What to do when my writing mind is blank. Empty. Nada. There’s NOTHING coming to mind to write about on a cold sunny day here in mid Michigan. Earlier in the morning, I was under the supple caring hands of my massage therapist who knows that I write a blog post every week and he asked me “what are you going to write about this week, Sue?” I responded “I have no clue”. Bryan laughed and quickly suggested that I could always put together an article describing all the wonderful conversations we have while he performs his magic on my tough joints and muscles. Most folks don’t chat much during a massage; I guess I’m an exception.

 Bryan is a very interesting young man, married with three daughters. He’s former military and enjoyed a past career as a personal trainer. He’s also an avid Civil War historian and has participated in reenactments of several battles along with being an extra in a movie about those years in our nation. Bryan knows world and political history, too, which impresses me immensely because my brain doesn’t hold onto details like his kind of mind. We try to keep our conversations “light” during my monthly massage appointment with him, but inevitably we spend at least 30 minutes trying to figure out and solve the angst we share from reading current news headlines or listening to media reports. Before you think all those conversations are the center of our connection with one another, I need to point out there’s so much more that we enjoy about each other. 

If I had a cheerleader, I think  it could be Bryan. I mean, every time I walk through the doors of the massage clinic, he’s waiting for me…to greet me with a big smile and warm hug. He’s been my therapist for over a year now and we hit it off immediately. Bryan knows that as a guy he’s in a minority giving massage to women and from my very first experience to this morning’s, he always thanks me for trusting him…he always describes what he needs to do and “get to” in order to bring release to a tight muscle….and he’s the only guy I don’t chastise for calling me ma’am about 15 times in the span of an hour. His integrity and level of respect is a breath of fresh air in a society where not many people even hold doors open for a stranger these days. When he talks about his wife and their three daughters, the love in his voice changes. His devotion, care, and concern for them is always reflected in how he talks about “my girls”….

Bryan and I have discussed a broad range of topics…God…the science of massage…the different wars our country has fought…the media…Covid…family…politics…living in a small town…being a positive person in hard times…we’ve pretty much covered it all. He has opened up and told me things about himself that otherwise  might be kept silent in his own memories but it’s apparent as much as I trust him, he is trusting me.

I guess it’s apparent that I took Bryan’s suggestion and wrote about our relationship! While it’s humbling to hear that he tells me EVERY Tuesday how happy he gets when he sees my name on the schedule, the feelings are mutual. I always look forward to my time with Bryan and not because of the work he does on my body but how he sincerely makes me feel valuable to him as a person and not only a client. I think that’s the kind of feeling most people crave when establishing a connection with a professional i.e. their doctor, dentist, stylist…..yup, Bryan makes me feel comfortable–important–valued–respected–and sees me as a source of knowledge, wisdom, trust, and encouragement. Little did I know that when I agreed to have “the new guy” perform my monthly massage that I’d be in a place of feeling lost if he’s not working the week I come in, which has happened two or three times this past year. Covid. Quarantines. His family vacation to Disney in January….he’s back! I’m back! And our “deep” conversations have resumed along with hitting those tight spots with some extra “deep” work of their own. 

I think everyone needs a Bryan. If you’re in the Fowlerville area, hit me up and I’ll make the connection. You can enjoy Bryan, too, except on Tuesday, mid month or so at 9 am. That’s our time….

Name your ambitions! This morning, when I opened my current Bible devotional to enjoy, that was one of the declarative statements being made by the author of the series “Dream Big”. Who doesn’t like to dream big things? Who doesn’t want fame or fortune? Who doesn’t want a place of prominence in their community or to be famous for something. Is life about more than those things? Especially as we leave childhood  innocence behind and  walk into adulthood with hopefully more wisdom, knowledge, and an awareness of how God has gifted us with talents and resources? Scripture certainly gives us a glimpse at what kinds of people will always be among us and what our response should be. (See Matthew 25: 34-40)

Who doesn’t want to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit those who are in prison or have become widowed…needs are all around us with endless opportunities to be someone’s answer to a prayer of desperation. Let’s face it, life is hard for all of us sometimes. But, on the flip side, maybe you’ve never known hardship. If that’s you, well, hallelujah! Because our communities are full of people with needs that go beyond what a mere glance at their circumstances often reveals. I love how Deuteronomy 15 instructs how to help the poor among us…”do not be hardhearted or tightfisted toward them. Rather, be open handed and freely lend them whatever they need.” Later, “give generously..do so without a grudging heart…”.

