His name is Mark. I met him in 1953 although I don’t recall ANY details about that first meeting. He was three years old and had a head start in life which included an older brother who was 7 that year.

Mark was the one with a vivid imagination compared to his siblings. Still has it and uses it today…adding in lighthearted teasing along the way when his days are now filled with drawing, chopping wood, building furniture, camping, spending time with his girls.

As a boy, he was the one whose bicycle lay in the driveway…parts strewn everywhere…because he wanted to “see” how it worked…maybe improve its performance.

He was the one often scolded for using his dad’s tools and not returning them to their rightful place. Because he was curious and talented in problem solving, it was he who came up with creative gimmicks to keep his grandparents’ chickens in their coop when his family stayed for a week to house sit and care for the hens.

In his early teens he fell in love with hockey, purchased his first pair of skates and hockey stick…spending countless hours at the ice rink two blocks away from his home. His sister was the one who walked those two blocks in the cold to beckon him to dinner. Occasionally, his chair at the table was empty while his family ate, waiting for his return after “one more lap around the ice and I’ll be home….” He once told his mother “I’d rather skate than eat.” And skating he did, from hitting the ice in his teen years and eventually walking away from a senior league when he was approaching his 60s.

Mark was the peacemaker in his family. Still is, actually. Tension and confrontation aren’t his favorite conversations…he has and does continue to bring gentle wisdom into hard situations. I think it’s a quality he inherited from his father.

I didn’t always like Mark. We clashed until the year he turned 19 and I was 16. Attitudes and hearts began to soften then, especially when he went off to college. Not long after those years that eventually ushered us both into our 20s and 30s…with him now 72 and me 68…well, life has certainly mellowed, ebbed and flowed with experiences that have brought us to tears, continuously closing the gap that disdain had formed in those early years of our relationship.

At 72, Mark continues to draw, honing his skills with the likes of YouTube. He serves in his church and as a Gideon, visiting small churches in mid Michigan and passing out copies of the New Testament on college campuses. His gentle mannerisms and twinkle in his brown eyes allow him to enter conversations that may not happen otherwise. He’s devoted to God and to his family. He loves to reminisce about years and experiences from his career as a professor of welding. He could see potential in his students that others often overlooked. He’s bold when it comes to defending the truth of scripture as well as tenderhearted with tear filled eyes when praying over a family meal. He will most likely see humor in some of life’s most challenging moments or possess insight that is expressed in loving encouragement, such as standing at the coffin of his beloved grandmother, his hand resting on his grandpa’s shoulder, leaning over her body, staring into her face and whispering…”Look at this way, gramp, she’s only beat you there….” Heaven. A place he knew she longed to go and spoke of often when cancer invaded her body. 

His name is Mark and he is my brother. And I not only “Like” him now. I love and adore him. And as I remind him every year on my birthday when he calls to tell me “you’re getting older”….”yup, but I’m still younger than you.”

Maybe it’s age. Perhaps it’s new headlines every day spouting the ills of our world and culture around me. Maybe it’s the times they are a-changin…🎶

Today I woke up feeling in a bit of a funk. Never mind the sky is cloudy with rain–much needed rain–looming above…or that my first major task of the day was a dental cleaning which means “what surprises wait for me with that visit!”…it’s happened before with a routine appointment…”Oh, you need….$$$…(which DID happen today, but that’s not where I’m headed)

I woke up thinking, really thinking about how much has changed in my tiny world of existence from the 50s to present days in the 2000s which seemed like lightyears away and off in a twilight zone when I was a mere child in those 50s that had no color TV…no central air conditioning…no cellphones or cable networks…no Internet…one car in the driveway that was shared by two parents…

Many of my summer vacation days were spent playing outside. We rode bikes. Went to the park that was two blocks away. Swam in someone’s pool. Played with dolls…colored endless pages…cut out paper dolls under the shade of a tree…we even played made up games of “Army”, “Cops & Robbers” and heaven forbid in today’s culture “Cowboys & Indians”. The phrase politically correct was not in our vocabulary….we had toy guns, maybe a play set of a bow with arrows…sticks often served as spears or guns when one wasn’t in our toybox. Rules for play were always established and mostly followed. Someone was always in charge of planning how we’d play…and play we did. For hours. In the hot sun. We’d hide behind trees and shrubs…make forts of whatever we could scavenge from our parents garages. Imaginations were the primary source of play, taking the place of today’s many modern devices that seem to keep a lot of kids “inside” their comfy homes that now have all or most of  today’s modern conveniences, um, those things mentioned above that were non existent in my childhood. A cold drink of water from a garden hose  or a glass of  Kool-Aid was our main “go-to” for quenching thirsty bodies covered in sweat and sunburned skin.

