When I saw a dear friend’s social media post about her son’s recent visit to a major college, anticipating making his decision where to attend classes following high school graduation in June of 2024, I began ruminating about “higher education” versus “going into the job market”. Before you think I have any strong feelings toward either pursuit, think again. I actually believe both paths lead to purpose and satisfaction in the life of an individual. Certainly, past generations have been known to place emphasis on “getting that college degree” while within those conversations were voices that encouraged joining the workforce immediately upon leaving high school.

In my own immediate family, of us three kids, one has a college degree, used to teach welding to college and high school students. One learned the techniques of great salesmanship and made a career in a major insurance/investment company. Me? I got a business certificate, landed a banking position where I stayed for 20 years before relocating to our present home.

In my father’s family, each of the 11 excelled according to their gifts. The oldest chose working for General Motors. The oldest girl ran assisted living in her own home. Of the remaining  boys, an older uncle enlisted in the Air Force and retired as a Full Colonel. Next in line, another older uncle learned automobile mechanics and eventually landed a position selling Pontiacs & Cadillacs in Flint, often being named as “top salesman” for the month. Two of the siblings graduated from Spring Arbor College, one in full time ministry, the other with an elementary teaching degree. A younger uncle was very talented with construction, owning and operating his own company building residential homes. My youngest uncle dropped out of high school his senior year, joined the Army and became so proficient in electronics that following the end of World War II he was hired by IBM where he worked until retirement. My own father returned from the Korean Conflict, got hired by the City of Saginaw in the parks and recreation department. When a job posting was issued for a building permits clerk he applied. After being overlooked for the position, he stayed with the city until to his surprise he was called to reconsider the permits clerk position. The first guy didn’t work out with the duties. From there dad became a building inspector and by the time I was in high school he was given the position as Chief Building Inspector. My aunt who was closest to dad’s age chose to be a homemaker and was the most sought out mentor within my cousin group.  The youngest member of the siblings, an aunt, was content to marry and raise her family or four children as her husband worked as an engineer in the automobile industry. She used her musical talents to serve in their local church.

Mike Rowe, nationally known television personality, is one of my favorite people who speaks up about “not everyone needs to go to college”. He fascinates me every time I hear him speak or watch him on one of his programs. Mike does a fantastic job of bringing respect, awareness, and information to his audience. 

I visited his website and scrolled through many job postings, the ones in demand. At the top of the list are diesel mechanics, heavy equipment operators, and automotive technicians. Another site (salary.com) listed these professions: dental hygienist, derrickman (oil rigs), executive housekeeper, firefighter, locomotive engineer, medical lab technician, personal trainer, police officer, plumber. These are hard jobs…some have dangers that come with them…all require training plus some time in a classroom. All are necessary.

I’m fascinated by the number of “Now Hiring” signs that are visible wherever I go throughout my travels whether it’s weekly errands or a trip out of town. Moreso, I’m flabbergasted at what some jobs are paying in order to attract workers. If I was my 18 year old self you can bet I’d snatch up one of those $18 an hour jobs in a hurry. I tried to remember my starting pay back in 1972 when a small community bank hired me at age 19. Believe me, it wasn’t a large number, but I was thrilled to be working full time, still dreaming big things for myself and my future.

I’m thankful for the examples in my family that showed success comes with hard work whether there’s a degree on the wall or sweat on the brow. We kids were raised to give an employer our “best”, to be honest, people of integrity, that all work matters. I saw that with my Aunt Joy who cared for elderly women in her home, showing love and compassion as aging minds made daily life harder with each passing year. I heard memories from my Aunt Esther’s years of teaching in elementary school . Her compassion and dedication to her students came as a reflection of her faith in God. I lived hearing and personally witnessing how my dad handled difficult situations in a city that experienced a lot of changes in his long career. Their stories were different, but the bottom lines were the same…show up. Work hard. Do your best. Be honest. Show compassion. Do those things every day, every week, every year you’re “on the job”.