My ambitions from my younger adult years were pretty selfish. I wanted the perfect husband, large home, wealth, ability to travel, great profession, kids….How those ambitions turned out is a topic for another day. Let’s just say being selfish and self centered didn’t land me everything on the list. But God. Fast forward to where I’m at NOW–age 68–a whole lot smarter, wiser, and less selfish/self-centered (well, let’s say I’m a work in progress on that) and my ambitions have changed. Oh, I do have a near perfect husband. Our home is very modest. We HAVE traveled and plan to embark on more journeys. I had some great years in a variety of work careers; our kids are also near perfect and have given us four REAL cool grandkids. Our wealth? We’ve lived in feast and famine. Famine caused us to take a real honest look at how we used our money and after about three years of applying Dave Ramsey’s tools for how we use our money, we became debt free! In March of 2020 we paid off our mortgage, thus freeing up that monthly payment to be used for other things! Fortunately, God yoked two people together who want to be generous givers, so since 2020 we’ve been able to feed hungry families, help pay utility bills, and cover miscellaneous expenses for friends in need. All these things are good–and hopefully we continue to see more opportunities to help–but deep down I know there is more that God may ask me/us to do for our community and world…

In the closing paragraph of todays’ devotion Goff wrote: “When you start to acknowledge and name the ambitions that are rumbling around inside you, they open up a new vista of what life was meant to be–full of passion and purpose”. When I read that over and over and over, I am able to release my childhood dreams and replace them with new ones–this time ones that include the hungry, the naked, the poor, the widowed, the prisoner…using resources provided by God my Provider. Proverbs 21: 5: “The plans of the diligent lead to profit as surely as haste leads to poverty.”  I don’t know about you, but I’m planning to push into plans that are diligent all while keeping my eyes and ears wide open for people to serve. 

This morning I find myself tucked inside one of my favorite kind of days. I’m home. Though the sky is gray and the temperature is a low 32 degrees, a gentle snowfall is taking place outside my window. Tree branches and shrubs are sagging under the weight of the snow’s heaviness. Yesterday’s tracks through the yard along with muddy patches from previous warmer days are now covered over with a blanket of fresh, pure white flakes, creating yet another picturesque scene suitable for a calendar photo. Kids in our community and surrounding areas have been delighted to hear a “snow day” declared for suspension of attending school. They are in a happy place I’m sure; I know that I am. Though I don’t have anywhere to be today, I am most happy to be home and enjoy not only the beauty of a “snow day” but pause to take a moment and consider those things that give me joy. Another word to substitute for joy is gratitude or thankfulness.

Years ago, I learned the importance of taking time to reflect on what I could be grateful for each day, week, month, or passing year of my life. Obvious things include a home, food, family….while those are indeed important, I like to challenge myself to look beyond the most common things in life and dig deeper to add other items or circumstances to my daily gratitude list–to find joy in big or small occurrences of life. Such was the case the past several days…let me give you a glimpse….

Over the weekend I heard the familiar text notification on my phone. When I opened the message it contained a photo from a dear friend. She had made a snow angel in a beautiful pristine area of her yard. Along with the photo was a lighthearted challenge that stated “your turn”. We are both in our 60s, living life a little bit more stiff and sore around the joints, but our spirits are contrary to society’s message that we “are old”….(I need to make my snow angel soon!)

