As this week unfolds I am walking around with heaviness in my heart in reaction to the devastation that took place in Moore, Oklahoma due to the most horrific tornado those townspeople have experienced in the history of their weather conditions. Seeing the images on the news programs only tells part of their stories and further fuels my inability to fully comprehend their anguish and despair. In trying to emphasize and relate to their loss I am finding I am at a loss to dig into my own memories and pull something out to use as a measuring stick.

Whenever a great tragedy hits that makes the news it’s a quick reminder for me of how life is fragile, fleeting, and above all–precious. I am becoming aware that when horrible circumstances fall on someone I immediately look for the believers in the situation. Where are the people of faith? Is God sustaining them right now? Hebrews 12:2 says …”looking to Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith”….. I’m searching faces on the camera lens, and words being recorded. Is faith rising to the surface among the piles of debris and is it present in the question some are having to ask ‘is my loved one alive?’ Is hope outweighing the agony of defeat?

Several days ago I posted on my social media wall that I will never tire of waking in the morning to the songs of birds and the laughter of children as they walk to the school bus. Being able to enjoy these two simple pleasures of life is an indication of my safe and unsuspecting mornings but  my  serene early hours pale in comparison to the mornings the good people of Moore have endured since the destruction of their community. I wonder: Are there still trees for the birds to find a resting place to launch into song? Is the laughter of children on the way to school  now replaced by the drone of heavy equipment moving debris, sifting through rubble, and rescue workers breathing deeply each time a layer of a demolished wall is moved in anticipation of finding someone’s lost child? I

And yet, even though the unspeakable has happened, the loss of life and property, life has resumed for the families in Moore. In the reality of  each passing day, the immediate responses of compassion and countless helping hands will ebb and flow, much like the tides of the oceans. Days will melt into weeks giving way to passing months and the tragedy of Moore, Oklahoma will become but a fleeting memory in the hearts and minds of a watchful nation. Only those who lived through the destructive forces and the robber of precious human life will mark that moment in time in the caverns of their hearts and minds.

So, in an effort to join them in marking this eventful day, my prayer for all the affected families is that one morning they will be able to echo the words of King David in Psalm 144:9 “I will sing a new song to You, O God; on a harp of ten strings I will sing praises to You…”

Have you ever found yourself doing something you never thought possible? or attainable? That is the realization that has settled upon me recently. Years ago I was diagnosed several allergies and asthma was among the list due to: rabbits, deer, horses, and dogs. The news came when I was 21 years old and I found my life altered, mainly in the category of avoiding huge shedding dogs or puppy dander. I also thought that having allergies would limit the amount of heavy cleaning or yard work I’d be able to do as part of life’s chores as a homeowner. Woven into the mix of limitations was the thought or attempts at exercise that caused exertion (isn’t that the idea?)…

Quite a few years have passed since my original diagnosis and with the help of good medicines and improved lifestyle I have found that my tolerance for dog dander has diminished greatly but more so I have become very successful in the exercise department of life! In October of 2011 I began working with a personal trainer for strength conditioning. I’ve pushed my body to limits on various leg presses, arm machines, and ab workouts that have made me cringe under the stress of the weight and yet I have walked out of the training facility feeling victorious. Before hiring my trainer, I had begun my own routine with early morning rotations of walking, riding a bike outside, and to my surprise—jogging, all the while expecting to be limited due to having asthma. Can you imagine the euphoria I felt when I found that I COULD run and breathe without complications? Don’t get me wrong, there are days I’ve had a bit of a struggle but they are far and few between the times as I jog along the roadside enjoying a leisurely pace, or traveling into town to run on the local park’s walking track. Imagine the pride I felt when my trainer once remarked to me ‘you are an athlete…you’re in better shape than some of my younger clients that work with me.’

