Here we are, ready and waiting for the walk to begin.

If only I could crawl into the mind of an almost four year old…to hear and see how their growing brains are computing information…images…hearing conversations and lessons from parents, caregivers, etc. Oh to imagine the wonders I would behold were that possible. Alas, as fun as that adventure would be for me, any delight of my own discoveries relies on what my grandchildren have to say as they grow…mature…go on adventures through day trips…vacations…reading books….listening to stories.

Recently, my husband and I joined our son’s family–which consists of his beautiful wife and their two children, Jacks–age 3, almost 4–and Mylah, “Siss”, as she’s affectionately called, age 2, for the 2022 Step Out Diabetes Walk which was held at Detroit’s beautiful Belle Isle. Sunday morning greeted us with glorious blue skies adorned with puffy clouds, surrounded by full sunshine. Situated along the Detroit River not far from the Renaissance Center, we caught a cool breeze every once in a while, just enough to refresh us from the rays of the sun.

Our “walk” began at 10 am and at a pace which included our son pushing the kids in the stroller, we made the three miles in just over an hour. Cold drinks and sandwiches were ready for us to refuel and rest before our drive back home.

As we walked to our cars, lil Jack–who was holding onto his momma’s hand–looked up at her, confidently explaining to her that “we are going to have a rainbow”. I don’t remember exactly how she responded to him but again, he told her “we’re going to have a rainbow…they come out on Friday and Saturday”.  I asked him if he’d ever heard a story from the Bible that talked about rainbows. He hadn’t yet (I encouraged him to have momma or daddy read that story to him from his children’s Bible….

I chuckled at his matter of fact confidence that “we would have a rainbow”. This belief–coming from a mind that is growing faster than the speed of light in my humble opinion–reminded me of “why” we see rainbows. They appear in the eastern skies after a pretty big rainstorm, when the sun comes back from behind dark clouds and its prism of colors create an arched image of magnificent beauty…stretching from end to end…glistening high into the heavens. 

A quick internet search explains the phenomena of a rainbow: 

A rainbow only happens when the sunlight is coming from behind and is low in the sky. As the sunlight shines into a curtain of raindrops in the air in front of you, only one color from each droplet will refract at the exact angle necessary to directly reach your eye.

Greater than any scientific explanation for a rainbow is the reasoning found in scripture:

God created the rainbow as a reminder that he will never flood the whole earth again. But, the rainbow is also a symbol of God’s unbelievable love for us. He chose to rescue Noah from the flood, and he chose to rescue all of us from sin when he sent Jesus. Even when we really mess up, God’s love is still there.

I love how our grandson’s mind is thinking, reasoning, believing how things in God’s creation “operate”. Maybe he saw a rainbow on a Friday or a Saturday, and like everything else he’s experienced in his short time, he remembers it without any difficulty.

I also love that our grandchildren are learning about God from their parents who read to them….pray with them….take them to church….surround them with experiences connected to the beauty of nature.

I love that indeed, rainbows happen on Fridays and Saturdays according to Jacks, but I look forward to the days when he–and the other grandchildren–hear the story of Noah…the flood…the rainbow….God’s promise to never destroy us with water again…always displaying his love for us…not only on Fridays or Saturdays, either…but every day…every moment. 

Cool…sometimes very cold water…fills our small pool for 

hot summer days. 

Pools & Patience

Combine a hot day in mid August with a small kiddie swimming pool and a perfect spot for conversation can take place when a grandmother is willing to sit in the somewhat frigid water to “play” with a granddaughter…..a child whose love language (one of them)  is “spending time”…so, while her younger brother napped, we played in the pool recently, which in our case, is a two level blow up style, large enough for several small children who merely want to splash and get cooled off under a hot sticky day. I didn’t mind the chance to don a pair of shorts and tank top so I, too, could soak up some “end of the summer sunshine” that will soon fade to cooler temperatures.