The best bottom line that sums up my thoughts is this. Found in Colossians 3: 23-24 “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”.

High paying job? Sure is a great thing. An “inheritance from the Lord”? Priceless.

No matter what path you chose, or will choose, I pray you heed the admonition declared in this beautiful verse.

Last week I wrote about how myself and several childhood friends managed to damage Mr. Rader’s wheat because we made a portion of his crop our personal playground. If you missed that post, you may want to locate it and read through it to get an understanding of our antics and the lessons I could apply to an early childhood memory.  This week, I have another memorable experience–that, looking back, has allowed me to glean wisdom from as well. It seems that growing up across from a farm which was bordered by wild grasses, swamp and a river afforded much to enjoy, discover, and learn from during summer vacations from school.

When Mr. Rader didn’t plant wheat, his fields yielded a crop of beans or sugar beets. The latter–those big brown oddly shaped beets–were a source of curiosity to us kids on a hot summer day as they grew under weeks of sunshine and ample rain. We didn’t know anything about sugar beets. Surely because the word “sugar” was part of their name they would taste great, right? A carefully hidden paring knife from our mom’s kitchen drawer became the perfect tool to begin cutting through the outer layer of skin to get to the yummy insides of what had to be a delectable feast waiting inside that yummy treasure. 

If you’ve ever peeled a sweet potato or a big squash, then you have a bit of an idea of the struggle we had trying to strip away the dirty outer layer of our sugar beet. We couldn’t wait to cut off a chunk of the white insides and begin chewing to our heart’s content. Boy, were we wrong. All that work and the hard white flesh of the beet in our mouths, chewing away, waiting for the “sweet” to kick in never happened. As we threw the mangled beet to the ground, we spit out the remains of chewed “nothingness”, disgusted and disappointed. We frantically tried to reason and understand how sweet sugar came out of something we had encountered as being completely opposite!

Through no actual fault of our own immaturity, our expectations were based on lack of knowledge and false hope.

Psalm 34: 8 says “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him”.

Our vast world offers much to see, experience, and enjoy. Much like Mr. Rader’s field, which was bordered by our road, a swamp to the west, the Saginaw River to the south, where we live has physical borders, too, and as each one of us grows from childhood into becoming an adult, ideally,  emotional and spiritual borders are laid down to establish healthy and wise habits. Living in an imperfect world, one that has been ravaged by the wear and tear of man’s sinful nature, temptations and unhealthy habits surround us. Unless we are taught to seek God, to grow in understanding and wisdom from Him, our lives can and will remain much like an unprocessed sugar beet–bitter, tasteless, disgusting, until properly processed into what we know as pure sugar–a taste that most of us certainly enjoy and has countless uses!

One of my favorite phrases is “things are not always as they appear”. To my 10 year old self, that odd brown root vegetable looked like a source of absolute sugary delight to satisfy a sweet tooth, but actually turned out to be a major disappointment. As I look back on my life–and as you do the same–how many times can we admit we’re being enticed by “something” or “someone” actually leading us to disappointments or hurts?

In Celebrate Recovery, we help men and women face the hardships that come into our lives, whether by personal choice or not. In our 12 step program, we use step number 4 as a tool to pursue healing:  “We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves”.

Akin to peeling a sugar beet root with a small paring knife, reflecting on our lives and writing down our hurts, either from the result of actions against us, along with how we have harmed others, is hard work pays which pays off when we admit and share our “inventory” with a trusted human being.

Celebrate Recovery is a world wide ministry which has had the privilege of witnessing tremendous results of healing for thousands of people. These people–myself included–have indeed “tasted and seen that the Lord is good” and we now “live in His refuge”. Hurts, habits and hangups have and continue to be released, replaced by confident hope that only God provides by pursuing Him with the reading of scripture and living within healthy boundaries that protect worldly deceptions. 

