I have discovered that I am not good at waiting. Another word for my character flaw may be that I am impatient. Yes, if I am being totally honest, which is very difficult at times, I do not do well in situations or seasons of life that have caused me to be out of my own control and submissive to circumstances around me. Some of those outside influences cannot be changed, like for instance the calendar. I don’t know of anyone who can close their eyes and make the day of the week flip to the next, leaving behind the hours that go into the completion of one 24 hour period. Note: In the 7th grade I tried “willing” the clock to stand still in my math class so I could avoid going to my home economics class to face trying to repair a bad sewing project…that’s another topic…No, try as any one of us might, there is no magic strong enough to speed up or slow down time, thus learning how to “wait” becomes a test many of us are required to face in life to see how we fare. 

With today being the last day of November, indicating that the calendar WILL flip to December, I had a memory pop into my mind while I was making our bed. As I was pulling up the sheet and blankets, neatly tucking in pillow shams and placing our decorative pillows, I suddenly remembered the first time–probably the ONLY occurrence–that I stood in line to sit on Santa’s lap and whisper in his ear my long list of gifts he should bring me. I was with my mother that afternoon when I saw Santa in his big chair surrounded by Christmas decorations, lights, and a line of kids waiting to talk to him. I begged my mother to let me get in line. I’m sure she had better things to do than stand around with an impatient little girl, but she gave in and we joined the line. I could not wait to have my turn! We inched up slowly, counting off with our eyes as each girl or boy took their turn on Santa’s lap, leaving with big smiles and clutching a peppermint candy cane that Santa gave to each child when waving bye and yelling “ho ho ho”. In the busyness of standing in the line, swaying back and forth on my feet, getting warm under my  heavy coat and building anticipation, I saw it was my turn, and I froze. Santa motioned for me to come, jump up on his big lap…mom said, “Susan, it’s your turn”. But I remained frozen in time, unwilling to oblige to what was required of me to share my long list of Christmas wishes.

If I recall correctly, it was a long quiet ride home from Green Acres Plaza, the Federal Department Store where I attempted to talk to Santa. Mom was NOT happy with me. I’m pretty sure I got a scolding about “how I begged her” to visit Santa, and also the time we wasted “waiting” when we could have been home, perhaps to get a start on our dinner which was always promptly served at 5:20 pm. 

I’m also pretty sure I never asked to stand in another Santa line for the remainder of my childhood. My one attempt to include him in my waiting for Christmas to arrive, showed me I didn’t trust myself to sit on a stranger’s lap no matter how fun and exciting it looked to me. Over time I realized I didn’t need Santa to get some of my favorite Christmas gifts from a long list that was compiled with some help from the annual Sears & Roebuck Christmas catalogue. And I certainly realized that I didn’t need to face the ire of my mother year after year when she had better things to do than wait in a long line of children jumping at a chance to talk to a storefront Santa. But, I’m thankful she gave it a whirl that one time. It’s become a good memory, my face all lit up as I inched forward to my turn with Santa, and the look on my mother’s face when I refused to sit on his lap, and that long quiet ride home…..which became a topic at that evening’s dinner table.

“Jack, let me tell you about Susan’s visit with Santa this afternoon…..” Her words are a very dim echo in my mind these 60 some years later, but the memory of that weekday afternoon still warms me much like standing in the long line in a department store wearing a heavy winter coat, and waiting.

Gratitude

Before Halloween is but a blip on the radar, here and gone before we know it, November shows up with a mere flip of calendar pages full of photos containing colorful tree scenes, sunrises and sunsets, cornucopias, images of tables laden with luscious looking foods, all that is familiar to families in America signifying that Thanksgiving will soon be upon us. Ads on television and radio show us happy families traveling miles by car or air to be with loved ones on this hallowed Thursday. Stores entice us with sale notices for the foods we all enjoy, the turkey, cranberries (maybe?), stuffing, pumpkin pie…green bean casserole according to our son….and then there’s the football games, and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade. All this, and more, are what has evolved into carving (no pun intended) out memories centered on a big bird in the middle of the table, or chicken, or ham…whatever is your choice meat. (Two years ago we enjoyed homemade reuben sandwiches on Thanksgiving!)