I’m not out to be the “best”. Rather, I’m “in it” for me. In retrospect and true humility, many ‘tomorrows’ have come and gone. You know what I mean. We’ve all said at lease once “I will begin an exercise program tomorrow…” I like to believe that in 2011 my ‘tomorrow’ arrived and although there have been obstacles along the way, in 2012 I was able to maintain a course of exercise that consisted mostly of weight training. Last summer’s extreme heat and humidity conditions upset my schedule. Happily, 2013 is giving me some beautiful spring days to enjoy being outdoors in between sessions with my trainer.

Beyond the benefits of feeling more physically healthy, is the attitude of my mind. Whether I’m pushing myself during the challenge of a new weight or telling my legs to run a little bit further, it’s my mind that is experiencing a wonderful explosion of satisfaction and accomplishment. I’m winning the battle against the lies that come with living with allergies or the challenges of growing older.

Will you see me in a marathon? Realistically, that isn’t one of my goals. But, you will see me  in July participating in a 5K, a feat I would never have undertaken in recent years. Having good people in my life to encourage me has been key in a changed minset,  the kind of friends I can go to for advice and share ideas.

What is that one thing that has become your ‘tomorrow’? I identified mine, I’ve embraced it and now I’m ‘doing’ instead of merely ‘daydreaming’. Look for me to continue on my personal athletic journey. I will gladly look for you and try not to leave you in my dust as I continue my training program.

When I made the decision to begin writing a weekly blog (article) it was my full intention to do so every Tuesday. So far I’ve been able to keep that commitment with the exception of last week (April 30) when I was asked to fill in at the office where I’ve been employed for the past 10 years. I let working that day and other activities from last week get in the way of meeting my obligation. But, not to be discouraged or distracted, here I am, back behind my keyboard with the hopes of putting together something for you to read that is charming, uplifting, humorous, or encouraging. No matter what strikes your fancy concerning my written thoughts, I am fulfilling a purpose that is deep inside of my soul. I love words, I love to talk, listen, laugh, observe, and then relay all of these memories to you.

My initial post described how I was anticipating a ‘new beginning’ in life. While that is still very true a new dimension has been added. On May 2 I worked my last day at a job that I’ve had for 10 years. When I look back on those years, I realize that I didn’t pursue the position. I kind of ‘fell’ into it and then found myself clinging onto it even when I knew at different times my departure was becoming more and more evident. I don’t have regrets for having stayed those years. The work wasn’t difficult. The joy and laughter created by serving the general public far outweighed the routine of my duties. I won’t miss the hours of typing for processing email for articles or advertising, but I will miss the surge of garage sale ads in the spring, Mr. K selling his chickens every year, Randy and his hay/straw ads–he’s a man right out of a Beverly Hillbillies episode, celebrating with young parents announcing the birth of a child, or giving a much needed hug to a family who needed extra copies of a loved one’s obituary. I will also miss the antics of the local funeral home director who upon my answering the telephone would ask in hushed tones “World Headquarters?” and then assure me he felt safer because I was on duty.

I won’t miss trying to reason with the mom who doesn’t understand why her kid’s honor roll isn’t in the paper the week she expects it regardless of other worthy news or the homeowner who is upset week after week that their ‘free’ paper wasn’t delivered on time. No, I have arrived to a place where it’s someone else’s turn to be the peacemaker.

The decision to leave this position has been long overdue quite honestly and now that it has arrived I intend to fully embrace this ‘new chapter’ in my life. With a bit of certainty I know many exciting opportunities lie in waiting for me whether they spring forth from the lives of my children, the church family that is dear to my heart and spiritual purpose, or the needs of my husband and home.

For now, there has and continues to be spring yard work to tackle, rearranging my daily schedule, and making better use of my monthly calendar. There is a sweet fragrance in the air and it has the aroma of ‘new’, of ‘fresh’ and ‘exciting’….and ‘wonder’. This newfound position of being home is akin to being first married; there is an excitement inside of me as I ponder being back in my home full-time. I have a dear friend who coined the phrase ‘being in charge of my choices’. That’s a phrase that will definitely be a guideline for me as I open my calendar each day and enjoy the luxury of choosing what gets plugged into the various activities of my life. And while I may not always know what will fill the calendar, one thing will hopefully remain constant. Hopefully you will find me at this keyboard each Tuesday, pounding out that week’s collection of words, phrases, and sentences that give you another peek into my heart, spirit, and mind.