Before it became a nine hole golf course and home to a private country club, the acreage across from my family home was a farm owned and operated by the Rader Family. Elmer was the “farmer”, a gentle giant of a man, the kind whose physical presence was enough to scare anyone less his size, be easily intimidated until you got to know him which is when his kindness and gentle natured way of teasing came out behind a huge grin that usually adorned his weather worn face. This is how I remember him anytime during my childhood that I interacted with him. There was only one instance I remember witnessing his anger–more like a big disappointment–the time myself and my friends decided to play in his wheat field.

Mr. Rader’s wheat was growing nicely under summertime days filled with sunshine and ample rain. The stalks were up to our chins, and we kids were mesmerized by how gentle breezes made the wheat look like waves on a lake. We loved walking among the stalks and on one particular day we decided to use them as a backdrop for “catching “ us when we fell backwards. You know–the kind of falling back we do into someone’s waiting arms–the exercise of building trust. As our body slowly falls backwards we wait to feel the friendly trusting catch of our partner in the exercise. Instead of a partner, we were allowing the wheat to break our fall and it did, but unknown to us at the time, the wheat wasn’t able to bounce back. Our falls left it lying close to the ground, no longer swaying in the wind, stalks unable to stand sturdy and strong under sunshine. The effects of our unintended damage escaped our immature minds but did not go unnoticed by Mr. Rader. It didn’t take long for him to figure out who the culprits were and each one of us received a well deserved scolding.

In the book of Proverbs it says in chapter 3, verses 5-6, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight”.

Life gives us many opportunities to make choices. Until we know better, we will make mistakes. When we were kids we didn’t know that playing in Mr. Rader’s wheat would create damage…our feet trampling healthy plants…our laying down on the beautiful stalks causing them to be crushed and possibly not be part of harvest time.  We needed Mr. Rader’s discipline and gentle instruction to “know” and “do” differently and better.

Such it is with God. We need His wise counsel. We need His way of teaching that brings understanding and correction to our poor behaviors and decisions that can lead to destruction. We need to “lean” into God and not be controlled by our own devices or negative emotions.

When we kids “leaned” and “rested” on Mr. Rader’s wheat, it wasn’t until we were disciplined later that we realized the error of our ways. The temporary fun and enjoyment of our antics were replaced with being “caught”…getting a “lecture” so-to-speak…knowing that we could never repeat what felt so good and innocent at the time…because Mr. Rader was the owner of the land and wheat crop…the coming harvest was his livelihood and he had the “right” to protect it, right down to every last stalk of golden goodness. 

And, such it is with God. He is the creator of our world and everything in it, including you and me. He is Holy and just, He has set commands before us, not to control or rob us from living an abundant life. Quite the opposite, God wants us to enjoy a life of abundance as evidenced by John 10-10: “The thief (Satan) comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I (Jesus)  came that they may have life and have it abundantly”.

Mr. Rader’s farmland is long gone now. By the time I was in elementary school a portion of his land was sold to make room for a housing development. Later, where wheat, sugar beets, corn or beans once grew, a golf course was established with a private club building in the midst of the property. Mr. Rader built a new home directly across the street from my family home. When I close my eyes I can still “see” the wheat….the exact area where we kids trampled and broke down some of his precious plants. Golden stalks are gone now, but beauty has not been lost or destroyed. Now the land is adorned with beautiful green grass, kept watered and groomed by the new landowner.

A lesson learned from childhood–the wrong kind of “leaning” has been acknowledged along with implementing the “right” way of assuming this relaxing posture, one that instructs me to “fall” in the arms of Jesus. Let Him catch me. Let Him hold me. The beautiful part of this? 

His arms are big and strong enough to catch you, too. If you’re not sure…I encourage you to try it. What do you have to lose? Plus, when you DO fall back onto Him, there won’t be a scolding that comes later. On the contrary, you will receive a harvest of His “abundant” life as promised in His Word.

Much to my dismay, once warm weather arrived–the kind of temperatures where windows can be open allowing cool breezes to fill the house–along comes an occasional “thing” that doesn’t belong.