As I think about and reflect about Thanksgiving, I decided to do a brief search as to its origin. Below is one link that has a lengthy article well worth reading. Be prepared to undo many of your preconceived notions about this wonderful holiday as well as recall what you were taught in grade school. 

https://www.congregationsofgod.org/thanksgiving?article_id=1_the_origins_of_thanksgiving

What do you remember being taught in your elementary school days? For me, even at age 68 now, I can vividly remember hearing stories about the Pilgrims who arrived on our eastern shore, their struggles through a harsh winter, preparing a feast of turkey, corn, squash, pies, etc. and inviting local Indians (yes, that’s what we called this people group back in the 50s and 60s with no one telling us to “wake up”! They’re Native Americans!) I can still see school age me cutting out pilgrim hats, turkeys, pumpkins from a variety of construction paper colors that became wall art in our classroom. Listening to the stories, making things to illustrate the Thanksgiving story were all a part of the third week in November year after year. Foremost in the lessons being taught, was the main message of “gratitude”. I was taught that the Pilgrims were “thankful” for surviving hardship and how God had provided for them. 

I don’t remember anyone in my community being upset that we called the Indians, Indians. No one got angry that birds were being raised and processed to be on thousands, if not millions, of tables. No one in my circle of family and friends got upset that “God” was part of the story in my neighborhood elementary school lesson plans….Black Friday sales were non-existent and I don’t ever recall my family flipping on the TV to watch anything….trappings of today’s current culture were not present in our home….for that I am grateful. My being grateful then, as a small little girl, hasn’t ended. Trying to bombard my fond memories, though, is a society and culture–a segment of us–who want me to refer to Indians as Native Americans or Indiginous Peoples or First Nation.  I’ve said to myself “Ok”, the label doesn’t change the fact these are God’s people, too. My elementary school teachers meant no harm or disrespect by referring to these beautiful people as “Indians”. Truth be told, if I had to choose any description, I like “First Nation”. It has a certain sound and depth to it. Second truth be told, I’d have to study history to see if I can find what group of people are considered as being “first” to settle on our vast country land. 

Folks who are against animal cruelty don’t want us meat eaters to enjoy our turkey or ANY meat from an animal. I’m okay if you want to be a vegetarian, all I ask is you allow me to enjoy beef or poultry. Atheists and agnostics don’t want God to be part of anything involving government, schools, universities, holidays!–you name a place where integrity, honesty, and genuine concern for every human being belongs–you’ll find someone who opposes what is holy and right. 

So, how does gratitude fit in with my writing today? I’m grateful for my education, for growing up in a family and neighborhood filled with like minded adults doing their best to raise good kids. I’m grateful I was taught to love every person without labeling them. I’m grateful I’ve never gone without shelter or a meal. I’m grateful that in almost two years being surrounded by a new virus, I have remained healthy. I’m grateful that my life ambitions don’t include adding more “stuff”, things that rot, decay, or break or need dusting! I’m grateful–above all–that God remains my true source of hope, love, encouragement, and guidance for everyday life–even though He is not welcome or loved in return by many in my own extended family or community. I’m grateful that I allow God to shape my thoughts, my actions, my opinions and not someone trying to “wake” me up or “spin me” or “rewrite” some components of history in order to make ME feel bad. 

Yes, I. Am. Grateful. 

We will make the drive to one of our nephew’s homes to celebrate Thanksgiving Day 2021 with family. There will be turkey, potatoes, stuffing, pies….maybe a football game on their big screen…I’ll look to see if our great nephews made any art projects that may be hanging in the kitchen. And I’ll ask them, “So, what do you know about Thanksgiving? More importantly my next question will be “what are you thankful for?”….

I’m sitting at my laptop this morning, two days later than I usually write each week. I’m scratching my head trying to hone into a topic or person to pen some fancy or deep meaning words that will dazzle my readers. Try as I may, I’ve got nothing, yet I sense,  hear a variety of thoughts racing through my head, each vying for first place inside my mind. November has given me 11 days already on the calendar and a lot of things have happened, events that have fueled my inner joy along with some that have derailed my inner peace, causing deep sadness. I guess, rather than attempt to pinpoint one topic, for the sake of releasing recent events into the world of polished words, I will capsulize several of the last few days into shareable memories and reflection.

