When we turn a calendar page from September to October, we are bombarded–in a humorous way–with all things “pumpkin spice” or “apple”. Whether it’s a coffee from a local coffee shop to baked goods, there’s something fun and special about the arrival of our fall favorite delicacies. Personally, I enjoy the flavors both fruits offer so I can’t pinpoint which I prefer.

If you follow me here regularly, you know that I have gleaned many beautiful memories from my Grandma Jewell. I was fortunate to have her in my life for 14 years but much of what I “know” about her has come from memories shared from my dad and his siblings. With Thanksgiving soon approaching I fondly remembered something that happened with Grandma and homemade pumpkin butter.

Life during the depression was very difficult across America and no different for my grandparents struggling to eke out a living on their farm in northern Michigan. The family always had a milking cow or two, but for some reason Grandma faced a stretch where she didn’t have cream to make butter. She did have some pumpkins which she turned into “pumpkin butter”. After all, she needed “something” hungry bellies could slather on her homemade bread.

She and grandpa had an occasion to entertain a male guest at their dinner table. Grandma was embarrassed that she didn’t have any butter to serve, yet she still placed bread on the table to accompany the meal. As coincidence would have it, their guest began reminiscing about his favorite foods. Low and behold he was quoted as sharing “boy, I sure do love pumpkin butter…..” “I haven’t had any in a very long time”.

“Hold on”….Grandma got up from the table, returning from her pantry carrying a huge bowl of pumpkin butter! “Enjoy!” she told him.

His simple memory of a favorite food was what it took to break through her embarrassment and pride, an action that brought joy to both.

I think there are many times we miss a blessing when we allow our fears, embarrassment, or pride to overshadow living authentically. I think of friends who live in big houses as well as smaller ones. Years ago I was jealous of a friend whose home was much larger than ours, complete with an inground pool. After visiting her I was envious for a few weeks until God reminded me that although she and her family had a large spacious home, they were missing one important thing in life. They didn’t have relationships with Jesus. The aftermath and new awareness that resulted from my visit changed my perspective on what truly matters in life.

Yes, I love “all things Fall”–pumpkin spice, apples, falling leaves, changing colors of trees, the fragrance of wood fires in our neighborhood. In a mere few weeks we will all celebrate Thanksgiving where a spirit of gratitude will hopefully be the centerpiece of tables laden with delicious foods.

I’ve never had pumpkin butter in all honesty. Maybe I need to change that and search for a recipe…make a “huge” bowl and serve it with confident joy to all who grace our home with their presence!

September is National Recovery Month, a time to celebrate the achievements of those in recovery and raise awareness about substance use and mental health disorders. Through the whole of September, we honor the resilience of individuals overcoming addiction and advocate for the continued support and resources necessary to foster hope and healing. (Credit: growtherapy.com)

No one should have to face their pain alone. We are a grace-filled community of strugglers who courageously enter this safe and beautiful space to get honest about our pain, and the negative ways we may see ourselves, God, and others. In this process, we come to accept that some of the habits we have developed to escape our pain may have hurt us and those close to us. It is a biblically based approach to help us achieve long lasting recovery by healing our hurts, guiding us toward new healthy truths, and developing life-giving habits. (Source: Celebrate Recovery National Website)

There you have it. September is officially recognized as a time to bring recovery needs and struggles out of a person’s darkness and into light that gives healing, release, and most of all–freedom and hope.

For the past few weeks I wrote about observing a sabbath break in our work; I also emphasized that when we choose to follow Christ and receive His plan of salvation we become sons and daughters of God which is our TRUE identity. For too long, there’s been a false impression that once a person becomes a Christian all their problems magically disappear and life is eternal utopia. That false pretense is a lie from the very pit of hell. Although Jesus actually tells us that He came to give us an abundant life, He also reminded us that “in this world you will face many trials”. Trials produce time consumed by hardships, illness, losses, disappointments…and when we face any situation we have but one question to ask of ourselves: Will I give up or will I fight?

At Celebrate Recovery, we choose to lay down denying our problems–many of our own doing–and surrender to learning how to change, how to find hope, how to live in peace in spite of life’s struggles. How do we do this? One of the best ways is to hear from folks who have begun to leave past hurts behind, dig deep into how bad habits and damaged emotions took over living a peaceful joy filled life.