In the midst of “gramma, wanna see something?” and “gramma, look what I can do” our granddaughter decided she’d try a new “move”...plugged her nose…went under water and spun her body around as quickly as the air in her lungs allowed…coming up with a splash, eyes closed, fingers tightly holding her nostrils shut. “Did you see that!?” I sure did…I think I counted three full turns and complimented her for such a feat in the shallow waters. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with my compliment or her “move”…”Gramma, I didn’t do very well”….”Well, honey”, I replied, “you need to be patient while you practice. You’ll do better each time”.

She wrinkled her face responding “We talked about patience in KidMin. It didn’t work for me”.  (Laughter filled my body from head to toe)

“Oh baby girl….life will give you many more opportunities to learn patience”….

“Preach the word. Be ready to do it whether it is convenient or inconvenient. Correct, confront, and encourage with patience and instruction.” 2 Timothy 4:2

Indeed, patience takes a long time. At age 7 our granddaughter believed she had failed to put this wonderful virtue into practice. I can feel her anguish. At age 68 there are days I don’t want to hear the word either….whether it’s from a sermon message or a component of a daily devotional. “Waiting” is not on my top ten list of character traits…positive ones, that is. But, in the midst of my willingness to admit this character flaw, I’m also willing to acknowledge the ability to surrender my anxious thoughts and actions to God…allow Him to control, lead and guide me….to ‘encourage (me) with patience and instruction’….especially on my hardest of days…

As our granddaughter grows, we’ll need a bigger pool. I’m pretty certain she will continue to work on her “moves”…going deeper and longer under the water as depths will permit..lungs growing with greater strength…I’ll keep encouraging her as I sit near her….watching and listening to her squeals of delight….learning life lessons from her…and hopefully pass a few of my own along to her…all under the sun on a hot summer day…cooled by a small kiddie pool and  gleaning refreshment from God’s Word. Together we will “wait” for patience to be built deeper into our spirits…eyes wide open to see the results….lungs expanding to breathe in the rewards from all our hard diligence and  practice….

Where I grew up in Saginaw, the Tittabawessee River, depending on its twists and turns winding through various counties in the lower peninsula of Michigan, was and remains a beautiful part of nature.  Hidden by trees along its riverbank, the river was south of my childhood home, well within walking distance for kids. I seldom went to the river because my mother wasn’t keen on the idea. Getting there meant treading through a swamp along Mr. Rader’s farmland….or walking through tall overgrown grasses at an abandoned airfield to the west of the swamp…or along the edge of Mr. Rader’s wheat field which he frowned upon greatly. So, I think I only went out to the river in “our neck of the woods a couple of times”. Now, my brothers and neighborhood boys? That’s a different story. Boys being boys, going to the river to “spear” or “catch” fish with poles was a summertime sport. Their goal was to see how many carp fish they could snag ….careful to handle and throw back into the murky waters created in the 60s by toxic chemicals spilled into it by Dow Chemical until clean up efforts began with the corporation joining those efforts….but’s that’s the not the focal point of today’s blog.  I want to talk more about those carp.

Not a particularly pretty looking fish, part of my childhood experiences regarding this fish was being told “they aren’t fit to eat”….”they are bottom feeders”….”they are nasty”…looking at a few sites online reveals contrary facts challenging my childhood beliefs….that some countries actually eat carp as part of their cuisine…that the meat of the fish is moist and flaky. Which leads me to a childhood memory I’ve not forgotten.

Dad and I were sitting on our front porch on a hot sticky summer evening after dinner. The sun hadn’t set yet and as we were enjoying each other’s company a couple of neighborhood boys strolled by, each with a string of those carp over their shoulders. As I watched them…said our hellos…I suddenly heard all the familiar phrases in my head that dad and mom would say about the river and its carp…dirty, nasty, not fit to eat….I looked up at my dad and asked, “do you think they’re going to actually eat those!?”  In his gentle manner that taught me so many life lessons, he merely replied, “honey, those fish may be their only meal today.” Hmm. Seems maybe dad knew more about their families’ economic situation than a seven year old…no judgment. No admonishment telling them to throw the fish in the trash. 