From Greek elpis = “favorable and confident expectation”

Do you have a favorite word or emotion? When I was a child and enjoyed reading a novel I liked the word suddenly because I knew it indicated a surprising shift in the story line was coming. I like surprises. I like a mystery that is cleverly woven together with word pictures only to have the final answers to the mystery disclosed in the last few pages of a good book.

I’m not a child any more and while I still enjoy a good surprise, my focus has shifted to holding onto hope. Why? Because when I look past the boundaries of my loving and secure home, I am sensitive and aware of the chaos taking place in our nation, our world, and even within the limits of the small community that I have called home for 24 years. I admit that I’m finding it difficult not to get caught up in the anxiousness and worry brought about by the seemingly endless reports of attacks against people (big or small) or the moral decline in the lives of individuals who are worthy of a headline in a daily or weekly newspaper. It seems that I can’t turn on the television and not be bombarded with yet ‘another’ act of evil or indiscretion.

So, what do you do when you hear and read the news coming across the waves? Do you react or respond in any manner? My response is twofold. 1) I am aware that my prayer list need to grow longer and 2) I need to hang onto ‘hope’ with great fervency.  If I don’t my mind can slip down the slippery slope of despair which leads to an abiding fear and robs me of my confidence and trust that everything in my ‘world’ is okay. Another aspect of losing hope is daydreaming the ‘what ifs’ of the future that are beyond my control such as the economy, safety in my home and in our nation, and abroad, etc. For me, giving permission to the wrong daydreams is an invitation to feed my despair rather than taking action to nurture the hope and peace that I desire. My daydreams also take me back to the little girl who grew up in a home with very loving parents that made me feel safe. I’m  also able to conjure memories from those years that formed my ability to feel loved and secure and even believe that my dad was some kind of superhero who could protect me from anything. Those young years of childhood are a distant memory now which have  yielded to adulthood making it my turn now to take ownership of my own sense of protection. To find that level of secure  protection I  chose to embrace my Christian faith as the solid rock that was once my earthly father’s role. In other words, I’ve exchanged my trust in a father to that of a Father. I’m grateful for a father who instructed me in the knowledge, wisdom, and promises of my Heavenly Father. Thankful is my heart that also has sweet, precious memories of a mother who was a prayer warrior in her own right as well. Foundations of early instruction in the ways of the Lord built strong walls of faith in my inner spirit that rise up against the sadness and unexplained choices of others that create and lead to destruction all around my otherwise ‘normal’ world.

In the course of today, all kinds of people will be making choices and decisions. Many of those choices will be rooted in fear, speculation, worry, greed, jealously, manipulation, pride, evil….the list is endless. What will I choose today? What will you choose today? As I choose I know this: I may not be on the front lines of influence, however, this will not stop me from choosing hope. 

As today unfolds, followed by numerous tomorrows to come, I am clinging to hope, doing so with full confidence that my Heavenly Father, who sees all and knows all, is watching over me, a Father Who possesses a strong arm of protection that is not too short to grab me, reel me away from thoughts of despair and return me to my circle of hope.

Since establishing that Tuesday of each week would become my assigned day to write a new blog, I have hoped up to this point to be able to write  from the gifts of humor, goodness, and deep abiding faith that are part of who I am as an individual. Due to the events in the City of Boston on Monday, April 15 this will not be the underlying outline for the aches and pangs of my heart. Although those three ingredients are still very much a part of me this morning, the deeper part of me which digs into the core of my belief system is rising to surface of my soul much like cream that floats to the top of a fresh can of raw milk.