This week, Sept.. 17, at the Fowlerville Celebrate Recovery group you are invited to come hear Erica’s testimony. She came to CR to work on her self-worth, anxiety, fear, anger, and codependency in relationships. She will talk about the effects of an alcoholic and abusive father, his abandonment of her following the divorce of her parents, how she was bullied in middle school. Erica includes in her story the effects of postpartum depression until she sought medical assistance for panic attacks.Thankfully, her story doesn’t end in a sea of negative circumstances–after working the 12 steps of CR she and her husband have been blessed with a new church family, with jobs that provide well for their needs, and above all–a healthy thriving spiritual life!

Through Celebrate Recovery’s ministries worldwide, Jesus is in the business of changing people’s lives! While CR helps with ALL struggles, it’s been our goal for the past several years to bring mental health awareness into the light of Christ, to encourage people not to live in shame or embarrassment if they or a loved one suffers from some form of  unhealthy mental well-being.

Our group often hears that local resources are greatly over extended in their efforts to provide services for individuals and families who are in need of help. Although Celebrate Recovery is NOT a substitute for professional help, we ARE a safe place to become part of a group of like minded people working together to achieve wholeness in individuals, families, and our community.

Our CR group meets every Tuesday at 7 pm following a meal which is served at 6 pm.

In addition, children ages 5 through 5th grade may participate in Celebration Place while their parent(s) attend the adult program. Kids get their own time to hear a short lesson and have an opportunity to talk about their feelings while learning helpful coping tools for healthy minds.

If you’d like more information about Celebrate Recovery, you may call Fowlerville UB Church at 517.223.9490; they will put you in touch with me or email: celebraterecovery@fowlervilleub.org. 

Identity: The condition of being oneself or itself, and not another. (Dictionary.com)

Or according to Webster: The distinguishing character or personality of an individual”.

We are living in a culture that is heavily persuading us to believe that our identity comes from “what we do” or “our position in society”. Admittedly, in my teens and young adult years I chased after the very things I thought would give me great definition, those very undertakings that I now see as running after foolish goals.

As I’m moving through my study on “The Sabbath”, this week’s teaching focused on “identity”. Too often, we define ourselves as “what we do”–teacher, office worker, physician, engineer, accountant, software analyst, bus driver, research technician, architect, finance officer…the list of professions and employment opportunities is quite extensive. EVERY job or career has value and holds potential for great personal growth and satisfaction. Yet, the results of reaching personal goals is not how God defines you or me. On the contrary, He isn’t interested in what you “do” regarding employment; He’s after your heart. He wants you to identify as His child when you come into a relationship with His Son, Jesus Christ.

We read about the Hebrew nation in the Old Testament Book of Exodus who were living under Egyptian rule, making bricks during long work days. If we were to apply the world’s definition of finding identity in “work”, then we could say the Israelites were brick builders. Indeed, that’s the work they were doing, but it isn’t an accurate description of their worth and value to God. In His eyes, they were His people and eventually their freedom comes out of miraculous events by raising up Moses and his brother Aaron to lead them from captivity. 

I need to fully understand, and so do you, that “God’s work isn’t defined by His work” (Walking the Text, Brad Gray) Furthermore, you and I are “not our work”…”you are not what you produce”.

If I were to apply my former thoughts of who I was in my 20s and even up to now at age 70, and also factor in a variety of jobs I held, well my identity list would look like this: Children’s Zoo Employee *Receptionist *Administrative Assistant *Management Trainee *Office Clerk *School Board Member *Direct Sales Rep *Serving Roles at My Church

A good read to further cement an understanding that believers in Christ are sons and daughters of God can be found in the book of Galatians, specifically chapter 4. Honestly, I had been feeling flat in my relationship with God for a few weeks. Although I stayed committed to reading scripture, praying and serving, I felt empty until my own pastor taught from this chapter last week. If you’d like to hear his message you can find Fowlerville UB Church sermons on our Facebook Page or YouTube. (Look for Sept. 1, Pastor Eric Griffon)

It breaks my heart–and I can trust it hurts God too–that too many people are getting caught up in false identity definitions. It’s time we find worth and value in what God says about us and not our culture’s loud voices bombarding us with lies. So,  who does God say you are? Here’s a few definitions straight from scripture to encourage you:

