it was yesterday we have found a sweet bond that time has not diminished.
As I think about the reconnection with all these people I can't help but notice how each has touched my life and contributed in some way to the person I am today, even the long distance, long lost relatives. I am reminded that our God is a God who renews and restores, who takes what is lost and dead, finds it and gives life. He grants us blessing and treasure beyond measure. I am aware that I am blessed everyday as I look into the faces of my husband, my children, and my grandchildren. But this recent flow of renewed and fresh friendships have reminded me just how full and overflowing my blessings truly are.
Just a week ago I met a friend that I hadn't seen in months and enjoyed a cup of tea with her as we chatted and reaquainted ourselves with each other's life. She and I share so much in common and so little. Our lives have woven through each other's now and then and I have learned much from her discernment mixed with compassion.
The very next day two friends came for tea. Nothing unusual in that, at least not at my house. But this day was special. These two women have never sat in my kitchen and enjoyed a cup of tea with me. I have not fellowshiped with either of them in almost 20 years. They came for tea and lunch and stayed until dinner time. We laughed and reminisced about the past, shared some tears over what has fallen into our lives, and found the precious relationship available through the Holy Spirit that makes us one in Him.
In the last year I have connected with cousins I have never met, others I haven't seen in years, long lost relatives and friends that I haven't seen since childhood.I found a friend on face book that I knew when I lived in Michigan for 2 years in 5th and part of 6th grade. I sort of recognized her picture, sent her a message asking if it was her and we have continued to communicate in what has become for me a special relationship. I have come to treasure her as a friend as I have learned about her and the things in common and the differences in our lives. I rejoiced with her long distance over her wedding in January, and hope that one of these days when she's traveling east with her husband on a truck run, she will have time to swing close enough to Delaware to stop for dinner. What a hoot that will be! A good friend moved away in 1983 and we met for lunch while I visited her area last summer. Picking up like it was yesterday we have found a sweet bond that time has not diminished.
As I think about the reconnection with all these people I can't help but notice how each has touched my life and contributed in some way to the person I am today, even the long distance, long lost relatives. I am reminded that our God is a God who renews and restores, who takes what is lost and dead, finds it and gives life. He grants us blessing and treasure beyond measure. I am aware that I am blessed everyday as I look into the faces of my husband, my children, and my grandchildren. But this recent flow of renewed and fresh friendships have reminded me just how full and overflowing my blessings truly are.
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