• Friday, Nov. 5 was my 68th birthday. I woke up at around 7 am which is my usual time, went to the kitchen for my first mug of coffee as I made my way to my “prayer corner”. To my delight, my husband had run an errand, coming home with flowers, a card and my favorite candy bar, a “PayDay”. Mid morning we headed for haircuts, then drove back country roads to Olive Garden and enjoyed a wonderful lunch. The remainder of the day was relaxing, filled with sunshine and a light breeze that was a welcoming afternoon for a walk around 3 pm. I’ve been walking around saying to anyone who will listen “68 is great”. I really think it is, by the way. 
• On Saturday, Nov. 6 we drove to my brother’s home, had lunch and headed north to attend the 50th wedding anniversary party for a favorite cousin. Our drive took us about 2 ½ hours, traveling on two lane highways through small towns and rural farm land. The sun was shining, the temperatures in the mid 50s. We arrived midway through the party to enjoy our family, meet some new folks, devour yummy desserts. My cousin Jim invited us back to his home for an impromptu dinner which consisted of grilled hot dogs and side dishes gleaned from the pantry and fridge. Swapping stories and solving world problems kept us at his home til midnight. As we drove to our hotel for the night, I remember trying to think of the last time I had stayed up that late…68 may be great but a 10 pm bedtime is pretty darn good, too. (smile)
• Tuesday, Nov. 9 was a hard day. Our church celebrated the life of a 45 year old husband and father of three who died from complications related to the Covid virus. I was present at the service to represent our church and “host” his family and friends in any way to make them feel at ease. Burying someone so young is hard, even when they had a deep powerful relationship with Christ. Seeing his young family stand at his open casket to say their final goodbyes was difficult. I found myself weepy and selfishly interjecting my own mortality in the scene…would my children be as brave to tell those in attendance what a great dad they had? Will my children eulogize me with loving and kind words? What if my husband “goes” before me? What will that day look like? Will I be a little old lady by then? 68 is great but each year I’m blessed with taking me closer to my own “going home”….
• Today, Nov. 11, is Veterans Day. I grew up in the 50s and 60s, when for the most part America was at Peace. The VietNam war was the first event to bring me live images from the devastation of being at war. Later, we had the Gulf War, followed by our years in Afghanistan. Fortunately, I have not had any loved ones who served in the latter wars; my dad was a veteran of WWII and the Korean Conflict. He’s my favorite naval personnel veteran, along with his six brothers who each served in our country’s branches of armed forces. I’m grateful they were returned home to safety after sacrificing time away from loved ones. I can’t imagine the things they saw, heard, or endured so every American could benefit from their efforts. The only response I can give is verbal respect to them, our country, and the flag…and monetary gifts to those who have lingering injuries from hard fought battles.

So, as I’m sitting here mulling over the first 11 days of November, I’m a mixed bag of joy, laughter, sadness, and gratefulness.   There’s an old saying that goes like this: “Life isn’t perfect”. No, it isn’t. It’s not a “bed or roses” either. But life is good no matter our circumstances when we take time to step back and envision a bigger picture than our eyes can fool us into believing. Each birthday gets me one year older, but each year gives me more opportunities to “live”. Each person we bury is hard, but gives me one more reminder that eternal life with God far outweighs the tears I shed in grief. Every war our country enters has the potential of separating loved ones to places around our world, yet gives us opportunities to celebrate and hold tight to all the freedoms fought and upheld for by men and women who are much braver than I could hope or dream of becoming. 

Today, I’m glad that I could sit for a while, surrounded only by the clacking of my laptop keyboard, the heat cycling on and off, and an occasional car passing by on our road. Today’s moments of quiet silence gave way to time spent recalling memories made in 11 days, and daydreaming what the remainder of November will give me. 

Over the last few weeks I wrote about women who impacted my life in a variety of ways. I talked about two Bettys and one Janet. Today, as I racked my mind to find who to highlight this week, I thought of Colleen. I met her in the late 70s and I didn’t like her.

So, if I didn’t like Colleen, why or how is she instrumental or vital to the growth of me as a person and a woman? I think the answer lies under the blanket that describes God as One Who uses unusual or surprising circumstances to meet someone’s need. In this case, at the time we became friends, we both had a need that she met. Before I get to that, I need to explain how we became acquainted. 