Now, when I venture out for a walk through our neighborhood I rarely see children outside playing. Very few are on bikes for rides up and down the street. Backyards have swing sets or trampolines in them, but are usually empty. Pools are in some yards, but I rarely hear screams of delight even from those. I’ve often wondered exactly when kids go swimming in these beautiful pools sitting under the hot sun. Maybe it’s when both parents or another adult are home from work. And I’m amazed how many of our neighbors have not only TWO cars, but sometimes three and maybe a boat or RV parked in the driveway, too.

Our neighborhood has many large trees that offer beautiful cool shade. I use them to rest for brief periods of time when on my walks. I’ve never had to share a shady spot with any of the kids who live in the sub. I’ve never encountered a group of girls coloring or cutting out paper dolls while enjoying a cool breeze under a maple or pine tree…are paper dolls even a “thing” anymore? 

 Perhaps a fondest memory is the many conversations I had with my childhood friends as we sat on the lawn under the shade of a tree. We talked about how God created everything, from the blades of grass to the “stuff” that was used to build the Chevys and Fords our parents drove. There were no arguments that He didn’t exist…wasn’t real….that He could DO anything…our childlike faith was simplistic and united among those of us who were Lutheran, Baptist, and Catholic or Methodist…even the kids who didn’t attend church had caught on to believing in God. Maybe it was the summer vacation bible school programs that all the moms carted us off to for a few mornings to fill hot summer days and give them a break from all us kids….

So, today, my thoughts have wandered back to the 50s, slowly bringing a smile to my face, reminding me of more innocent times compared to our current culture. I’m also daydreaming about what the next 20 to 25 years will bring for me, for my own children and grandchildren. While they currently enjoy the benefits of our modern day age, I sure hope bikes, shade trees, and imaginary games are part of their summer time days…along with a good, long drink from a garden hose or the hospitality of a neighborhood mom who made a pitcher of Kool Aid….

I’ve Been Foiled

A close examination of my garden containers–my attempt to be a savvy gardener this year–has revealed that I’ve been foiled…someone invaded a couple of my beautifully sown planters…where there should be garlic sprouting, there are sunflowers. Where onions should be poking through wonderful black dirt, there are sunflowers. Although I LOVE the beauty of sunflowers, I did not plan to include them in this year’s gardening session as I purchased a cucumber plant….dreamed of fresh garlic and green onions…instead I will have a crop of sunflowers, IF I move them from my deep pots to an area they can continue to grow and flourish. 

Though a mystery surrounds HOW sunflowers got inside two pots, truth be told, I’m pretty sure who the culprit is that created his own lil crop to harvest in 2022….one morning while brushing my teeth…gazing out the window to watch the birds at our feeder….I saw him. Yup, a chipmunk was sitting in the container with my ONION seeds nestled under the dirt…he was digging with a lot of energy…messing with my seeds and dirt…after he left I smoothed over the dirt, filled in the holes he had dug and thought nothing further. Until I saw a clump of beautiful crowded green growth standing about two to three inches tall one morning…catching my eye as I watered plants. (The photo above is NOT one I took, but an example I found online)

Strangest onions I ever saw I thought to myself. I thought onion seedlings were tall and skinny as they grew stronger, taking on more shape. These plants were pretty plump and crowded like too many people in an elevator. Quick thinking about using my “plant identifier app” on my phone confirmed my suspicions. “You don’t have onions but you have a lovely array of sunflower sprouts”….hmmm…they look like something that’s growing in the container where I placed garlic sets.   Frowning upon THAT confirmation, I briefly grieved over the loss of future meals with fresh garlic that seems to be nowhere in sight.

It’s not only sunflower plants that I’ve found in obscure places around the yard where we plant vegetables and flowers. The raised bed is yielding voluntary plants of dill, cilantro, and sage. In the hot bed a kale plant is leafed out like crazy and is providing shade for a red lettuce plant–I may have planted that seed? I even found lemon balm in a pot that previously had flowers adorning it last year. Squeezed in between three tomato plants is another voluntary vegetable….a tomato that reseeded from last year. I’ll let it grow, coax it along and see what it yields at harvest time.

Sadly, the clematis we put in the ground at a trellis is nowhere to be seen. Instead, numerous morning glory seeds keep germinating, and though I enjoy their beauty, I don’t need over 20 of those. I wanted my clematis. Guess it’s wait till 2023 and try again.

What life lesson can I learn from this experience? While pursuing a life that is intentional…planting seeds of love, joy, and hope in my spirit…with the objective to be a good friend, a loving family member, an authentic Christ follower…I can get foiled. That crafty serpent we refer to as Satan is sneaky. He’s like my little chipmunk who comes along and undoes my good intentions….he digs up my good seed, steals it and replaces it with something I don’t want or need if I’m not paying attention. He knows if I don’t tend to the distraction, “it” will grow….the substitution of giving me a bad or unexpected result is now something to be reckoned with….

My unexpected sunflower plants can be salvaged. I can move them to a more fertile area, giving them depth and space to grow to maturity. Or, I can toss them in the garbage. I think I’ll save a few. After all, the birds benefit from their huge seeded heads at the end of summer and cooler days in the Fall. Even pesky lil chipmunks need food, too.