Since the month of May I have found a variety of small spiders in the house…as well as a few ants–the large black ones to be exact–the ants cause me to become more angry for some reason. I have found them on the kitchen counter, under the sink…most recently one was walking on the kitchen soffit … .I found one in the hallway near the thermostat and this morning one was crawling on my barefoot as I sat in the office checking email!

Those three ants did not belong in either spot when I found them! Goodness, if they were looking for a tasty crumb or a cool drink neither of those were on their path. Which leads me to Psalm 37: 5. How many of us wander from the right path that God has set before us?

This verse–one of my favorites–says “Commit your way to the Lord;…”

Months ago I listened to a teaching on this verse and was amazed at what I learned. The “way” mentioned here refers to a road, a journey, a path and when we realize that it’s God who creates that very road…that “way”, and we “commit” ourselves to His design, in essence we are “rolling” on top of the path…we are not merely walking along without purpose or an end goal. Living a committed life keeps us “where we belong”…unlike my small ant visitors who truly don’t belong in my house–they were created to live in the outdoors creating homes and doing work in the dirt!

So, why commit–roll over–and remain on the road that God built for you? The answer comes in the next portion of the verse…(we) trust in Him and He will do “this”. What will He do? What exactly does “this” refer to for us?  “He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun”. Sounds like a very hot bright result, doesn’t it?

Who doesn’t want to shine brightly when faced with darkness? Who doesn’t want to be part of something big–a worthy cause–I know that I can say “yes” to both possibilities. Because of my relationship with Christ, Who made me righteous with His death on a cross…with my acceptance of His gift of salvation which redeems me, changes me, gives me new life…I can discern the path He has laid before me…ask for guidance to stay rolled over on the road paved by Him…wake each day trusting that because of Christ in me I can shine His Light to all I meet…take up worthy causes…stay where I belong and not wander off seeking what I need in all the wrong places.

Psalm 37 is a great read. Many of its commands are circled and underlined from numerous readings … .which only proves that more than once I’ve landed on its 40 verses to glean instruction, comfort, and develop my understanding of how to read God’s road map for my life.

A mere few weeks ago the lilies near our driveway were covered with buds, each passing day they grew larger along with my anticipation for the beauty they would put on display. And then catastrophe happened…on one of my morning walk-abouts, I discovered that every last bud had been chomped, leaving only the green leafy stem of each lily. I was devastated.

This week, on another walk about through the yard, I saw where the lily plants had been further eaten. Every last leaf on each stem was gone. Where once a healthy green stem bore many leaves and several potential blooms, now what remains is a spindly looking green stick shoved in the ground.

Deer. I’m not happy. They devoured and defiled something of beauty. I felt and continue to feel devastated and angry.

I know the deer need food, but I don’t understand why they can’t be satisfied with the lovely green grasses of our lawn or the pine needles on branches within easy reach? 

Such is heartache for some of us as life–meant to be innocent, pure and beautiful–is ravaged by deep hurt…our childhoods devoured by someone feeding an addiction or satisfying a sinful nature in all the wrong places.

Recently–and not merely this one story–I have heard accounts from women (and men) who were sexually molested/abused as children, often as only a toddler. Stories of inappropriate touch…unwelcome hugs and kisses…acts that are meant to be shared between a husband and wife…some of the predators were family friends, a sibling, and even a parent. Story after story –sharing after sharing–always leaves me feeling paralyzed, the kind of immobilization that makes me truly try to comprehend “why” did those horrific things happen? How could anyone harm a child, a teen, a loved one….

Certainly, the destruction of a lily does not nor ever measure in equality of hurt compared to harming an innocent child. But what the two images in my mind accomplish for me is how something with purpose–a beautiful plant–a uniquely created human being–both fashioned by God…can easily and quickly be destroyed.