I don’t know why this childhood memory surfaced today. Maybe it’s because now, at age 68, living in the 2000s, news headlines are reporting global food shortages. Our local resources that help families with food and pantry items are amping up their voices to fill needs beyond their shelves’ inventory….grocery prices have climbed significantly since late spring…farm production costs have skyrocketed…more folks are planting gardens and looking for ways to provide daily meals, ourselves included although we are not heavily burdened by the current economy. We are blessed….

Back to the carp….as much as I don’t care to trust that eating a carp is good cuisine…it’s great to write that since my childhood, efforts to clean the river have paid off. Years of hard work have reduced the level of toxins…the river actually freezes in some areas…and ice fishing competitions are now part of winter activities in my home city. Other fish are filling the waters….revitalization is happening….the carp still remain for “catch and release” or maybe a meal? I’m not in any big hurry to find out, but I’m grateful the river has been reclaimed and is being restored to original beauty…something everything in Creation deserves.

This photo doesn’t say which part of the river we are looking at; you can see the banks are lined with snow and patches of ice float on the water under the sun. In the 90s, my office was located in a building that sat on the riverbank. In the spring, we actually went outside to watch and listen as the ice broke in late spring, pushing huge ice chunks along the water’s flow. The power of the river and the sounds it made was fascinating, a most welcome sight to behold. And, once in awhile, the forces of the ice actually pushed a carp or two up above the water for a moment of flight in mid air, landing back in the chilly water to continue the ride out to the Saginaw Bay.

Last week–outside our small bathroom window–I heard quite the commotion at our lone bird feeder that is suspended by a shepherd’s crook type pole. The familiar chatter told me it was a blue jay. Sure enough, a large male was jockeying for his position at the feeder…maneuvering his body in all sorts of contorted moves that made me cringe merely watching him….at one point he had his feet firmly gripped to the pole trying not to slide down like a firefighter answering the ringing bell in a firehouse! It didn’t help that a night of hard rain had left the pole pretty wet. Endurance and fortitude paid off for our determined visitor and he was able to grab some seed in his beak before flying away. The flurry of action took less than a minute for him to accomplish enjoying a morning meal and gave me an image of my own antics seeking daily nourishment….

Psalm 34:8 says “Taste and see that the LORD is good. How happy is the person who takes refuge in Him!” (Christian Standard Bible)

My morning ritual includes rolling out of a cozy bed about 7:30 am…stretch and yawn….use the bathroom and then shuffle my way to the kitchen where hot coffee awaits me (thank you to an early riser husband)…settle into my recliner by our living room window…opened if the temperatures allow…kick back with open Bible and current devotional and begin my day, reading and writing in between sips of my coffee, which by the way, is always black with a splash of cinnamon….poured into a mug that has an inspirational verse on it or is tied to special holidays and seasons…

As I read. As I write. As I meditate, I often think of my fine feathered friends that come to our feeder every morning and throughout the day, rain or shine. These beautiful little creatures have come to rely on our willingness and ability to fill the feeder. They’re clever enough now to squawk like crazy when it’s empty, chewing us out for being negligent. I’ve witnessed little brawls on the feeding posts attached to the feeder along with some birds finding seed that has dropped to the ground. I’ve also noticed that one or two birds seem to become “watchmen” on the rail…their little heads turning to and fro….left to right…looking out for any enemy that might be lurking…namely the neighbor’s cat who visits sometimes….the chickens and ducks from next door who wander over, too. Somehow, our resident chipmunk doesn’t bother them. He’s happy to gather the seed they drop on the deck.

Snuggled safely into my recliner I am pursuing Psalm 34:8. I’m tasting and seeing the goodness of the Lord…His daily provision for our family is bountiful. Vegetable plants we placed in the dirt this past spring are growing nicely, producing slowly but surely. Income for us remains steady and sure…bills are being paid….prayers ebb and flow for friends…their family members…our own family….watchman types of prayer for my community, nation and world. Indeed, I can say that MOST of the time, I am happy in the Lord because I DO take refuge in HIM….