As for those things that Satan tries to foil me with? They are of no use to me. They don’t deserve space to grow, multiply and provide a harvest of sin’s nastiness that is the only bounty he can produce. I have only one choice when I recognize his crafty methods–pull his lies up by the root and toss them in the garbage…allow God to remove the ugly unnecessary things the enemy has tried to plant into my mind and spirit.

Sunflowers need sun and water, even the ones that were helped along by a sneaky little critter. My life needs sun and water, too, and if I’m not careful, Satan’s sneakiness could go unnoticed if I don’t tend to my heart, soul, and mind every day. Where there should be the fruit of the spirit growing in me, I don’t want to find voluntary weeds that went unnoticed from last year….last month….or yesterday.

This is not an actual photo taken by me, but one that I pulled from an online search. 

Lessons From Being Parched

The blustery winds and chilling temperatures from winter are long behind us, now that June has been ushered in by the furnace fan providing us cool air on days that are currently sporting waves of heat in the 80s….slowly teasing us onward to scorching 90s….warm days many of us longed for when we were knee deep shoveling snow covered driveways and sidewalks. We’ve exchanged snow boots for flip flops and winter clothing for shorts….swimwear for pools, lakes…water time fun in all forms! Maybe a water balloon fight or running through a lawn sprinkler…

In late May I planted flowers, vegetable plants and seeds. Everything seems to be doing well with the exception of some of the seeds. Those little buggers are stubborn, no matter how I water and “coax” them with encouragement to poke their way through the beautiful dirt that I laid them in ever so carefully. By no means am I an expert gardener. Truth be told, I’m more of a casual/lazy kind of person who puts plants and seeds in the ground, expecting great results with little effort. I’d kind of like my seedlings to act like their relatives that thrive in desert dirt…very little rain and more sunshine than the states of Florida, Georgia, Arizona…you get the picture….combined. Could they NOT have a bit more ambition to push through the soil and show me they are trying!?

When we were in Arizona recently, I was amazed at the variety of cactus plants growing in all types of dry, rocky, arid terrain. They sure looked healthy! Some of them were budding…getting ready to pop open flowers…others were very green…standing strong and tall, or creating intricate low ground shrubbery. Together, they paint a wonderful example of growing and remaining strong against elements that surely would leave me parched…tired…overheated…in need of a TALL drink of water.

Today, I decided at 11 am to go for a walk through our neighborhood. I checked the temperature (83) and had a quick wave of “why didn’t I go sooner” float through my mind. Oh well, I told myself. I can do this. Yes, it’s hot, but you’ve walked in the heat before. Wear comfortable clothing. Get on your good shoes. Take a water bottle with you. Those self coaching phrases carried me as I made my way around the paved road that gives me just over a mile walk. 

Thankful that I brought my water with me, I enjoyed stopping several times in shaded spots to sip on my cool relief….the neighborhood was quiet except for one couple working in their yard….no kids outside playing or riding bikes….workers present laying fiber for new internet services in our community…every one of them looked pretty warm under the sun…one guy was under an umbrella on the equipment he was using to dig a trench (smart, I thought to myself)…each one of the guys smiled and said “hello” as I passed by. One young man said “good morning, it’s a warm one! But I’m not complaining!” (could he have been remembering how much snow we all shoveled last winter?)

Unlike cactus plants that thrive day in and day out under scorching temperatures, I know I would not…could not survive extended periods of life living in desert like conditions. I need rain. I need cool breezes. I need cloudy days. I need shade. I need water. I need someone looking after my daily needs. My “someone” is the good Lord, Who has earned the title Creator of ALL in my book of faith…I can look and marvell at His handiwork in a HUGE desert and pull much joy from the beautiful views and contrast of dry dirt to lush covered mountains…cracks in hard ground…tiny crevices shared by flowers that have made their way from earth’s darkness to life giving light.

Such was…such is…my life. By God’s grace He planted a seed in my soul years ago…a seed that has grown and matured through seasons of life that have been filled with great joy, grief, disappointments, sadness, losses…yet, years that produced harvests from His faithfulness and tender care, all serving as reminders and examples of a life lived pushing through…seeking…allowing wind, rain, sunshine and changing of seasons to grow me up against ALL odds…even when I’ve taken the casual/lazy approach to life….I think I’ll go check on my tiny seeds…see what they need, coax them a little bit more.

As an extension to last week’s entry on my blog, where I wrote about meeting folks who truly served well in their respective “jobs”, I thought I’d share a couple things I experienced in the opposite direction of decent human behavior. I need to begin by telling you (briefly) about our canceled flight which we rescheduled in order to stay on track for our vacation commitments.

