Raise your hand if you’ve ever woken up on a Monday morning and mumbled “Argh, I have to go to work today!” I know that those words were part of my mantra far too often during my years of working outside our home. Our culture has slowly groomed us into believing that “work” is something to behold as drudgery and to be despised. What if I told you that this attitude doesn’t have to live rent free in our minds? What if I told you that God designed “work” to be something to embrace with gratitude?

This week I began a personal study of “The Sabbath” under the teaching of some favorite guys from “Walking the Text”, a ministry out of Nashville. These teachers really dig into Biblical texts, often bringing out definitions of specific Hebrew and Greek words to better understand scripture, as well as giving insight to historical and cultural events related to specific writings in all 66 books of the Bible. Here are some bullet points I made from the first teaching:

• Adam “worked” and cared for the Garden of Eden
• Labor has dignity; it’s divine and came “before” the fall (original sin)
• Labor IS painful toil; work/labor is broken
• My work, your work, is a form of worship; the Hebrew word for “work”  used in Genesis is “avad” which means to serve, work, worship

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving”.   (Colossians 3:23-24)

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them”.  (Ephesians 2:10)

I cannot read these two verses and not recall some great examples/lessons I learned from observing how others regarded their “work”. My first recollection is of my brother Mark who had been let go from a welding position. In order to help support their young family, he took a job pumping gas at a local station. One day a fellow he knew pulled in to have his tank filled and he was shocked to see Mark waiting on him. He questioned Mark “why are you working here?!”, with quite an astonished and condescending tone when someone knows your work experience. Mark told him of his current circumstances, and it turned out this guy knew a company looking to hire full time welders. That brief encounter wouldn’t have happened in my opinion if Mark had considered pumping gas “beneath” his dignity. Additionally, my brother eventually returned to Central Michigan University to complete his teaching degree and taught welding and robotics at Mid Michigan Community College until he retired.

When pregnant with our first child, I needed to be hospitalized for a week. During my brief stay I saw two different women come into my room to clean. One was a young woman who swept the floor as though the mop weighed a ton. The other was an older woman who hummed while she cleaned every part of the floor and bathroom as though the Queen of England was coming to visit. I joked with her  saying “I bet you don’t feel like doing your own housework after cleaning rooms here all day”. To the contrary, I can still see her beautiful bright smile when she replied “Oh, no. I love to clean! I love to stand back when I’m finished and say ‘my, my, my, doesn’t that look pretty!”

Bottom line is, our adversary Satan wants Christians to believe that work is grinding and yes, it is and can be for some, depending on the intensity of the job. 

I would never apply to be a lineman working in seasonal weather challenges, but I’m grateful for the men and women who do every day. Mike Rowe made his series “Dirty Jobs” quite interesting while showing me numerous jobs I’d never set my eyes on!

Office jobs. Farm jobs. Retail jobs. Maintenance jobs. Garbage jobs. Engineer jobs. Teacher jobs. ALL jobs are important and when a right attitude is IN the work, God honors our efforts and even sees it as “worship”.

How do you view your work? I challenge you to pause on your next Monday morning and IF you’ve fallen prey to seeing going to work as “daily grind”, switch gears and thank God for the very work He has assigned you to do. I’m willing to bet you might even begin humming while you work….

The steps of a [good and righteous] man are directed and established by the LORD, And He delights in his way [and blesses his path]. Psalm 37:23 (Amplified Version)

Perhaps one of my personal favorite verses from Old Testament scripture is this one. Why? Because I firmly believe that our lives have God’s influence in the midst of making personal decisions, even when we cannot see it at the time. Often, it’s after “coming” through an experience or extended time of hardship that we can look back and say “ah, I understand the whys now…” Such is an example from my father’s life, a story he did not share with me until he was well into his 70s.