My lilies will survive, though they will not bloom this season. The spindly stems will dry up, finish feeding the bulb which is safe under the soil and come up again next spring.

The harmed child will survive, too, but what scars will remain? How will life be different carrying around unhealed hurt or burying pain that was told to remain secret?

Like the bulb buried in the soil, there is hope. In our Celebrate Recovery Ministry we have many individuals who have found healing from the unintended destruction in their lives. By facing their hurts–by coming out of denial that problems don’t exist as a result of things done to them against their will–by bringing their past out of the darkness like that black dirt my liles live in, they are emerging into the Light of Christ Who promises healing, restoration, and new life!

Yes, deer chomp plants. Yes, people hurt people. But God is in the business of overcoming anything that keeps us from living an abundant life.  

Anything.

Lone gone are the last days of school for me. My own ended with graduation in June of 1971. I’d be a liar if I said “it seems like only yesterday” when I sat with my 600+ classmates on our football field waiting to get through all the speeches until each one of us walked up to the platform to get our diploma. While I can remember being very uncomfortable in my cap and gown in the afternoon heat, I cannot recall one speech or which one of my classmates delivered it. Living in that moment was certainly an important time in my life but now it’s a nice faded memory like an old pair of favorite jeans.

This week kids all over our communities are graduating, too…with the popularity of social media many of their photos are being posted for family and friends to enjoy. Parents are sharing first day/last day comparison photos and they’ve been great to see…causing me to reflect back on my own trek through elementary school years on into junior high and eventually high school.

Much has changed in the 52 years since I left my high school in Saginaw. We didn’t have social media to post photos or create an event for our graduation parties. Goodness, it wasn’t until my senior year that we girls were allowed to wear jeans or pants to school.

In my elementary years, on our last half day of school, we COULD wear shorts! Our dress code for the school year was always a dress or skirt…socks with shoes…no sandals or flip flops. We never saw a teacher in pants either….attire for them was the same, and our male teachers were required to wear a tie.

My elementary school was a city block from our home, which meant I walked. Our neighborhood had at least 50 kids, so we always had a group to join as we made our way to Merrill Park. I can remember being excited and nervous all at the same time, arriving on time and getting to my desk, waiting for my teacher to hand me my final report card with all my grades, her written comments regarding my academic growth…notes about behavior…and most important of all…the indication I had passed onto the next grade and who my teacher would be in the new school year. The walk home was filled with relief and all of us kids comparing grades and finding out if we would be in the same classroom with a friend.

I have many fond memories from my school years, most of which were never captured in a photo or social media post that are commonplace today. Some memories are tangled with the current events from the 70s…I can remember the “guys” in my graduating class being concerned about registering for the draft as the VietNam War was being fought….others were headed off to a top ten university, questioning if they were prepared for the rigors of college courses….quite a few went straight into the workforce as Saginaw had three major automobile plants working three shifts, promising good pay and steady employment. A few of my classmates enlisted in the military, a choice that was well respected in our community.

On my graduation night, I got my diploma. Well, actually, I got the folder my diploma would go into…in order to get my “actual” diploma I had to return my cap and gown…the tassel was mine to keep…along with a bunch of memories that are becoming more difficult to “pull up” in an aging mind…yet always bring a smile to my face when they do…and knowing I no longer need to worry about passing or failing…

Sitting here staring at the blank screen on my laptop….pulling together thoughts about what to write about this week, my head is swirling with many memories from childhood…especially those from my large Jewell family…our weekly Sunday visits to my grandparents home…dinner invitations to an aunt’s….family reunions….weddings, high school graduation parties…and as years ticked along…funerals…some expected, others as a result of deep sorrow. The common thread for most of my first 20 years was knowing that on any given occasion I mentioned, there would always be several uncles and aunts present…the very relatives I could not wait to see as I got myself ready for an afternoon drive to one of their homes…most of them resided in the Flint area which was about a 45 minutes to an hour trip from our home in Saginaw.