Like you, my emotions are running rampant across the stability and reasoning of this roller coaster we call life. Since seeing and hearing the various news reports coming out of Boston I admit to anger, outrage, grief, and thoughts of revenge even though no one has been arrested in connection with the two bombings. The reports we are hearing are taking us back to Sept. 11 and most recently Newtown. Comparisons are being made and I’m certain old wounds have been reopened in the lives of those affected from those two attacks with the reality of this new development. The level of fear, anger, outrage, and disbelief are present in all of these attacks and unfortunately are not new to us as a nation or as part of a global society. I am intrigued by those who ponder ‘how can this happen on American soil’ when in reality, why do we think we are immune to acts of evil? We have brothers and sisters around the world living under levels of fear that far outweigh this attack, with the exception of Sept. 11. which I believe is the “Pearl Harbor” for our current generation. I wasn’t born yet when the attack on Pearl Harbor took place, but I do remember my father telling me about that fateful day and how he believed that America never fully healed from that horrible moment in our history.

So, in the aftermath of Boston where do we go from here? I know where I’m going and that’s on my knees with more fervency asking God to root out evil and change the hearts and minds of men and women. I will not blame Him and I won’t ask “where were you God?” I already know the answer to the latter question and from that I will draw comfort as I always do in the midst of darkness. I believe He is still on the throne, He is still sovereign, He is in control, and I believe He is grieving more than you and I can comprehend. I will remember that He is the author and finisher of life and that He does not make puppets out of the very people that He created–He is allowing us to exercise free will. Anytime freedom is present, there is also the opposing force of evil.

So, in response to this horrific day, you will find me putting on my ‘knee pads’ and interceding for my community, my state, my nation, and my world. In reality I know that my prayers may not win the war, but I take great joy in winning numerous battles and taking back territory previously claimed by evil. I will also take inventory of my own life and determine where I need a larger portion of God’s wisdom, compassion, mercy, and love in order to be a life changer and not an impotent member of society. Life is precious and priceless. Knee pads, on the contrary, are inexpensive; will you join me?

I have what we jokingly refer to in my household as “label issues”. At least once a month I am guilty of not properly reading the label on a grocery item or two and I bring home an incorrect product.Yet, we are always able to use my oops purchases  in spite of my misguided intentions. I try to be careful, I really do! It’s just that when I’m shopping I don’t like the hassle of putting my reading glasses on and off as I cruise the aisles while I checkoff items on my list.

Recently a current “project” has been the painting of several rooms, all being accomplished by my husband. The living room is the last of his intended ‘putting on a fresh coat of paint or two’ which has left me the task of cleaning the drapery that adorns our window in that room. Now mind you, I paid a hefty price for those draperies and the complimentary sash that makes our window look very classy so you can bet I made sure to read the labels that are sewn into the crevices of their beauty. I didn’t want the nightmare of wrinkles, shrinkage, you-name-your-own terrible outcome! No sir, I got out my reading glasses for that chore of laundering and proper drying.  So, after exercising that bit of wisdom on my part our beautiful set of drapes are now line drying, patiently waiting for paint to dry and be rehung. i

Have you noticed that everything we purchase comes with a label? Labels are important. They give instructions. They tell us the content of a garment or the ingredients in a can of food or a  household cleaner. There’s only one thing that I can think of that doesn’t come with a label and that’s a newborn baby. We welcome our newborn into the world and it’s up to as parents to “name” the child. Greater than choosing a name for our precious gift is the responsibility to train this innocent, unbiased, unconditional lover into a person that the world will receive with respect, love, acceptance…well the list goes on doesn’t it?

But how often in the midst of our well intentions do we as mere human beings get off track and begin to react to the behavior and antics of our child and begin to ‘label’? You know what I mean. We begin using descriptive words such as “you’re lazy”, “you’re so slow”, “if only you could be like (fill in the blank)”, “you’ll never amount to much”. Unfortunately this is an exhaustive list.

This past week someone I respect very much coined this phrase: “Refuse to be defined by others”. I have made serious note of those six words. Those few words brought back a flood of memories growing up, raising my own two children, and now my daily choice of words  in every relationship that is dear to me. I want my words to encourage, not tear down. I want my words to build up, not destroy. I want my words to express love, not judgement. I want my words to convey truth, not a crafty lie to smooth over delicate circumstances.