Our flight was scheduled to depart Detroit at 6:12 pm Saturday, May 28. We made our arrival through check in and security as recommended, made our way to the gate and began our wait…taking seats in a crowded terminal…slowly making eye contact with other passengers…smiling, me deciding who I’d begin to chat it up with because, hey, that’s who I am. I’m one to never waste quiet if I can find a good conversation! Anyway, fast forward and soon it was announced our flight was “delayed” to repair a mechanical issue. Minutes began to turn into hours with more discouraging announcements…Lady Orange Shirt didn’t waste time walking up to the counter numerous times to ask when the plane was leaving…..on one such occasion she walked in front of a growing line of people to butt in with her questions….when an announcement was finally offered about helping us make alternate arrangements she was the FIRST to jump up and work on her problem…even after getting another flight, now waiting for THAT departure, she kept making her complaints known to others seated around her…

For us, we held out and accepted a hotel voucher for the night and returned by 7:30 Sunday morning to get on a 10:15 flight (same plane)…well, before our hopes could soar on wings with assured hope, Natalie, the counter agent, announced that even though the plane was being serviced on since 4:30 am, she could not guarantee a timely departure. Enter Lady Purple Shirt & Husband. They arrived at the counter, her demanding to know when the plane would leave, husband looking down at the floor. She didn’t like Natalie’s answer. Tears began to flow, cries of anger declaring “it’s been 14 hours…this is no way to treat people….” Husband calmed her down, and as they worked out their travel…she blew up in a tizzy again when she found out first class seats weren’t available. She walked away in a huff while husband remained to settle their travel. She went to get a Starbucks coffee. (I saw her later with a cup in her hand) He took time to thank Natalie for her help and kindness. A kind husband making up for a frustrated wife I guess.

We boarded a flight headed to Charlotte NC, which was short– 1 ½ hours–sitting in front of a couple who quickly ordered shots of vodka for their breakfast juice when the steward came by with beverages and snacks. Short flights don’t offer much in the way of entertainment unless you’re a people watcher like me…approaching time to descend the steward came by picking up trash. Meet loud mouth vodka drinking woman.

“May I take your trash?”

“I’m not done with my drink yet.”

He kept on with each row and then the second sweep for trash came.

“May I take your trash?”

“I’m not done with my drink yet.”

“Ma’am, we are getting ready to land. Either chug your drink or give it to me.”

“I paid $36 for this vodka. I’m not throwing it away.” (She didn’t chug it either)

“Fine, I’m done! I will be calling the airport police and they will deal with you. When we land, stay in your seats.” Complete silence.

Whew–those of us sitting close enough to make eye contact surely did, rolling our eyes and silently giggling behind smiles and thoughts of “wonder what’s gonna happen next…”

We landed. We all stayed seated as the pilot came on the speaker “Ladies & gentlemen, please remain seated. We’ve had an incident on board and the airport police will be coming to take care of it.” 

We all watched as Lady Vodka Drinker and her traveling companion were escorted from the plane. They were suddenly very quiet. I wondered then and still today, if the $36 and ensuing arguments were worth their side trip overseen by airport police?

Years ago, my husband and I coined the phrase “How hard is it to be nice?” We’ve used it  with each other on numerous occasions…me thanking him for cleaning up a pile of dirty dishes….him thanking me for doing a job he knows I dislike…It’s the phrase that inspired me for my blog, “The Art of Nyce”.

I GET that Lady Orange Shirt and Lady Purple Shirt were tired, frustrated, anxious. Yet, in all of those draining emotions, is a choice to be devoured by what’s out of one’s control, and yield to being “nice….

I GET that vodka shots sold by airlines are pricey. Yet, in the course of a traveler’s day, being compliant and nice sure can head off embarrassing and unnecessary detours.

I GET that problems will sometimes arise when I think I’ve got my day planned out, as in our case getting out of Michigan to Arizona. I also GET that I’m not in control…took me years to learn THAT lesson, but it’s one that is now giving me the greatest peace in my life when things go ary. It’s also showing me how other people react and unlike vodka shots, the show is free!

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters”

We have just returned from spending a week in the beautiful state of Arizona! And I must say, a week isn’t nearly ample time to truly experience the awe and beauty this south western state has to offer to the traveler’s eyes. Getting to the Grand Canyon in person has been on my bucket list for years…. Merely seeing photos of this world wonder has not satisfied my longing to stand on one of the rims and soak in the majesty with every blink of an eye. I’ve got some of my own photos now, most of which are calendar worthy I might add and will allow me countless hours revisiting creation’s truly magical scenery. I’d return in a heartbeat…what I’d like to share with you though are some thoughts about some of the people we met along our week’s journey from Michigan to Arizona.