Like our feathered friends who are counting on us for daily seeds in that plastic cylinder…I am relying on God for my own needs..nourishment…encouragement…and renewed hope. LIke that blue jay fighting like crazy to hang on to the pole, I’m clinging tight to God’s Word and His promises…. Lord knows, in a world full of chaos, I…we…. all need what only He offers to those who have put their trust in Him. To ward off enemies that try to sneak up on us, He sends angels to defend and protect. He whispers in my ears and spirit little warnings, much like our tiny birds chirping signals to their friends–”danger, danger”. 

A blue jay clinging to a slippery pole is a good reminder for me to hold tight while pursuing what I’m in search of–peace, hope, nourishment, protection. The small choir of other birds chirping whether they are begging for food or sending out warning signals reminds me to surround myself with friends who have my back. Afterall, no one wants to be the victim of a sneak attack from a sneaky neighborhood cat….or lose their place at the feeder…which in my case, is the Word of God. 

A question is that part of my daily prayer journal is this: What’s happening in your life?

I must admit, it’s been difficult to write a different answer each day because if I’m being honest, most of my days are a lot alike. I get up at the same time each morning, usually about 7:30. After grabbing my first mug of coffee I make my way to the living room and settle into my recliner and get my Bible, journal and pen, cozying up with my devotion which is on an application downloaded to my phone. After finishing my devotional and writing out my prayers, any light chores that need to be done begin. On Mondays I work as a volunteer in my church office for about three hours. Then it’s back home until 3:30 when a small group of us do strength training together.

Tuesdays are dedicated to preparing for our weekly Celebrate Recovery meeting and writing my blog if I’m not bogged down with a “to do” list. 

Wednesday through the weekend are pretty much wide open to do laundry, perform light cleaning, get in two more workout sessions and go on errands when necessary.

I often worry that my life is mundane, boring, same-o same-o until I take a few minutes to reflect on the goodness I am surrounded with every day. 

Another portion in my journal is “Thank you for…..” Ah, a gratitude column. This is one that can also seem trite, however, when I remember that every good gift comes from “above”–my heavenly Father–I’m able to thank him for night’s rest…some people don’t have a safe, warm or cool, bed to sleep…my mind has wandered to displaced families in Ukraine…

I can thank God for daily provision. Hot coffee, electricity to prepare meals and right now, cool our home in the temperatures that July and August give us here in Michigan…finances to pay our utilities and other obligations….water to quench my thirst and wash away grime and sweat…wash our clothes–oh, my, sometimes I ponder just how many clothes we have…there’s people in countries who don’t have a closet full of shirts…dresses…pants…bare feet carrying heavy buckets of water for preparing meals and washing what clothes they DO have in the bank of a river.

At the top of my gratitude list is my gratefulness that our four grandchildren are being taught about God. They are learning to pray. Four year old Jacks says “thank you for our blessin’s” (our son says it’s as though he is suddenly from the south….7 year old Macklynn addresses God as “Father Jesus” and proceeds to ask that He give her family and friends as “amazing day”. Three year old Coby mutters prayers in his own toddler language and always applauds with his “yay” which is his current amen…we haven’t heard two year old Mylah’s prayers yet, but we know they are inside her and she’s a willing participant at meals and bedtime. 

So, it happens to be Wednesday morning. Monday and Tuesday are behind me, with a lot that has been accomplished and more “to do”. Laundry is in the dryer. Remnants of dirty dishes and cookware from food preparation on Tuesday are washed. A yummy variety of vegetables have been roasted to enjoy for a couple of lunches this week. Our bed is made and clean towels hung in the bathrooms.

So, what’s happening in my life? Lots of good things that don’t have to be elaborate trips to exotic places or going to a job that could be a drudge. No, I’m right where I desire to be, in our home, enjoying the fruit of working a lot of years for someone else, now employing my gifts and talents for Kingdom work…for the benefit of our home and family….reading, cleaning–ALL the “mom jobs” and waiting for  “blessins”’ big and small, for EVERY good gift is from Above.

As I scroll social media….as I listen to the daily news…I’ve arrived at this conclusion: We all need some “heart & brain medication. What do I mean by that?