While I joke and struggle with minor label issues, I grieve deeply when I hear some of the labels coming from the lips of those in media, national leadership, education, business, the family–just a few major categories where words are vital to the health of a person and a society. Why, I wonder, have we evolved to the level of name calling, blame shifting, speaking filth or spew insults with as much ease as it takes to spit out a watermelon seed? Furthermore, as hurtful are the ones speaking with such disdain, is the pain of many individuals allowing it to proliferate.

On Monday evening I heard a very profound statement: “I am a black man, I am not an African American. Call me an American”. I also heard: “I am a man, call me that”. Why have we labeled people on the color of their skin or their country of origin? Is it really necessary? When I tell my friends about another friend, am I required to include color of skin, hair, eyes, or how tall they are? No!

One of my favorite verses in the Bible tells me that my tongue “holds blessings and curses” which interprets that if not careful I may ‘label’ someone that doesn’t deserve the stupidity of my thought processes. Oh that everyone who truly wants our world to be a kinder and more gentle dwelling place would heed this command. Think how that could bring about good change!

Unfortunately, I cannot give ample space to express the deepest thoughts I have on this subject. Perhaps that’s a series of writings for another day. And, it isn’t my intention to get so serious that I can’t find humor in this struggle of mine. Let me leave you with a couple of labels that our children wore for awhile and how they were innocent words from childhood that followed them as they grew into their teens and beyond.

When Sarah was about 8 she began giving stuff away to friends when they came to our home. Very soon one of the little boys from our church who had been a recipient of her generousity started calling her “Sarah the Giver”. Indeed, as years passed she often exhibited a ‘giving’ spirit and remains true to that description today.

When Dan was a toddler his babysitter gave him the nickname “Mr. Fingers” because he was curious, often  stretching to grab something out of his reach. In high school he played football, was a wide receiver who needed to “grab” hold of the football when it passed to him during a key play. Today he is a successful college student, grasping the knowledge from textbooks and the structure of a work day.

Lest I end on a negative not I must state that not all labels are bad. Remember, warning labels do serve a vital purpose. But, also remember, our precious babies don’t come with a label. If they did here’s what I’d like to imagine the description to read.  “Warning: One Size Does Not Fit All. Precious gift from God. Do not Drop. Do not Speak Harshly.  Love,  Feed, Water, Clothe, Nurture, Encourage,  Train According to Bible. Allow to Explore. Allow to Fail. Celebrate Success. IMPORTANT: Unreturnable. 

Today (April 2) should be a most enjoyable day. Already the sun is shining through the window as I sit and write. Birds are helping to announce the birth of a new day. The promise of another spring season is upon us.
I am enjoying fresh brewed coffee and making plans for this glorious day.

A lunch date with a dear friend is one of my highlights of the day. Our girls are now young women, one with two children of her own now. It seems so trite to say ‘where does the time go?’ but I cannot coin a phrase of my own to describe the passing of the years. I can reach back into the caverns of memories and recall when these two little girls were happy playing with Barbies, making plans for overnight stays, walking to the party store for candy, discussing who likes who….those childhood and adolescent days are now in the rear view mirror of life.

Graduations from high school and university have been achieved, weddings planned and now the life of marriage is the current theme for these women. Hurts and disappointments entered that mix, yet healing has come and the promise of new love has settled on the horizon of being cherished. The deep bond found in a good friendship sustained the pain and celebrated the long awaited joy that comes in the morning, those times in life when ‘beauty comes from ashes’.

Having and cherishing a best friend is a gift. Sometimes one may have more than one ‘bestie’ (today’s new term) but I believe we all need at least one best friend, the kind of friend that accepts you with all of your quirks and flaws, a friend who will get in the pit of despair with you, roll around in the dirt and hurt of life and not complain the entire time–the kind of friend who will laugh with you over absolute nonsense until tears roll down cheeks, or during life’s most serious moments, offers a hug and a simple, warm profound ‘I love you’.