Dad served in the US Navy during World War II. He was assigned to several destroyers during the course of his service and as with many sailors, obtaining a good assignment was foremost in their thoughts. A lot of training took place aboard ships which was crucial for waging war. In one particular training exercise that lasted several weeks, dad was assigned with two other crewmen to dismantle a huge piece of equipment and reassemble it, the end result being to receive  a grade and future transfer to another ship. Dad had his sights on a particular assignment which indeed required serving aboard a new ship. Together, dad and the other two men worked, and before long according to dad, it became obvious that he was the one doing the majority of the work, paying attention to detail while the other two were not as serious about matters concerning the exercise. When the final inspection and grades were given, dad received the highest score but the other two men  got the coveted transfer to the ship dad had his eyes on to further his career with the Navy.

Instead of accepting the outcome with grace, dad admitted to me he became angry, bitter, and very prideful. He allowed the circumstances produced by the exercise’s outcome to consume him to the point of being taken aside by a commanding officer who told him to basically “get your head out of your ____”….the turning point in the story is when I saw my dad’s eyes fill with tears. By now, as he’s relating this war memory with me for the first time I’ve heard it, he very quietly said, “God saved my life by not allowing me to get that assignment”. Weeping by now, he told me that the very ship those men transferred to–the one he had coveted to serve on–had been sunk and all perished.

My living room was silent for a few minutes when he had finished his heartbreaking recall of that moment, a man in his early 20s, not yet married to my mom, though engaged. But, soon, the silence surrounding both of us was broken again when he continued with an additional component of the story. It wasn’t only that God had protected him, God also used the experience to teach dad another important lesson.

It was during one of his leaves, coming home to Michigan, that he expressed to his father “I sure was lucky not to be on that ship”. Grandpa had a temper. Anyone who knew Clarence didn’t escape that fact. In the heat of fathering an adult son, grandpa declared to dad “Boy! Luck has nothing to do with it. Your mother’s on her knees til 2 and 3 in the morning praying for you and your brothers. I don’t want to hear the word luck ever again in this house!”

Mind you, as I think deeper into the story of dad’s miraculous fate escaping death, another miracle is  when he got scolded for using the word “luck”, the tongue lashing came from a father who was not yet a Christian. Yet, God used the faithfulness of my grandma’s prayer life to witness truth to him and though I don’t know the full background of my gramp’s own conversion, he received salvation at the age of 55 or so.

Every person alive has a twisted path of life. Some of us will endure hardships while others will be shielded from similar harsh situations. When faced with obstacles or deep disappointments, we have a decision to make–accept that someone greater than us is in control, someone who sees ahead on the path where our natural eyes are unable to focus in great blurriness which clouds our vision. Like my dad, we can allow ourselves to be consumed by anger and bitterness, or simply breathe and let go and wait to understand the whys and hows of arriving on the other side of seemingly great adversity.

Dad’s recollection of a very upsetting time in his young life left him with important lessons. He learned about failure, about allowing emotions to rule his thoughts, about yielding life to God’s path and not his own. 

He also told me that since his scolding from a time in the 1940s, sitting in the comfort of the family home, he never used the word “luck” again … .and you know what? I don’t use that word either. Lesson learned. 

And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. (Romans 8: 28 New Living Translation)

See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the world, and not according to Christ. (Colossians 2:8)

Sitting here on a beautiful cool August morning, my thoughts have drifted to children across our country returning to school very soon. Some will begin mid or late August while others have a bit longer vacation that includes Labor Day weekend. No matter the first day’s arrival, summer play in pools and lakes, camping and exotic vacation trips will be replaced with sitting at desks, breaking open textbooks, and joining a sports team or school activity. No matter the activity, active learning will become the focus for our students. At least that’s the goal of parents and teachers overseeing the education of our youngsters.

As a Christ follower, I was curious if the Bible has anything to say about “learning”. A quick search gave me quite a list of scriptures. They were all good but sincerely the one I chose–shown here–describes my personal thoughts regarding education. 

My husband and I raised two children, both of whom learned differently from the other. We did our best to create a home that encouraged learning, to be curious, explore, and ask questions. We monitored homework assignments. We got acquainted with their teachers. I had the privilege and time to be a classroom volunteer in their elementary years. There was a stretch where working in the middle school lunch room kept me in touch with the students of our community. I also served eight years on our school board and was able to be a classroom volunteer for two teachers on a regular basis; I did this to be connected with our administration, staff, and again–the kids. Those were great years with many rewarding experiences.