I love how the Aramaic Bible in Plain English states this command from Jesus:

“’And you shall love THE LORD JEHOVAH your God with your whole heart and with your entire soul and with your entire mind and with all your power.’ This is the first commandment”

So, how does “heart and brain medication” factor into today’s thoughts? Recently, our 3 ½ year old grandson was shopping with his dad and walked by a display of medications. He told his dad “We need heart brain medication daddy”. Our son looked at the packages and made an immediate correction. “Bubba”, he responded. “That’s heartburn medicine; I’m pretty sure we don’t need that”. Later in the week our son sent me a text message describing the situation that made me laugh and make note of at the same time, in a contemplative kind of manner…noting to myself our grandson’s observation is a great lesson for me and maybe you. 

My current Bible app devotion is taking me through a daily question: Choosing Each Day, God or Self? Seems pretty accurate that our culture is living in a state of “it’s all about me”, wrapping ourselves in selfies to post on social media…making arguments in print for what WE deem is good and right….some folks attending protests waving banners and homemade signs to proclaim our stance on social justice topics…taking up arguments and debates–that from where I’m sitting–only exhaust inner strength and peace. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and place to defend what is good and right. But here’s the rub. Consider Isaiah 5:20.

Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, and put light for darkness and darkness for light, and put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter!

Here’s a second rub. WHO gets to define what is evil?  And defining what is good? I know how I would do so, but I’m fully aware when I do so I’m not in absolute agreement from everyone who would read my definitions. Because a variety of opinions and mindsets exist in our culture, I truly believe we are living in days where we all need a good dose of “Heart and Brain Medicine”…one produced by a willingness to read scripture and have God teach and speak His truth to us, rather than relying on our own thoughts and desires or what is popular in our current culture. 

In Celebrate Recovery–a program I have participated in for six years now, our first principle says “Realize I’m not God; I admit that I am powerless to control my tendency to do the wrong thing and that my life is unmanageable.” (drawn from Matthew 5:3a)

And our last principle states “Yield myself to God to be used to bring this Good News to others, both by my example and my words”. (source Matthew 5:10)

Realize. Yield. Two pretty good words for action and self evaluation. Plus, basically, I think our grandson was on to something when he said “we need heart brain medication daddy”….”Father, God, I….my friends and family….my community and the world all need a good dose of Heart and Brain medicine….Amen.”

His name is David. He’s the one who took a couple of two to become a family of three. Born July 18, 1946–in the midst of World War II–he joined the ranks of many baby boomers that would earn that title for several more years. He’s the one who immediately became the apple of his parents’ eyes and tested their parenting abilities for four years until Mark joined the family in 1950. A baby sister came along in November of 1953…he is my oldest brother. 

Much like our dad and numerous relatives, Dave had a twinkle in his eyes most of the time. Sometimes the twinkle meant he was ready to enjoy a favorite sporting event on TV or tell a cute story–sometimes from a personal experience that sounded like a stand up comedian reciting his routine. Dave had the ability to tell a story and add his own spin which made us laugh til our sides hurt. I have many fond memories of him…here are a few from my highlight reel…

• As a four year old Dave traveled by train with mom from Michigan to San Diego to visit dad who was stationed there for a while in the Navy. It was Dave who shared a chicken meal with mom in order to be frugal, and also receive extra attention…some extra food too I believe…from a conductor who was willing to engage with a little guy.
• It was David who scared mom out of her mind when he didn’t come home from kindergarten one day. The police were called. Streets were scoured. The “search party” returned to the house only to find Dave sitting on the front porch beaming from ear to ear…”Guess what, mom? I found another way home”.  She wasn’t amused, not even as the police officer whispered to her as he walked back to his car “don’t be too hard on him”. I guess Dave was proving he was creative in his own way, using his thinking skills that developed deeper over his lifetime.