This past Sunday we visited our son’s family for a couple hours and I spent most of it sitting on the floor with our two grandchildren, ages 3 and almost 2. We looked at a magazine of wild animals together, played with Play Do, changed diapers on several babies, worked on puzzles, and I got at least three shots in my arm. I don’t get up from sitting on the floor very gracefully compared to much younger years, but the fun while down there was totally worth the effort getting up on my feet when it was time to return home. Perhaps, my greatest moment of feeling swelled up with overflowing joy, was catching from the corner of my eye, how our son “looked” at his precious beautiful daughter as she toddled by us in the room, chatting away using all her new words. His “look” didn’t need words to describe his love for her….I think most people know exactly what I’m talking about, right? When I saw that quick, brief connection his eyes made when gazing at her, I melted.

Last evening our granddaughter, who will turn 7 in April, called me via FaceTime to show me her new “workout” leotard. She’s been performing cartwheels and head stands in living rooms across family lines for over a year. Her mom, our daughter, finally located a studio near their home to take her to (report on that later!) and see if she’s a candidate for professional instruction. Hopefully all those cartwheels and other physical feats on her purple workout mat and hardwood floors will give her the payoff she’s been asking for this past year.

These–and so much more–have given me much joy as I was caught up in each moment. Joy was accompanied with gratitude that filled my heart, soul, mind, and spirit. The best part? They didn’t cost me anything other than time, being available, connecting, and appreciating how memories are created using basic methods….talking and laughing….being outside in God’s beauty….watching little children find pleasure in toys and athletic ability…but above all witnessing their desire to be with gramma or show her “my moves, watch this gramma!”

Today, the snow can continue for as long as it needs or desires. I’m tucked inside where it’s nice and warm. We have lots of options for hot beverages to warm the insides as the new snow piles and covers the ground below. My connection to the outside world is low on my list today; I am content to reflect on the past several days that filled my gratitude tank. I’ll find a few things to do around the house, take time this afternoon to relax under a throw blanket while sipping on tea or hot chocolate, and wait….wait for more joy to come my way. Wait for another play day with grands. Wait for another FaceTime call to tell me ALL about showing “my moves”….

Last week I wrote about the rocking chair that belonged to my grandmother, a cherished sitting place for her and anyone visiting her humble home. I have no doubt that many prayers–other than the ones offered on bent knees at her bedside–were uttered while quietly rocking in between household chores.No matter,  wherever grandma was, Jesus was with her, as a constant companion, provider, and strength on days that her eyes were weak and body aches tried to steal her joy.Today, I want to share how grandma viewed the importance of observing the sabbath. When I got old enough to begin being interested in dad’s life growing up on “the farm”, actually sitting still long to listen as he relayed story after story of memorable times, the recollection of attending church came to his mind. I never tired of hearing him repeat…..”Wherever we lived (the family moved several times from upper to lower Michigan) Mother took us kids to the closest church, always within walking distance.” There was no car, no truck…maybe one of the older boys could use the wagon and team of horses? I don’t recall that mode of transportation being included in the story’s description. Not only did the church need to be close by, it also had to be a Bible believing church. On one such occasion that Grandma Sadie was able to “get to church” my dad, Jack, was lovingly admonished “you can’t go with us today, Jack. You have no laces for your shoes.” He was left behind while the older siblings made the trek with her to the small church. In tow would have been Virgil, Joy, Lyle, Russell. 

Something you need to know about my dad is that he was quite the stinker as a boy, very clever, and wasn’t about to be left behind while his family enjoyed a morning of worship and Bible teaching. No sir, he used his ingenuity and found binder twine out in the barn and fashioned a pair of laces to hold his shoes together. Grandma said he looked so proud marching down the center aisle of the church to join her in the pew. Aunt Joy wanted to hide under the pew because of her embarrassment! I can close my eyes and see him at age 4 making his way to the family, a grin on his face from ear to ear….

I’m pretty sure binder twine was a staple tool in grandpa’s barn.