Today, I also reflected on examples of loved ones in my family who embraced the concept of being a “life-long learner”. One of my earliest memories comes from my dad who was an excellent woodworker. My mother asked him to build a small cabinet for their kitchen to store wine glasses and some of her finer serving dishes. He wanted stained glass inserts for the two cupboard doors on the cabinet so he visited a local store where artisans were on staff, got a quote for the project and rejected it due to the cost. His thinking? “I’ll do it myself”. A visit back to the store for a “how-to” book and the necessary supplies was all it took. The cabinet was finished and over subsequent years dad went on to creating beautiful lampshades and other pieces using his newly formed skill.

Another story, one I absolutely love, is from my brother’s career as a welding instructor at Mid Michigan College. He was introduced to an older man, a local farmer well into his 80s, who signed up for one of Mark’s classes. Mark asked him “why are you taking this class?” I imagine the chuckle and gleam in this man’s eyes as he answered “I want to learn something new”...later in another semester this same old fella entered Mark’s classroom to declare “I signed me up for some of that al-gee-bra!” Mark’s response makes me laugh every time…”why would you want to take algebra when you don’t have to!” It’s because a man in his 80s craved and embraced learning.

I’m also recalling with great fondness my Aunt Esther who was an elementary school teacher. If I had to attach a motto to her life it would be: Esther isn’t happy unless she’s learning something new or teaching someone something new”. Teaching and learning were in her blood. By the time Aunt Esther was well into her late 80s and 90s she was still pursuing adding knowledge and skills to her life. It wasn’t until her funeral that I learned she had cultured the ability to paint tea cups and saucers. 

Yes, empty schools across America will soon be hustling and bustling with noisy kids. Learners of all kinds will embrace, challenge, and fall into routines meant to prick curious minds and develop skills with each advancing grade. Educating our children is a huge undertaking, one meant to be partnered between our educators and parents. The most important partner role is that of we as parents, as it’s our responsibility to oversee what our child is being taught, encouraging them to ask good hard questions that teach them how to be a critical thinker, to stand on good moral fabric knit together with love, kindness, and goodness.

Unlike the old farmer who “wanted to learn al-gee-bra”, I’m happy years of math are behind me. I don’t have excellent artistic skills like my dad or aunt, but I love reading. Now that I’m not employed full or part time, my days are more carefree, allowing me to read and study a variety of topics for my own personal development. 

I think one of the best ways we as parents, as grandparents, as a community, to show our children the importance of learning, is to demonstrate it firsthand. So, what do you want to pursue that you’ve been putting off? Will it be an art class? Maybe learn to dance? Join a fitness center? Get a library card for the first time?

Education is the kindling of a flame, not the filling of a vessel.–Socrates 

My challenge to each one of us who have children in our lives? Let’s light a few fires and fan the flames.

For the last couple of weeks, it’s been enjoyable writing about the diversity in my own family, particularly that of my mother’s side, as my generation has both white and black skinned cousins and now second ones, too. I haven’t met everyone of the younger children but I hope that changes in the near future. Seeing their pictures on social media only gives me small glimpses into their lives.

As I thought about how to continue writing about my family, to share openly more insight into our lives, I remembered I had done a DNA test through one of the popular sites that offers this service. I remember getting my kit, returning a saliva sample and anxiously awaiting the results. When they finally arrived, I wasn’t completely surprised at the findings. Today, I went back to the site to confirm the stats of my test–I am 99.7% European (no surprise there), however, within that number I’m broken down to 44.2% French/German and 9.3% British/Irish. These numbers only represent maternal DNA. Looking at a map which shows my markers, my far away ancestors were from the North Rhine-Westphalia region. Birthplaces for my mother’s parents are off to the east towards Berlin and Poland, the general information our oral family history indicates.