• You are His beloved child
• You are chosen
• You are a holy temple
• You are made in His image
• You are valuable
• You are His friend
• You are forgiven
• You are redeemed

What I didn’t tell you earlier in this week’s column, that when I was a little girl watching Saturday morning television, Roy Rogers was my hero. I wanted to grow up and be like him. My dream didn’t last long when my hopes of getting a horse were shattered because after all–we lived in the city! In junior high I had great aspirations to become an author. So far I’ve had fun and privilege writing for personal enjoyment and teaching Bible studies over the years. The latter is PART of “what I do” but it doesn’t define who I am.

Hello, my name is Susan, and I’m a daughter of the Most High God. My decision to follow Christ 45 years ago redefined my identity. What He did for me He can do for you! If you’d like to know more about having a relationship with God, please call my church office at 517.223.9490; they will put you in contact with me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last week I introduced brief information about my Hillert Family which is from my mother’s side. Myself and my cousins are what I would call “second generation born in America”. You see, my grandparents immigrated to America in the early 1900’s, three years apart. Their oldest child, my Aunt Natalie, was born in Germany; she was three years old when she accompanied grandma for their voyage here to join my grandpa. He had already established himself in Saginaw, Michigan working for a railway company as a mechanic. The cousins I mentioned who attended lunch–Arnie and Otto–are her two children. They are the oldest in our cousin group and they have a sister who I haven’t seen in many years.

When writing a book, each chapter tells a different aspect of the story. Once my grandparents were reunited, living on Saginaw’s east side of the river, they had six more children. My mother was the “baby of the family”. I loved hearing her tell me about her sister Natalie, she adored her. Natalie died the year I was born. I was only a few months old at the time my parents took me to her home so she could “meet me”. I grew to love this aunt through my mother’s memories and now, as I’m with Arnie and Otto, their beautiful recollections of their mother are helping me to grow even fonder.

Another chapter in our book, describes my Aunt Kate. She’s the mother of Will and Barbara, who still live in Saginaw. Kate met Uncle Bill in the 40s, after the war had ended. Often, my parents entertained them in their first home as a married couple and when dad drove Kate home, she asked to be dropped off a few blocks away, never fully explaining why other than saying “I prefer to walk the rest of the way”. Kate was meeting Bill in secret, living in fear if their relationship was discovered. Uncle Bill was from the deep south and his skin was as black as coal. Soon, their relationship turned from merely dating to marriage. The union was accepted by my grandparents….my mother’s siblings were split concerning their own ideals. Fortunately, as I look back on all those years, I had parents who accepted Kate and Bill’s courageous decision to marry. As a child I can remember going to their home and playing with Will and Barbara. I can even recall telling my neighborhood friends “I have cousins who are black” and they didn’t believe me.

I wish I could tell you that Kate and Bill’s time as husband and wife was perfect. It wasn’t. Living during the 50s through the 70s weren’t the most welcoming times for what we always called an “inter-racial” marriage. I don’t know all their challenges or heartaches, but my reconnection with Will, Barbara, and Will’s children, have allowed me, have shown me that much love and tools for living as a good person were taught to them, exactly as I was raised.

During one of my visits to Saginaw, I had time to sit alone with Will and Barbara and we talked about their lives, their ethnicity … .two individuals born of a black father and a white German mother. Both my cousins have complexions that are very light brown. Barbara looks more Hispanic and Will actually could pass as mediterranean. It’s interesting how God takes genes and creates something beautiful no matter the color on the palate. Another beauty of our rekindled relationships is our ability to ask hard questions such as “what was it like having parents such as yours?” “Tell me about the prejudices you have endured.” Their answers were raw, honest, and eye opening, often under tears that welled up as I listened. In spite of their experiences, I’d honestly say that they aren’t bitter, except Barbara. Her hurts have left some lingering wounds that only God can heal and hopefully feeling new found love from family she hasn’t seen in years. 

Now, when those of us who are able to gather around a big lunch table, we are getting reacquainted. We are trying to fill in the gaps carved out from empty years of being apart from each other. We hug and kiss one another on the cheek, me reaching up to my six foot second cousin Brandon…telling each other “I love you” as we say our goodbyes. 