• We departed from Detroit Metro on Sunday, May 29. This was AFTER our Saturday flight was canceled due to mechanical failure of our plane. When our air carrier finally made the hard decision to keep us grounded, we were put up in a local hotel. That’s where I met our hotel shuttle driver (sorry I didn’t get her name) She was bubbly, kind, and super friendly. During our brief ride she talked about her dream to become an over the road truck driver so she could earn good money…see the nation….buy a home. Her enthusiasm for her work inspired me regarding a generation 40 years younger than myself.
• Sunday morning I met Natalie. She was the counter agent for our flight who was honest enough to tell us “this plane isn’t leaving anytime soon….” (repair issues were still of top concern) I listened and observed as passenger after passenger approached her to complain, argue and cry about their situation and NEED to leave Detroit. Natalie never wavered in her patience. She was kind. She was honest. Above all, she was helpful to reroute many travelers that morning, including us, all with a calm smile on her experienced face of 17 years working for the airlines.
• One of our excursions included a rail tour through the Verde Valley south of Sedona. To enhance the experience, the company employed a personal bartender and a “tour guide” for each passenger car. Our young lady working the bar did so with great fun and laughter, taking time to point out areas of historical significance….Larry, the actual tour guide on board for us did the same. He was a retired guy, full of energy and a love for explaining rock formations and historical background on abandoned mining camps and ranches deep inside the rocky cliffs and mountains. I found myself listening to both of them with eager ears, asking myself if they ever got bored with each rail tour loaded with first time visitors who would ask questions they’ve heard countless times in their years on the job.
• Tracey was our jeep tour driver for our visit to the southern rim of the Canyon. She told us she moved from the midwest to give up a vet tech position to live in Arizona and train to become a tour guide for the Canyon. The amount of lilt in her voice as she described the national forest and its inhabitants….deer, elk, big cats, birds, etc. was enough to keep a balloon afloat. With every repeated fact she never seemed to appear bored or anxious to end her shift with each turn in the road…each pass of locating elk…describing the history of the park and the people who made this area accessible for the millions who have come to see the canyon’s endless beauty. 
• Not to leave out someone who may appear as a “lesser than” much needed employee was the hostess at our hotel who greeted us Wednesday morning when we came for breakfast. Hands gesturing and eyes bright with life we were welcomed to the breakfast spot as though we were royalty. This woman looked aged, experience was evident, but her zeal and hospitality sure overshadowed any doubt that her job was mundane.
• Oscar was our curbside agent when we departed Phoenix to return home. He worked quickly, attention to detail and the long line of “ready to get home travelers” didn’t phase him one bit. Bags were checked, double checked, boarding passes issued and directions to our gate were given with kindness, a big smile and a huge “thank you” when I told him he “was a good man”.

We met many employees in a variety of settings during our vacation week. Airport. Restaurants. Shuttles. Hotel. Resort. Site Attractions. I must say, each one displayed the definition of the verse I inserted at the top of today’s blog. There’s only one guy that comes to mind as one who didn’t seem very thrilled to be working. He was our shuttle driver from the airport to our car parked in a  long term lot. He didn’t hop out of his seat to help us load four bags of luggage. He was pretty tight lipped during the short drive to our car. He remained seated and didn’t offer to help unload those four bags. I mentioned my observations to my husband who responded “that’s why he got two bucks and not five for a tip…”    I think he needs to read Colossians…not sure the others I’ve described have, but the zeal in their respective work positions sure give a hint of knowing HOW to approach the day-to-day tasks in their work day. 

Last week I wrote about the morning after watching a favorite television program…how it settled and rattled my emotions….This morning is “another morning after”…but different today…I’ve divided my emotions between a fictional story that ended last evening along with the senseless reality of 15 children and two adults killed in Texas by an 18 year old. How do I respond….how do I react? To yet “another” heinous act of crime that is weighing heavily on broken hearts and topping the news headlines until the effects fade from our thoughts and life goes on….

In my anguish, in my sadness, in my anger I turn to You O Lord. The psalmist wrote in chapter 62:

“My safety and honor rest on God. My strong rock and refuge are in God. Trust in Him, people at all times; pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us.”

Scoffers will ask “where was God when those innocent people were gunned down?” My response…right in their midst.

“Then why didn’t God stop that kid with the gun?” My response: Because He has given us free will. And sometimes having the huge responsibility of choosing our own actions comes with a heavy price for others, especially when evil actions overshadow the obvious opposite choices in life…to live in love, peace, and joy.

Today, there is much I want to say on social media about what’s going through my mind this morning. I’ve kept my fingers off the keyboard. In the past, I’ve spouted off like a raging teapot whistling “I’m ready!” Often, my family and friends aren’t ready to hear my own opinions. Consequently, I am learning to remain quiet…choosing when to speak up, always asking God “am I supposed to say anything?” Does ANYTHING I offer on social media change a person’s mind anyway God? 

Oh, how I wish that this morning only held a sense of sadness for my favorite TV program that ended. But, that’s not the case. Instead, as I’ve already noted, our nation is reeling from more deaths in Texas…coming after the Buffalo killings….woven into numerous murders that unfortunately are common place in Chicago…New York…Los Angeles….there is a “spirit of death” that has been unleashed across our beautiful nation, at a level of swiftness I’ve never witnessed in my 68 years. And it appears to be swooping up our youngsters…..and it’s nothing new under the sun.

*Pharoah ordered all Hebrew baby boys to be killed at birth because the Hebrew people were becoming strong and he feared what they may do to revolt being in slavery to him.