Yes, today, I will spend time with a bestie along with her daughter, her two grandchildren, and my daughter. We will talk about the years that have gone by, we will laugh in the moment and we will share our dreams and thoughts for the future. We won’t attempt to solve the problems in the world because we know that isn’t the definition and purpose for our grand friendships. However, if conversation does turn to current events and what lies ahead we will encourage one another with the truth and true basis of our close knit connection, that God is in control and that we give Him thanks and praise for being our Heavenly Father, for His care, protection, provision, guidance, and love. After that we will return to the simplicity and silliness of being each other’s bestie and enjoying the short time we have together today, knowing that we will soon part for the day with the hope and promise of enjoying another girls only lunch date.

As I read all of the various comments and woes on Facebook regarding the lack of spring weather in place of the current continuous cold snaps we are experiencing, I find myself not getting caught up in the anguish. It’s not that I too wouldn’t mind some warmer weather, deep inside I know that talking about the weather or even complaining about the conditions will do no good for I’m not in control of the elements. And, furthermore, a greater hope and expectation awaits me.

Depending on the calendar Easter is celebrated either in March or April. This year’s festivities will balance on the fence between the two months for on March 31st those of us who celebrate the victory of Christ’s empty tomb will gather in our respective churches and give praises to our victorious King and rejoice in the gift of salvation.

One cannot celebrate each Easter without some recollection of past Easter Sundays with family and friends. I have a photo somewhere in the pile of stuff that belonged to my parents of my brother Mark and me. We were dressed in our Easter finery, it was a beautiful sunny morning so dad took our picture outside in front of the house.

I also have fond memories of coloring eggs with my mother and enjoying the candy that she purchased for my basket. Mom took great joy in hiding our baskets even though there weren’t many secret places in our home. Nonetheless, finding the candy was a delight.

As my youngster years gave way to becoming a young adult I found myself expanding my Easter celebration with the added gift of music. By the time I was in high school and even emerging into young adulthood I was able to join the choir at our church and begin learning to sing the various Cantatas that we performed each Holy Week. The music was sometimes difficult and not always to my liking, yet each selection offered a melodic description of the passion story. Each composer we used had a unique way of setting the story to music, combining vocals and accompaniment that depicted what Christ went through on our behalf.

My Holy Week observance began on Thursday as we gathered for Maundy Thursday, remembering how Christ met with his disciples for a Passover meal and the introduction of a new covenant, the breaking of bread and the drinking of wine, to remember His blood and body. Good Friday was a more somber gathering as we reflected on the sufferings of the cross, now draped in black. But Sunday’s coming!….

It’s six am and those of us who remember sunrise services know all too well the images of the Easter cross. The black drape has given way to pure white, lilies adorn the altar and chancel, their fragrance filling the sanctuary. As worshippers rise to sing one of the many appropriate victory hymns our united voices in triumphant song push aside the earlier more contemplative thoughts of the week and death’s darkness is overcome!

I never tire of Easter. How could I? Each time I hear the scriptures of that week’s events or sit and read through the Gospel accounts as written by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John I still marvel at God’s plan to redeem mankind, to buy me back from sin, the obedience of Christ to surrender to His Father’s plan, and the course of the early church put into motion by His empty tomb and risen body.

Yes, admittedly, I desire warmer weather that the promise of spring brings. As I wait, I will set my thoughts on greater things of importance that fill my heart–the promise of the empty tomb that could not contain my precious Saviour. I will cherish hearing my dad’s voice in my mind–again–as he once told me: “Susan, Christmas is nice, celebrating the birth of Jesus. It’s like having cake. Cake is good. But, Susan, when we get to Easter, the icing is added to the cake because Easter is the true celebration.”