• In high school years he told mom that fish was brain food, so for the solid four hours he was a freshman to a senior, she packed him two tuna sandwiches for his lunch. Every. Single. Day. Dave was an above average student so maybe the countless cans of tuna did contribute to his success?
• In junior high Dave was among the students required to take a music class where vocals were taught, performances in choir required. Unfortunately Dave did not possess a talent for being on pitch. In her mercy towards Dave she told him “you mouth the words in choir and I’ll give you an A for participation”.
• It was Dave who tried to teach me at age 9 or so how to play euchre. I can still see him face palming his hand to his forehead when I’d ask “what do I do when I have these two guys”…the Jacks….his desire to play a simple card game was one of exasperation when mom and dad weren’t around to be his opponent.
• It was Dave who learned how to make mom’s ice cream recipe from scratch on his own or slowly scorched a favorite pan used for popping corn.
• It was Dave who went to community college and needed a physical education credit, so he took up bowling. And a love affair with the game was launched. From those early classes he not only wanted to bowl, he watched the family TV set on Saturdays to watch bowling competitions. He played on several leagues for a number of years….he took me to a “pro” when I was 24 so I could get my own bowling ball drilled specifically for my left hand (we were both left handed)
• Often, while at his college classes, he’d get out mid afternoon and make the impulsive drive to visit Grandpa and Grandma Jewell in Otter Lake. In the 60s there were no cell phones so mom—wondering where he was when he hadn’t come home when expected–wasn’t surprised when the phone rang, hearing grandma’s soft sweet voice say “Ida, David’s here. We’ll feed him dinner and he’ll be home tomorrow”. Dave wanted grandma to himself for conversations about the Lord, a topic they both shared with great faith. I think he also wanted to see if he could beat her to the rocking chair that was “her spot” to relax after chores were finished.
• It was Dave who was very willing to hold newborn babies as our family expanded over years. Marrying at 19 and becoming a father a year later certainly prepared him for numerous nephews and nieces from both sides of his family.
• Dave could read a book and retain its information like Fort Knox keeps gold secure. In his 60s he enrolled in classes to become a Deacon in his church denomination. I was thrilled to attend his “graduation” ceremony.

We shared many good memories growing up as kids on Arthur Street. I was 13 when he married…14 when his oldest daughter was born. Both of those events caused me to think how “cool” I had become. I had a married brother and now I was an aunt. As we both continued to grow and mature, slowly life for both of us got in the way of our once very close relationship. My family left the area in 1989 so birthdays and holidays became our main source of social interaction…with phone conversations thrown into the mix.

As an adult, Dave experienced some hardships…there were days I know that deep sadness overshadowed the twinkle in his eyes. Admittedly, we had several disagreements that put a strain on our relationship but we always managed to recenter ourselves and not allow differences to take deep root.

In 2018, Dave became very ill. It took several weeks for his doctors to determine the cause of physical limitations. Learning from my niece that her dad had a rare brain tumor was devastating, but after a visit with Dave in the hospital, it was pure joy to see him laugh–with that twinkle–that an answer had been found and he had hope for a favorable outcome after surgery was scheduled. Unfortunately, surgery could not eradicate the growth that had invaded the brain fed by four years of tuna sandwiches and devouring books on Christian theology. Final weeks or days remaining for Dave were his calendar now as he left the hospital and took up residence in a rehab facility. Times of complete coherence eroded quickly, joined by Dave’s need for morphine to keep him comfortable. I was able to visit him on a beautiful Saturday in the fall. Although he couldn’t hold a conversation with me for very long, our connection remained, and before I left for home our hands held tight as we both whispered “I love you”. Those were his last words spoken to me before I got the call that he was “gone”.

I titled my blog intentionally as His name IS David, not was. Dave had 72 years on this side of Heaven. That’s his “was”. On October 24, 2018 he entered Heaven and IS living for eternity. He’s no longer in pain. He’s not bowling. He’s not playing cards. He may not even be reading a book. No, he’s worshiping the Lord, the Lamb, the Redeemer, the One whose book of scriptures Dave read with great curiosity for truth and assurance…the Lord he and grandma had many discussions about as he rocked in her chair…the One who holds the Book of Life with Dave’s name written in it because he put his faith in Christ at an early age. He IS my oldest brother. I love him. I miss him. I will see him again and we will worship together.

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.