My dad–including his brothers–were champion storytellers. My dad’s sisters held their ground, too, sharing funny memories from their own childhoods growing up in northern Michigan on the family farm where grandpa eked out a living during the depression years. As I listened to their stories, a common theme seemed to be “who was the main culprit in a harmless prank”….there were a few choices that could be made from six rambunctious boys and four girls. As I sat near any one of them, I soaked up all the good natured teasing and laughter that came from their shared antics and numerous tales!

This past Memorial Day weekend my husband and I drove to Flint on our own to attend a party for one of my cousins who is relocating to Nebraska. She and her husband hosted an ice cream social for family and friends to come enjoy one another’s company and say our goodbyes as they launch themselves into a new adventure. Riding along in our car, I was very excited, anticipating being with some of my family. As enjoyable as it was, a thread of sadness was woven into the afternoon.

Gone are my parents. Gone are my five uncles, their wives…one aunt –the baby of the Jewell siblings–is our last loved one to enjoy at family gatherings…

Filling the chairs now are us cousins–we are now the “elders” in our Jewell family. Missing are numerous younger children…it seems that life lived in the 50s and 60s is very different from the 2000s…it’s not that I doubt my extended family does not value getting together…it’s very fair to say that priorities have changed…our methods of staying connected with one another have gone from phone calls and family functions to social media, FaceTime calls, texting….and lazy Sunday afternoons are now consumed with work, sports…a variety of distractions that take us from our homes that don’t necessarily include spending time with loved ones we only see once or twice a year.

Yes, I miss my Uncle Rusty, the impish twinkle in his eyes as he lit up his pipe while getting ready to tell a story….my Uncle Lou who could spin a yarn that was slightly truthful but kept me on the edge of my seat waiting for the story’s outcome…my Aunt Helen gladly sharing memories growing up with brothers who constantly teased her, yet the deep love and affection they all held for each other was always part of her storyline.

miss running around with numerous cousins, all vying for attention from these loveable relatives who filled our hearts with love and affection…encouraged us…offered hugs and kisses galore….kept us entertained for hours on end.

I miss the beauty of yesteryear’s family gatherings where their memories were caught on an old Polaroid camera … .the time it took to get everyone lined up for the picture … .Now we are able to pull out a smartphone, snap a shot and share it immediately with everyone who wants a “copy”. 

This past Sunday, the lineup of loved ones looked very different but the laughter, the love we all felt around the tables that day, well, that didn’t change…..for those of us who attended the party, I hope we represented our respective parents well…laughing, sharing our own memories, loving on one another and enjoying the “younger” ones who made the afternoon drive themselves on a Sunday afternoon in May.

From a search using Google: Scientists believe that smell and memory are so closely linked because the anatomy of the brain allows olfactory (sense of smell)  signals to get to the limbic (the structural area of the brain concerned with emotion and motivation) system very quickly. Experts say the memories associated with smells tend to be older and thought about less often, meaning the recollection is very vivid when it happens. I believe this to be true!

This is the time of year that I will make a trip or two to my favorite greenhouse to purchase flowering and vegetable plants. Walking through the numerous aisles of all the varieties available for beautifying our yard is always a “walk down memory lane” for me, a lane I first discovered in the early years of my childhood when we visited my dad’s parents. Grandpa and Grandpa Jewell’s last home was about a forty minute drive from us. It was situated on several acres that allowed them to have chickens, huge berry patches of every variety, some corn, grapes, and wide open space to explore or climb trees. Our weekly Sunday visits with them were never boring. Sometimes there was a litter of new kittens, too, much to Gramp’s dismay.

While all of those things were great fun for a little girl growing up in the city on a corner lot, there is a memory from being with grandma that I hope never leaves me and that’s the smell of her small greenhouse which was attached to the rear of their small home.