*Herod ordered all baby boys aged two & under to be killed when he learned and feared that Jesus–the proclaimed “King of the Jews”–would take away his kingdom rule.

*Roman citizens often threw their unwanted babies into a river to drown.

*Mayan people sacrificed thousands of infants to their gods to gain favor.

*Hundreds of thousands of children died under the reign of Hitler.

*China had a one child rule from 1980 to 2015 when two children were allowed. In 2021 they increased it to three. (I checked internet sites: approximately 30 million girls who were born may NOT have been registered as live births, but hidden, because a male child was preferred in their culture)

*And then there’s aboriton on demand…..millions….from major countries around the world.

Hmmm…at the risk of being TOO bold do you think that there’s a demonic pattern of attacks on children for thousands of years? In my anguish, in my sadness, in my anger I can only answer “yes”…..and fall to my knees under the refuge of God even when I don’t understand His ways or comprehend the mind of anyone evil enough to be a pawn of Satan. 

_____

A note from the author: Normally, I desire to keep my blog postings lighthearted, uplifting or a source of inspiration with heartfelt memories or personal insights. Today is different. Today is a bit of boldness coming from a place of personal Truth which is grounded in Jesus Christ, my source of absolute Truth. There is a popular saying that goes like this: Sometimes the truth hurts. Today, please don’t be angry or hurt by my expressions of truth. Instead, ponder for yourself the reality that our nation and world are in a spiritual war, one aimed at our children, innocent men and women. Once you have viewed events with a spiritual eye, then decide if you’ll be a voice for Truth and action to protect the vulnerable in our midst.

It’s the morning after and I’m sad. It doesn’t help that the weather has flipped back to overcast skies with a sprinkling of rain falling through temperatures that have dipped back into the 50s after a weekend of high 80s. Yesterday was breezy with the sun poking out frequently through puffy white clouds. Yesterday, Tuesday, is a day of the week that holds a lot of anticipation for me. Admittedly, I am a “This Is Us” addict so knowing that the second to last episode would be airing had me full of expectation all day long as I went about my daily routine, getting in a walk, and presiding over a weekly ministry meeting, rushing home to tune in to one of my favorite TV families of all time, the Piersons. 

Second admission today…I’m sad. After a lengthy battle with Alzheimer’s disease the Piersons’ beloved mom and grandmother is laden with farewells by all she deeply loved. Coming to her bedside one at a time, family members said their goodbyes. In a dreamlike state Rebecca “heard” and “saw” each one as she lovingly remembered them through her years of parenting three beautiful children. With each quiet breath and subtle scene change she told William “I’m waiting for someone”..…that’s the part of the script that grabbed at my emotions and remains as lingering sadness this morning. 

I’ve had the privilege saying goodbye to my mother-in-law, my mother, my father-in-law, but not my father. I’ve also said “goodbye” to my youngest brother-in-law and my oldest brother. Sitting at the side of a loved one who is leaving their earthly home for one in eternity is an experience that I cannot put into words other than to say it’s remarkable that I am forever grateful I had these opportunities with my loved ones. Equally worth mentioning, is that I confess harboring deep sadness not being present when my father passed away. Dad never was one to “put someone out” with his needs or troubles…I guess that’s why he waited for my brother to leave the room, head home, and slip away quietly in the solace of his room. 

Watching as “Rebecca” made her way from train car to train car, each one giving her a different memory of her children, there was a speaker mounted in the corner of one such car. Pouring out of the speaker was the voice of her daughter, Kate. “I’m here mom. I’m here”. 

Science is showing us that the sense of hearing is still active in a dying person, even if they are non-responsive. I had heard this years ago and held firm to its claim. When we knew my mother-in-law was in her last hours, my husband and I read scripture to her. We sang songs. We prayed. We talked to her.

When my own mother lay non-responsive in her living room, all of us surrounding her bed, we laughed. We shared memories. We read scripture. We were careful about what we said. We gave her permission to “go” along with our strong promises to always take care of dad.

When my father-in-law was at the end of his life, all of us kids and most of the grandchildren were able to tell him their final thoughts, say our goodbyes. My husband was with him on the morning he passed.

It’s expected to lose our parents and though difficult, I think losing siblings is far worse. At least for me, for my husband, this has been true. Both John and Dave were taken by cancer. Both lingered in and out of being able to converse, but that didn’t stop us from being present when we were able. Visits to them prior to their death were important and timely. Both passed away without us being by their side. I don’t remember any of my last words spoken to either brother, but I take comfort knowing they “heard” my voice.

Rebecca repeated several times “I’m waiting for someone”. In a fictionalized depiction of a beloved character’s life cleverly and lovingly scripted by gifted writers, I got a picture of what her “waiting” looked like. In the lives of my moms, dads, brothers, I can only imagine what scenes brushed through their minds as they lay waiting for the final breath that would take them from pain to glory.  As much as I wonder what they “heard” in final moments, I marvel at the images they immediately saw when earthly breath was exchanged for heavenly breezes washing over their faces. 