As we celebrate another Easter this year, I hope that beyond hunting for hidden eggs and candy, that we ponder the sufferings of the cross, the awe of the empty tomb and the victorious power of the Risen Jesus. Additionally for me I am adding in another promise yet to arrive–the return of Christ for His Bride.
Now, that’s something of great value waiting for and talking about.

Happy Easter–He is Risen, Risen Indeed!!

As Monday evenings draw to a close each week, I am aware that Tuesday morning is around the corner and that I have made a personal commitment to write on that day. I’m finding that during the last hours I am awake on Mondays my thoughts are turning to the question “what shall I write about in the morning?” So, last evening and now this morning are no different as I attempt to answer that question. I admit that I have several areas that I could share with you dear reader, but I believe that the calendar dates of this new week are dictating the topic.

As you read  this you may wonder is she going to write about the 21st marking the official beginning of spring? Or, more significantly, will she focus on the 24th which is Palm Sunday? While those are two good topics to discuss, I am choosing the 21st and 24th for different reasons today. It was on March 21, 1999  that my dear  mother entered Heaven and on March 24 2012 my father joined her for all of eternity. And if that isn’t enough to begin weaving a short writing with, my parents were married on March 24, 1945. Mom’s funeral took place on March 24, 1999.

For many years I thought of my parents as “perfection”. In my eyes they could do no wrong and I also believed that they would live forever. My head knowledge told me that this was foolishness, but my heart made me somehow believe that I’d have them with me forever. Those days of dreaming that to be true gave way to their aging, slowing down, and respective illnesses. Mom’s was cancer. I found myself in the role of caregiver the weekend she checked out of the hospital and into Hospice care in her home. She wanted to be home in order to go Home. When the imminent signs of death were upon her it was 4 am Sunday morning when dad and I were drawn to her bedside and God gave me a gift I will never forget. My loving father scooped his beloved to himself and offered this prayer: “Heavenly Father, we commit Ida’s spirit back to You…..” the prayer contained other words and phrases but this is the sentence that is etched on my heart.  Mom lived long enough for my brothers, my own family and mom’s sister to arrive in order that at 9:15 am on Sunday, March 21 we said our final goodbyes and Heaven gained a saint whose name had been recorded in the Book of Life since her commitment to Christ as a very little girl.

Dad’s end of life experience was alzheimer’s disease. He lived 3 years with this dibilitating sickness and  in early March of 2012 he too was placed in the care of Hospice in his residence care home. Selfishly I admit that I had asked God to be at his bedside when he passed but that was not to be so. On the Saturday that dad would be called Home it was my brother and his wife who had been with dad. Accompanying them was my niece and her daughter. About 8:30 pm they decided dad was comfortable and said their goodbyes for the drive back home. Jessica leaned Ainsley down to kiss Papa Jack goodnight which startled dad and as his eyes opened Ainsley put her finger to her nose and said “shhhh, night night” and they left for home. Twenty minutes after his good night kisses dad was in the presence of Heaven. That was March 24, his 67th wedding anniversary.

Proverbs 16:9 states “In his heart a man plans his course but the Lord determines his steps”. It would consume several pages to deliver the back story of how my parents met, dated and eventually married. Those are all good topics for future writing and I just may do that in the coming weeks and months. But for now I am focusing on the significance of their respective dates for being reunited in Heaven. I don’t believe in coincidence; I believe in God-incidence. I believe in the truth that my Heavenly Father knows the number of days for each life created  by Him and I believe that God has left me with a gift of sweet memories as March 21 and March 24 appear on the calendar of my heart. I also know that the little girl who wanted her parents to be with her forever is actually another truth. Their love for each other and their children is written on my heart and with greater importance they ARE living forever. The only difference is their address has changed. Each left their last home and now live forever in their permanent Home. I’m hoping mom’s has a beautiful kitchen for creating those wonderful meals we  always enjoyed and dad’s has a complete workshop to create sawdust. Oh, so that mom can sweep the sawdust into neat little piles!

Happy anniversary mom and dad. Happy Homecoming! See you soon. I love you both!