Not the actual pair of shoes Jack would have worn, but I’m quite 

certain very similar to the hand-me-down pair he would have

worn as a poor little boy in the 20s.

As dad would continue to tell the story about attending church, he always added there many Sundays when that wasn’t possible. Someone may have been sick. Maybe the weather held them home. Whatever the reason, any hindrance was never allowed to interfere with reading scripture and spending time in prayer. On those occasions, the small farmhouse living room became church. All the children were required to attend, sitting in a circle at her feet,  Bible in her lap, grandpa seated in a chair with his arms folded across his chest. Ironically, he was not a willing participant in “home church” but if any one of the children–especially the boys–were reluctant to join their gathering, gramp played the “do as I say card”….Grandma would read and lead her children in prayer, always with a joyful and grateful attitude for every good gift provided to the family by Him.

I know my grandmother’s Bible was well worn. I cannot vividly recall seeing her 

actual Bible; I remember grandpa (after becoming a Christian) knew all her

favorite passages which were included in her funeral. 

Fast forward from the family farm established in the 20s to today, another set of 20s, but this time wrapped in blankets of modern technology. Our communities now offer numerous church options, some small, and others referred to as “mega” size. My generation has the privilege of driving any distance we desire to attend a church of our liking. Yet, in rural areas the ability to walk to a nearby congregation still exists for those who prefer a smaller, more intimate worship experience.  Adding to our “no excuses” to be part of Sunday morning services, we can now “livestream” a message which became a huge blessing in 2020 when our communities were shut down/locked up to prevent the onslaught of the Covid 19 virus. My husband and I “tuned in” week after week to be part of our church family…sing with our worship team..and hear God’s Word from our pastor. All from the comfort of our home. 

At first, I grumbled about not being able to physically “go to church”. Soon, I didn’t mind that I didn’t have to change from jammies to day clothes if I felt lazy. Though I missed singing with lots of people, I came to enjoy listening to our praise team, eyes closed, soaking in the beauty of each song. During the sermon I still had my Bible and pen, my journal nearby for note taking.

Today, I’m pondering how “living room church” compares between my dad’s youth in the 20s to my life now in the new 20s….making the effort to be with church family remains…owning and using a well worn Bible is essential….God truly can make a way for us to be part of community when it’s our priority. None of us may never need to hunt down some binder twine to hold old shoes together….or sit on a hard cold floor at the feet of a parent….but hopefully to those of us who truly love the Lord, we would consider making those sacrifices so that we, too, can learn what it means to be joyful and grateful in all of life’s circumstances. After all, some day we ALL will have the glorious opportunity to sit at the feet of our Savior!

So, when you find yourself on any weekend contemplating about making it to church or not, remember how many of our excuses have been removed….if you don’t own a Bible I’m pretty sure you own a smartphone. And guess what? There’s an app for that too!

Having God’s Word at our fingertips is available in the App Store!

From my living room to yours, may you accept the invitation to join your family in worship this weekend, whether in person or via livestream. Wonder what my grandparents would think of how far church has come…..

Nestled in a corner of the living room of a simply built home of cement block, plaster walls, and worn floors sat a beloved rocking chair. It’s frame was adorned with many nicks and scratches;  the cushion on its seat was misshapen from all the fortunate loved ones who had a chance to sit in the old chair and enjoy the soothing lull it offered as it rocked back and forth amidst the activity taking place in the nearby kitchen…food cooking on the stove…pies in the oven…and little children running through the door to greet the special person who occupied the ageless beauty of this old chair that had become “her domain”…At night, after everyone had returned to their homes, or when her spouse of over 50 years retired to his bed, she sat down after a long day of tending to the chickens, picking berries or grapes from their bounty…maybe a little bit of housework to keep her modest home tidy, she rested. But she didn’t do so idly. In the welcome of rest her spiritual energy was awakened and she engaged in her favorite role–most precious–duty of the evening. She talked to Jesus.