Yes, I’m sad this morning. A good sadness, though. Without apology I’m thankful that a favorite television drama is able to weave a story in such a way that it causes me to reflect…to wonder…to be grateful…to shed a tear or two without shame…and most importantly, to prepare myself for my own departure some day, to love my family well, create memories that last a lifetime….and if I find myself “waiting for someone to arrive” my prayer is that he or she is able. I want to hear what they have to say.

When we moved to our current home in 1989 it was winter, January to be exact. Our community was covered with snow, it was cold. We had neighbors on both sides of our property…the land behind us was a hayfield field which could yield three cuttings during a “good” summer. Though we enjoyed our somewhat rural setting, we always knew that eventually our “hay field” would be sold in order for someone to build homes. That’s exactly what happened in the 90s…a local builder came along, bought the field and put up homes on a small drive that extended almost to a wooded area beyond the culvert where the last home was built. More development came later  and our neighborhood took on the appearance of a small subdivision.

Families have come and gone from several of the homes. When our first spring of 1989 arrived, we discovered that a woman to the north of us–two doors down–owned a small menagerie of animals. She had goats, ponies, and a few dogs. Our kids loved watching her goats and ponies graze in their small pasture; they’d stand at the fence and talk to them, pet their small faces when allowed. One of the ponies was blind and on one summer day had escaped through the fencing, becoming frantic, walking in circles until my husband rescued it, getting it back to the safety of the pasture. 

Fast forward to the 2000s and we’ve got the family behind us who have chickens and ducks. They are considered “cage free” I guess because with the arrival of warm weather they spend most of their time outside their shelters. In fact, these birds wander to our yard and devote a lot of time looking for bits of food…bugs (I hope)…and the ducks especially like our ditch when it has swelled with water from spring rains. Our frontage also collects a lot of water, creating a welcoming “swimming and splashing pool” for our roving ducks. Friends driving past our home have asked “when did you get chickens and ducks?”

The five or six chickens like our yard, too. I have found them on the deck, under the deck, walking all over the yard as they too peck the ground for bugs and seeds. We’vejokingly called them “our birds”…until we’ve now had to do some cleanup of the deck from their droppings….suddenly their cuteness is waning…

A warm welcome to the month of May has been the ability to open a few windows, leave the slider open to the deck, leave the front door a jar, all allowing warm fresh breezes to fill the house, emptying out the leftovers of winter’s staleness. Doing so has come with a minor hazard. Already a few ants have made their way into the house, probably looking for a small crumb to fill an empty belly. What they have found is an early demise under the weight of my big toe or foot.

All this wandering from  these critters has me thinking. Clearly, they have homes that were built for them, food sources provided by their owners, water…but they aren’t content to stay put. Because they are allowed to “wander” with no barriers in place, well their little feet  take them wherever and how far they desire, which is usually to our yard, even to two other neighbors’ front lawns on either side of our acre.

Which brings me to these musings….How often do I wander from the “things” that have been provided for me that offer safety, nourishment….a sense of staying inside healthy boundaries….how many times have I joined a conversation that isn’t mine? Asked a question in an attempt to prompt  juicy details to evoke gossip?  Giving unsolicited advice…trying to fix or rescue someone who is struggling when truthfully some of the best victories and healing come from having to face hard stuff on our own so we can fight our way out from darkness to light…or like my pesky ants, looking for “something” to satisfy my empty belly or heart in all the wrong places…

My windows are open this morning…I can hear songbirds…maybe some warning signals too? And, true to their habit pattern, our ducks have meandered from their shed, quacking their early morning conversations as they make their way along the north boundary of our yard to the ditch where leftover rain water awaits them for yet another daily splash-a-ganza. They will not only perform this small parade back and forth once each day but usually several times from sunup to sundown. 

As I listen to the beautiful songs…hear the rhythm from quacking visitors…I’ve enjoyed my own morning routine, too. Time has been spent feasting on God’s Word….writing my prayers for Him to receive and ponder His answer…reminding myself “to whom I belong”…offering gratitude for His provision and above all, HIS healthy boundaries…limits that keep me from wandering off to places, people or things where I don’t belong…keeping me out of dirty water, even when  having my own “splash-a-ganza” looks quite enticing.

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Goodness, I don’t know what make and model–even the year!–this car is but when searching for a photo to help highlight my thoughts today I found this hurt lil gem. It certainly doesn’t look like much now but I bet when it rolled off the assembly line its paint shone in the sun, the tires were black and glossy…every option it had was in perfect working order. Then use began to happen. It probably went through many seasons of sunlight, rain, snow, ice, even hail.