My grandmother loved flowers, especially pansies and petunias. She had several potting benches to work her hands in the dirt when it came time to plant seeds. I knew all the stories of her “green thumb” which had to be diligent when raising 11 children, especially during the hard years the Depression era ushered in to so many families. I’d heard how her vegetable garden was a “legend” in the minds of envious neighbors who asked, “Sadie!–how do you grow such beautiful vegetables”…her gentle response “Oh, just a little manure now and then along with good watering”. Those in our family knew it was most likely “divine” care she was provided, because the truth is as grandma walked among her young garden plants she constantly was in prayer asking the Lord to provide for her hungry family.

In her last years at the Otter Lake home, she still planted a small garden, added in growing those pansies and petunias which she sold to anyone passing by–never on Sunday though!–that was the Lord’s day and money was never to be exchanged on His day. Folks were welcome in her greenhouse, dirt floors and all. She was happy to chat with prospective visitors or even pray with someone who would join her for a divine appointment. Family folklore talks about a time the local catholic parish priest came to buy flowers and since he had on his clerical collar gramma struck up a conversation that centered on Jesus–her first love! I don’t know what topic they landed on but it was clear they had a slight disagreement and gramma’s calm gentle manner to “resolve” the question was “I think we should get down on our knees right here (on the black dirt floor in the greenhouse) and pray about it”. That priest wasn’t comfortable joining her in prayer which gave her some dismay and disappointment. After all, in her mind, if two people professed loving Jesus, why couldn’t they pray together regardless of position or denomination? We were told that with all the confidence and gentleness this gracious woman could muster she asked him to leave “because anyone who can’t pray…..”

I could write volumes about my Grandma Jewell and I’m certain that will happen. I don’t want to forget her, having had her in my life for 14 years before her death. One way I am assured of not losing my memories of  her is every spring when I walk into ANY greenhouse…the smell of dirt hitting my nostrils…the warm humid air trapped inside the walls…flowers in bloom of all colors and varieties…and the joy I feel when I arrive at the benches holding pansies and petunias.

When you daydream of  being part of a defining moment, what activity or experience do you often visualize? For me, it could have been two things…being a writer or some type of singing ministry.

About the age of 13 I determined in my mind that I was going to write a book. After all, I thought, how hard could it be? Did I “know” anything about developing a novel that laid out a plot with twists, turns, and interesting characters? By that age I certainly had read many books and thought I had a pretty idea of “how to write a book”. I clearly remember sitting down on our living room couch with a cheap spiral notebook, pencil in hand and writing several pages. My dad was sitting next to me and casually glanced at my pen racing across the lines of each page, quietly asking me “whatcha doin’?” 

“Writing a book.”

“Ok!” was all he said in response. 

I think I remember writing two chapters of “that” book before laying the notebook down and forgetting about becoming a famous author.

Flash forward to high school and I landed in the journalism curriculum that was offered. By my senior year I was the editor of our yearbook (which won a national award!) and helped with articles for our school newspaper which was published on site. Our faculty advisor Mr. Matlock was a wonderful teacher and truly helped to lure me deeper into my love for writing. He was a stickler for quality work and meeting deadlines. Those high school journalism classes confirmed inside me that I wanted to write, somehow, somewhere. Upon graduation I had hopes to pursue working in an advertising agency but I ended up in a small business college program that led   to a 20 year career in the banking industry. Although I know those years spent in banking were far from being in a journalistic setting, I never forgot my daydream of writing someday….to the point that as a young adult I often thought how nice it’d be to write and publish a magazine or small paper that contained nothing but positive news and interesting human interest stories. Admittedly, I knew that our world gets enough daily doses of negative news and horrific events both locally, throughout our nation and the world in its entirety. 

Move through time with me again to the year 2012, when I left a part time job (stay tuned for further details) and revisited my daydream to be a writer. By now I owned a personal computer, had done a little bit of writing which had been met with encouraging feedback, and decided to launch my own personal blog. Recalling how I wanted to publish only “good news” and drawing from a family question “How hard is it to be nice?” I launched my blog titled “The Art of Nyce”. A close friend designed my logo and every week–mostly without fail–I have posed a weekly column on my site.