My husband and I are the proud and very pleased parents of two wonderful children. We were expectant parents living in the medical technology of seeing our babies in the womb through the lens of ultra sound, however, unlike current advances in that field, we did not know the gender of our children until they made their grand entrance into the world. Thus, our process of choosing a name for our child meant selecting a suitable one for each gender. During those early years of marriage we also had friends giving birth to their own families and found ourselves in numerous conversations that always started this way: “So, have you chosen names for your baby yet?”

The responsibility and process of choosing a child’s name can be overwhelming. After all, a name is something that stays with a person their entire life, gives shape to their character, their identify, and reputation–good or bad. How often have we shared a conversation with someone who absolutely does not like their given name?

One of my favorite stories regarding ‘names’ is  about my dad and the background of his name. Dad’s given name is Ira Wilbur Jewell. However, the only time he was ever addressed as Ira was in a medical setting. At all other times he was called “Jack”. He was given that nickname based on school records that indicated he was “John Jewell” from his early years concluding with graduation from high school. Verbal family history states that when he was born their was a strong disagreement over what he would be named. Grandma Morris wanted another “John” in the family, dad’s own mother wanted him named “Ira” in honor of a favorite school teacher. Both won in a sense I guess. But back to “Jack”. In the short few years after high school graduation dad found himself in need of his birth certificate so he made the trip to Reed City to obtain just that. There was a slight glitch in the process when the clerk looked up his information. It seems that no male child by the name of Ira was recorded for Oct. 15, 1921. There was, however, a female child recorded. Her name was “Irene”. The anguished clerk (as I was told by dad) looked at him, chuckled, and said, ‘Well, you really don’t exist. You can choose whatever name you want. What is your name?” Dad’s response was most likely laced with his own humor when he would have told the clerk “I graduated high school as John, I’m always called John, Johnny, or Jack, but I know my mother named me after a favorite schoolteacher, so out of respect for my mother, my name is Ira Wilbur.” He and the clerk were able to conclude that the country doctor responsible for providing birth information to the county clerk simply could not remember the gender of the baby that Clarence and Sadie birthed that fall day, let alone the correct name.

As a little girl I always heard my dad called Jack, regardless if we were at home, out in the neighborhood and nearby businesses that he dealt with on a regular basis, church, family gatherings, or his workplace. As time passed, giving way to growing older and dad becoming a great grandpa he received a new name by my great nephew–“Papa Jack”. He loved this new name and took every opportunity to grow into it and fully embrace the tenderness in which it was given.

Dad is gone now but his legacy of names lives on in our hearts, especially mine. In the process of cleaning out his home and bringing home a lot of paperwork I have been enjoyed seeing documentation for Ira, Jack, and John. There is one item that I found that always brings a smile and tears every time I pick it up and read. It’s a letter from my mother to dad written on Aug. 14, 1945. It starts out “Dearest Jack”….the war that separated them for too long had ended.

Names indeed are important and certainly do make for interesting conversations in the course of our lives. This man whom I loved beyond description was Ira, John, Johnny, Jack, and Papa Jack. But to me he was  simply “dad” and sometimes “daddy” when my tender heart needed reassurance that he could correct the hurtfulness of the world around me, to show up in the midst of whatever mess I found myself in and be my knight, rescue me, offering hope and encouragement.

So, as I share this bit of family history with you today, I sit here doing so with a smile on my lips and a bounce in my spirit. In view of the fact that dad had put his trust and hope in Jesus Christ there is another name by which he is called. On the day dad accepted Christ he received a new name, one that is recorded in the Book of Life, written by God Himself and the great joy and mystery of that promise is that no one this side of Heaven knows what that name is or how it sounds. No matter–the mere essence and assurance of knowing this truth is good enough for me.  I have a new name waiting for me as well. I know my name is further down the page from dad’s, but for sure–it’s there, recorded for all of eternity. I’d like to think that God smiled the day He wrote “Jack, you’ve had several names but from this day forward you shall now be known as _______.”