This tiny human has just entered the world. Once safe and growing in his or her mother’s womb, the beauty of birth has taken place. This child appears unblemished and every part of its tiny body is working. Lungs are sucking in and pushing out air. Crying has activated. A tiny heart  beating in the womb will continue to do so for about 80 years. Eyes are closed but soon will focus and take in thousands of images…millions by the end of life. Ears have been hearing mom’s heartbeat and her voice for nine months. Even if the family pet barked, this little person has heard it. Skin is wrinkly and pink but with each passing day the complexion will smooth out, brighten or darken a bit. Birth has given the world another beautiful new person. Then life will happen.

What does a crashed graffiti ridden car and an unblemished newborn have in common? Nothing actually. Except, yesterday as I spent the morning with my husband walking around a salvage lot looking at damaged cars, my time there spurred some thoughts about damages, wounds, declarations of being “totalled”. Based on past experiences with other salvage yards we’ve visited, yesterday’s findings shocked me. MOST of the vehicles we looked at were very new in comparison to your typical description of a running “junker”. And, MOST of them had damage to only one area of the body, a front hit…a sideswipe…a rear in…maybe a deer hit. My untrained eye kept saying to my husband “why would this car be totalled!?–it only needs a front clip or a new rear end….a hood and lights”. Well, that’s where hidden damage comes in….some of those unassuming vehicles needed engine repairs, new deck flooring, electrical work, air bag consequences…all which drive up repair costs that an insurance company may deem a complete “loss”. Total the car, give the owner a settlement. Put the car in salvage and allow someone with enough money to purchase it and make the repairs. Until a purchaser comes along, the car sits waiting. We saw every make. Chevrolets. Jeeps. Fords. Kias. Hondas. One Tesla–anyone have $22,000 to take that beauty home and sink in repair money? 

My inability to not see or comprehend the hidden damage to these cars reminds me that I–maybe even you–cannot see the hidden wounds in people we love or meet by chance. Men and women–each one of us  born without blemish or major turmoil–(God willing) carry hidden wounds as life begins to unfold and our chosen paths give us experiences–good and bad. For me personally, my childhood was wonderful. I was loved by both parents. I had two older brothers who doted on me. I had grandparents, uncles and aunts galore and a slew of cousins. I made good friends all through school. I dated way too many boys (in hindsight–that’s another topic)….I married–twice–and I became a mother of two. Life has blessed me, yet I have hidden wounds. Sometimes I over-worry. There are times I isolate and shut down rather than face a hard day. I overeat–indulge in sweets–too often because I find comfort in food. I battle being judgemental or critical because I like thinking I’m smarter than another person, or worse, that I’m always right. I guess that would be described as pride.  But, if you met me for the first time I’d really enjoy that moment. I love meeting new people. I love asking questions to find out what makes a person tick. I love encouraging others. I love making someone laugh or feel comfortable in a new situation. I love hearing a person’s “back story”…where were you born? Tell me about your family. What do you do in life for pleasure? Those are fun and easy questions most of us can easily answer. What about when it’s the opposite? What about those times I see the sullen expression on your face. The face that usually has a smile. What about when I see a bruise that looks suspicious? Or when you are considerably more quiet in a group setting or when you withdraw from social gatherings for a stretch of time? When you isolate. When you become defensive, angry…when you cry tears that have no words to describe what’s churning inside your soul. These, and more, are the hidden wounds in people that can easily be ignored, unnoticed or tossed up to “she’s having a bad day”. Let me say this. We all have bad days. But, when one bad day is added and multiplied by additional bad days, hidden damages can occur and until someone comes along to “see”, to “acknowledge”, to “rescue”, to “help”…a pile of bad days can consume and drag a person away to darkness instead of light.

Yesterday, it wasn’t enough for me to see the damages to the cars without asking questions of the salesman. In order for me to know the complete story behind each car, I had to inquire so he could check his files and give me the specs regarding what repairs were needed to restore it to “like new”. The same can be said  relative to my interactions with my friends who are in my circle. I can take note of outward expressions, verbal cues, and ask questions…”what do you need?….how can I help?…Can you tell me how you think your current or past wound is affecting your loss of joy? Trust. Feeling whole. Feeling safe. Feeling less a victim of unwanted pain? How can we get you to a place of pursuing victory over your hurts?

A brand new car hot off the assembly line. Such potential to give pleasure and practical use for many years. Until that distracted person or drunk driver hits it head on.

A brand new baby out of the womb. Such potential to bring joy to its family, give the same and so much more as it grows through childhood into becoming an adult. Until someone speaks a harsh word. Takes a spanking to the level of abuse. Seizes opportunity in secret to satisfy an addiction to lust. Fall to temptation with substances that alter the mind. 

Some wounds are very visible. Others are hidden. Both leave a lasting effect until someone takes notice, steps in to ask the right questions, and comes alongside to begin a  lengthy yet advantageous process of restoration that promotes healing and renewal. Broken cars end up in junkyards. People are deserving of more than that kind of fate. Instead of being written off or tossed away to the junkyards of brokenness,  they need that “someone” who will ask the right questions. Look up the correct specs for restoration and renewal. There’s a file for everyone, describing  the necessary repairs, too. It’s held in God’s system waiting to be opened.