Now, some 11 years later, my blog is still humming along nicely…appearing on my site and shared to social media….I’m being given space each week in the “Fowlerville News & Views”. You see, I actually worked for the paper for about 10 years, managing the office for the Hortons, and was given the opportunity to write several human interest articles during those years. After submitting a Letter to the Editor about a month ago, I let Steve Horton know about my writing, my topics, always trying to be positive, encouraging, inspirational, and sometimes hit on my role as ministry leader for Celebrate Recovery.

I’m very grateful for the opportunity to expand my audience from my social media contacts into our community. My 13 year old daydream has taken on reality and though I don’t expect to win any big prizes for my writing skills, I do hope to draw you into moments that bring a breath of rest, a word of hope or encouragement, a break from those things that weigh down our hearts and minds.

This month I’ve had the privilege of teaching a brief lesson to our students who attend the version of Celebrate Recovery for their respective ages. We actually talked about “defining moments” for them, even in their young years. I was surprised and encouraged by their answers as each one spoke out loud their dreams and life plans. They listened to me, too, sharing about my 13 year old version and my path I followed, studied, worked to land where life currently has me. My prayer for each one of these kids is that they, too, can look back at their 13 year old versions of themselves and find they landed on success bathed in the joy of doing something they truly love.

Here I sit, in my chair in front of my laptop, the quiet humming of the fan running in the background as my fingers gently tap the keys while I spend a few moments daydreaming and gazing around my office…quietly uttering to myself…”what am I going to write about THIS week?”.…coming up with a theme, a generalized thought, is a real struggle and although it’s not enough to raise  my anxiety level, I admit I fret for a few moments over my inability to always have a topic in mind…to recall something cute or funny that may have happened during the week that could be turned into a whimsical post…to wonder why a morning spent doing other tasks all the while thinking “I need to sit down and post a blog today….” doesn’t suddenly give me something inspiring…

Until I glanced at a mailer from a local department store reminding me that Mother’s Day is Sunday, May 14. The fact that I kept the flier is somewhat puzzling because I no longer have a mother who is alive to celebrate in the day’s traditional manner. We said goodbye to her in 1999…moreso in 1995 we said goodbye to my husband’s mother, so you can see…we’ve both been motherless for quite some time now.

We no longer peruse through the countless cards for Mother’s Day…trying to choose exactly the right one. Gifts we used to purchase are no longer necessary and making time to visit both moms while they were alive doesn’t crowd our calendar on this special Sunday that has been set aside for moms. No, I guess I don’t need the flier advertising all the pretty things mom may want, but there it sits in the office filing tray, catching my eye when I look up from my laptop.

The pretty flier is displaying gift ideas such as slippers, candles, coffee mugs, soft blanket throws…makeup and flowers. All those things are very nice and I’m sure any mom would be happy to receive as a gift, but deep down for me I think most moms merely want to feel loved and appreciated by their children…to spend time together laughing over a meal…taking a walk down memory lane raising us who are now adults and parenting our own children.

Our two moms were the kind that didn’t need fancy gifts on Mother’s Day. They were the kind that I described above…I have beautiful memories of many Sunday afternoons spending time with both of them…giving them a carefully chosen card and maybe a plant that could be enjoyed during the warm months until Fall’s colder weather takes its toll on plants and flowers.

Yes, I don’t know why I kept this Mother’s Day flier. Designed to entice me into purchasing a gift from an array of items, it has provoked loving memories of two moms in my life and now–forever–added grief as I miss them very much..wish I could hear their voices one more time…hear my mother-in-law’s laugh….visit with both of them over delicious Sunday evening meals…joining with millions of other people who are also celebrating the special spot in our hearts reserved for our mothers….a special spot we think will always be there, ready to take in all the beautiful aspects of who our moms are…what they mean to us…a spot that was once living and active is now a treasure box of memories accumulated over the years…