I think back to Aunt Kate meeting Uncle Bill “in secret”, the man she chose to love, doing so at risk of disapproving eyes. I contrast that to us Hillert cousins opening embracing one another during a lunchtime date. Some of us are very fair complected while others are quite dark. One set of genes traveled an ocean from Europe. The other set of genes possibly came from another continent in past generations. Africa? I don’t have a clue, but nonetheless that DNA is present. We are unique and we are loving and the best part? We don’t need to connive to meet in secret and no one has ever given us a second glance or questioned our relationship, obvious differences and all.

I think my parents would be proud. I think Aunt Kate and Uncle Bill would be happy, too. I’m thankful for my parents who raised me to love my family and I’m grateful for the courage of Kate and Bill who gave me some pretty cool people to enjoy life with!

At their last home she and grandpa lived in, she continued to have a variety of small garden areas for flowers and vegetables. Grape vines lined the border of the driveway, berry bushes crowded an area outside the front door to their small home. Fruit trees provided ample goods for fresh pies and jams also providing for great climbing when we visited on Sunday afternoons. A small greenhouse stood in the back of their home and I can still smell the dirt in my lungs, and see all the new plants on crude benches. Next to Jesus and love of family, anything a garden could produce brought sheer joy to my grandmother’s humble heart.

By the time all the children were out of the home, years of early mornings on the family farm and late nights spent in prayer for her family, began to take a toll on grandma’s health, especially her eyes. Slowly, her vision began to blur, even behind glasses. Her aging body moved more slowly now and walking on uneven ground was a concern to grandpa. So, he got her a little brown pup to become a companion to be her “eyes” and “steady her feet”. Fitting to his color, they named him “Brownie” and though he never attended obedience school or any other formal training, somehow Brownie “knew” his purpose. Whenever grandma went outside to check on plants, to walk among her flower beds, he was right by her side, quick to keep her steady or even chase off a rabbit or snake.

Brownie’s love for grandma, his dedication to her, causes me to ponder that everyone needs people in their lives who come alongside us. Some may be part of our lifetime, others enter for brief stretches in order to meet a need or teach a lesson.

I’ve been fortunate to have a variety of mentors in my own life, those individuals who God placed in my path for wonderful reasons. I think of Verne, a choir director I sang under at my home church in Saginaw. I was in my early 20’s when he began directing our adult choir and he recognized my “voice” and asked me to consider solo work, which I quickly said “no”. I’ll never forget when he said to me “Let me take you to lunch and talk about why you need to be performing solo work”. I clearly remember thinking “at least I’ll get a nice free lunch”. But Verne and God. In the course of under 60 minutes Verne prodded and poked through my fears and excuses and I agreed to give solo work a try. Those first attempts brought out nerves I didn’t know I had, proved that I could perform without throwing up (even though I wanted to) and gave me another outlet for worship and praising God.

When we moved to Fowlerville, I met Janet at the first church we attended. She invited me to a women’s Bible study, took me under her wings so-to-speak and invested countless hours of her own time to call me, invited me to Christian functions, ask me hard questions, and most importantly, taught me how to pray with more confidence and faith through some hard times in her life and mine.

“Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of a friend springs from their heartfelt advice.”  Proverbs 27: 9

What a simple beautiful verse from Proverbs that allows me to visualize grandma on a daily stroll in the gardens of her backyard…smelling all the fragrances from blooming flowers and ripening berries…the joy she was feeling in the moment…feeling secure in her Savior’s love and the protection of a little brown dog.

Grandma died when I was 14. Gramp lived for a while in that last small home they shared together until health concerns caused him to move in with one of my aunts. Brownie went to live on an uncle’s small gentleman’s farm in Millington where he was able to live out his last few years lazing on the lawn or wandering through the barn. Old age caused him to slow down, too, something every living creature experiences. He had lived out his purpose and when it came time, he, too, was given final rest. 

Verne died a few years ago, quite unexpectedly. Sadly, I’ve lost track of Janet. Though they are no longer part of my daily life, the lessons, encouragement and memories from their friendship still remain strong in my memories and endearing to my heart. Their “heartfelt advice” has grown a garden of faith I embrace every day.