Who was this woman who matched the modesty of her home? She was my Grandma Jewell. 

Somehow this woman could take a couple of chickens and feed a crowd for Sunday dinner. Berries were turned into the most scrumptious pies and jams. Flour not only dusted her apron but also left traces on her big, round sugar cookies, each with a few raisins poking their way through the baked dough. Homemade bread was a staple on her table (I remember my dad telling me she baked 9 loaves of bread every other day or so when raising her 11 children on the family farm–I have no way to verify that claim but it makes sense when you’ve got that many hungry bellies to fill). As much as grandma loved all the “things” she did for our BIG family (50+ grandchildren) her prized role in life was that of being a praying woman.

During her lifetime she prayed for grandpa to receive salvation from Christ (He eventually came to that decision, at age 55). She trusted for provision from God when the only thing in her cupboard may have been a few beans…She grieved and prayed her way through the loss of a child, number 5, who was born in her sixth month of pregnancy and lived 8 days, kept warm in one of the wood stove compartments. (My dad was her next child after Robert, her tiny son she never forgot about)…what mother would?  She prayed through the years of World War II, saying goodbye to five sons who each served in their respective assignments. She prayed every night for all her children, starting with the oldest, making her way to the youngest. She did so without regret or feeling selfish to get a good night’s sleep when her body must have ached from doing all the chores without the help of modern appliances. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be awake until 2 or 3 am during the “hard years” trusting for provision, warmth, a successful harvest, protection and health.

I have no recollection or knowledge when the rocking chair was added as a piece of furniture in her living room. Based on its appearance, I believe it had been around for a long time. I DO know this–it was HER chair–even grandpa didn’t sit in it. Getting a chance to sit in her rocker became a game with some of us grandkids, my brother David in particular when we visited. Whenever we arrived for our weekend’s Sunday visit, she was seated in that rocking chair, wearing a house dress and bib apron which was part of her permanent wardrobe. We’d walk through the door to see her face light up with joy and she’d rise to accept hugs and kisses from all of us. That’s when David would make his move; he’d give his required greeting and make a beeline for the chair! And he’d rock and rock, surrounded by her laughter of being “beat” out of her spot. Her kindness, which was deeply rooted in love, never allowed herself to scold him or anyone for that matter who “stole” her chair. She’d enjoy the game, accept the outcome and make her way to another seat in the living room or return to the kitchen to check on dinner.

I don’t know what became of grandma’s rocking chair after grandpa moved from their last home. I’d like to think he took it with him when he took up residence with my Aunt Esther. Out of all their meager possessions, in my humble opinion that simple wooden rocker and its worn cushion held as much–or more–value than any throne chair in the kingdoms of this earth. Why? Because, it’s in THAT chair that thoughts were always turned to a greater Kingdom not of this earth. You see, not only did grandma pray for her husband, her 11 children, their spouses, and ALL the grandchildren–if she met you and there was the absence of knowing Jesus–you got prayed for with deep dedication and great understanding of priorities beyond cooking and cleaning.

Years ago, after my brother David had become a Gideon, he gave a presentation in a church in the small town of Millington. After the service, a young woman approached him to ask “Are you related to Sadie Jewell?”

“Yes”, he answered. “She was my grandmother”.

“I’m Debbie C.; I lived next door to your grandparents. I want you to know that I became a Christian because of your grandmother, because I know she prayed for my family.”

I remember Debbie’s family, the Campbells. Grandma seldom spoke anything bad or negative against people, but in reference to this one, well, even though they had children our ages that could have been playmates, we were forbidden to go to their home or property because in grandma’s words “they aren’t the nicest people..the parents were known to be pretty mean to their children.”  Yet, even that honest description of their reputation accompanied  her hesitancy, didn’t stop her from adding their names to her prayer list. 

As I remember her rocking chair, her prayer life, I have had waves of  wondering how many names were uttered from her lips….how many names besides Debbie’s are written in the Book of Life because of my faithful trusting grandma?