I think it’s safe to assume that most people want to enjoy hearing about their ancestors. For me, this is most certainly true. Because I did not have the luxury of knowing my mother’s parents, I always had questions about who they were and what they were like. These are some of the only facts I have about them:

• My grandfather was orphaned at the age of 4 which would have been about 1888; he ran away from the orphanage at age 11. Nothing has been known until his courtship with grandma who was two years older than he and their marriage. Where did he run to and how did he survive?
• Grandma was the daughter of a schoolteacher. It was her job to clean the small classroom every day after the students went home. She spoke a higher level of German compared to grandpa’s “working man’s” German, something he envied of her
• They met at a dance and he proposed to her three times before she consented, telling him “what have I got to lose, no one else has come along asking me to marry”. We kids were told that although their marriage may NOT have begun rooted in romantic love, as years went by and their children came along, deep love and affection for one another was created
• Grandpa immigrated to America in 1910, followed by grandma and my Aunt Natalie in 1913 (she was three years old)
• They established their home on the east side of Saginaw, Michigan in a neighborhood among Germans, Poles, and Russians. In fact, my grandparents were fluent in those three languages and my grandfather became fluent in English as well. Grandma, being a homemaker, only developed a broken ability to converse in English. Therefore, she preferred the children (my mother included) to speak German in the home.
• My grandfather purchased his first automobile before he could legally drive
• He worked second shift for a rail company in Saginaw and did the family grocery shopping at a market each day on his way home from work.
• They raised 7 children, however, when grandma was pregnant with my Aunt Emma, she had a terrible accident with a pot of boiling water which scalded my Aunt Wanda, age 4 at the time. She did not survive her burns and is buried in the children’s section of a cemetery in Saginaw.
• Another very heartwarming fact is that due to my grandma’s broken English, my dad taught himself German while serving abroad with the US Navy. Upon returning home on leave one time, he greeted her in her native tongue, continued conversations in German and told me “it was like getting to know someone all over again with each subsequent visit” as they could finally converse. (To me, this is an example of pure love, when someone will invest time and effort to learn how to communicate with a loved one, especially as an “in-law)

Why do I enjoy sharing these tidbits about my family? The little I know has caused me the desire to know more, however, there is much I will never learn about their lives while in Germany and some of their experiences in America, other than the memories I have from my mother. It’s why I have been thrilled to reconnect with my Aunt Kate’s children, my cousins Willie and Barbara. The conversations we’ve had about their childhood, the struggles and missing pieces of their lives have been important to me.

Admittedly, I only gave thought as I grew up thinking about them being “accepted” into our predominantly white family, only later to find they missed out knowing their father’s family who still resided in the south, because of their disdain for the marriage. Visits to spend time with their grandparents and cousins in Uncle Bill’s family were always declined as he feared for their safety.

This morning, before sitting down to write, I listened to a black preacher talk about using the term “racial differences” among people. This man spoke what I’ve always believed since becoming a Christ follower–we are ONE human race and while I contend that to be true, I’ve also added in my own words–”we are like a box of crayons, we come in different colors”. However, this pastor–and forgive me–I didn’t write down his name–declares we don’t come in different colors, that when God created us male and female, we are ALL one color but due to the level of melanin in our pigmentation, we have a variety of skin tones.  I totally agree.

I’ve witnessed first hand the sorrow resulted in my family from Kate and Bill’s marriage. Of mom’s siblings, two of them were adamant to not socialize with them, and when Aunt Kate died either attended her funeral. When Willie and I reconnected, one of his first questions was to ask me where our Aunt Emma was living, who by that time, was in a memory care facility. He visited her faithfully every week, an aunt that had previously rejected his parents, him, and his sister.

She didn’t know who he was…but Willie didn’t let that stop him.

I like to think that love showed up in extraordinary ways in my mother’s family, the first when my dad learned German, his only additional language, and two, when Willie visited our aunt, knowing there had been rejection, many lost years, but in the words he joyfully declares to me often during conversation “We are family! I love you!” “You take care now, ya hear?”

I’ll end this weeks musings with a final thought…I like to believe that when I enter Heaven I will be reunited with loved ones who’ve I’ve known and those I did not. I’m not sure how our earthly relationships transfer to Heaven…but I also like to think I WILL finally get to meet my grandparents, my Aunt Natalie, my Aunt Wanda. And if I do–I won’t need the ability to converse in German because I’m pretty sure God has that all taken care of when he brings us all Home. Additionally? He isn’t concerned how our family took on different skin tones. After all, He’s the One Who created us and placed our loved ones in our lives.