In the 70s, a nuclear plant was being built in Midland and Colleen’s husband was part of a company that was on site to complete the enormous project. In fact, it was his employment that moved them to Michigan from the east coast. Colleen had experience in mortgage financing and the bank I worked at happened to be looking for such a lender, so she landed the position. I was working for the personnel director and several other department heads. No matter the department we would have been in, we would have met because our community bank was a small one and we all knew everyone on staff. 

As Colleen’s time with us rolled along, we would exchange pleasantries, maybe share a lunch hour time in the break room, but outside of those encounters we didn’t socialize. We were polite with another, but always under a cloud of hesitancy laced with air as though soaked in ice cubes.

My desk was by the door to the bank lobby and when Colleen entered from the hall leading to her office, she had to pass me. Every time. We’d smile, say hi, but that was it. Until one day she stopped at my desk, said hi, and then proceeded to tell me my mascara was smudged. Man, if I hadn’t liked her before this exchange, I sure wasn’t happy she took time to point out a problem with my makeup! I was happy when she continued on her way, carrying her mortgage folders to head off to wherever she was going. I’m sure she wasn’t aware of the fumes surrounding my head as she went about her task, me shaking my eye and glaring at her.

What changed? Well, both of our circumstances. In 1978 I made the difficult decision to leave my marriage. I didn’t want to move back to my parents but I did because I had no other place to go. That week home with them did not go well, I returned to my marriage and home for about a week and then had had enough and was determined to leave, the second time for good. But where? Somehow, Colleen and I engaged in conversation regarding my dilemma and she quickly said “You can move in with me. My condo has plenty of room.” Later, she confided in me that her husband Ray had left their home, moved out. She was alone, too. Throwing aside our “differences” I gladly accepted her offer and moved my personal belongings to her home. What a beautiful home she had. Just like her, everything was neat, clean, and in its place. We slowly became amicable roommates, and much to my delight and surprise, we actually sat down one evening to share a glass of wine and stumbled upon asking and confessing to each other the hidden issues under that blanket I mentioned above. Imagine our laughter when we both screamed “But I didn’t like you either!” Why? Oh my goodness. Both of us were jealous of the other. All the time I was coveting her neat appearance, fresh haircut right on time, expert looking applied makeup, and a wardrobe that never seemed to require “hit repeat” she was thinking exactly the same things about me…when I told her how angry I got about the “mascara” smudge, she laughed and told me “I wasn’t being critical; because I knew you liked to look ‘perfect’ I wanted to help you.” Smack! Humility hand to the forehead please!

A shared condo. A glass of wine. An honest conversation that originated with a mascara smudge changed everything. I thought I had a pretty good gig going until Colleen and I went grocery shopping together one evening and a guy approached her in the produce department, talking to her quietly. I had no idea who it was. It took me several glances and a few sneaky eavesdropping sessions to figure it out. It was Ray! When he walked out of the store, I got up too close to Colleen and verified “Was that Ray!? What was he doing here? He’s coming home Colleen!”

“He’s coming back home”, she quietly confirmed. Ugh, I thought to myself. That’s a game changer.

In the course of the few weeks I lived with Colleen, my dad called me at work one morning, having found out about my “second leaving” and pretty much demanded I move home “until everything is sorted out and settled”. So, I did. I made the move and I’m pretty sure Ray returned to Colleen and our lives, though intersected for a while, returned to a working relationship improved by friendship that sprouted from needs and honesty sewn in to patch  holes created by our misunderstandings.

Our careers continued. Eventually the bank relocated all its administrative offices to a new location, a beautiful building that sat on the bank of the Saginaw River. Colleen and my work offices were still separate, my personal life healed and was headed in a good direction. Hers? Not so much. Her marriage was under stress and strain. Ray’s work was demanding, long hours, and eventually took a toll on her mental health and work performance. Mr. B____, her supervisor, terminated her employment, sending her home to an empty condo and no one to come alongside her in yet another time of  her deep need. I never liked Mr. B_____; he could be arrogant and nosy. He knew that Colleen and I had a “connection” and he asked me to keep in touch with her because he feared “the worst”. Oh, that kind of worst. Would she do something to harm herself? Thankfully, she didn’t. She and I spoke several times and soon, the time between phone calls grew longer and we both faded out of each other’s lives.

I have no idea where Colleen has ended up in life. I’m happy I can see her face, her smile, and hear her quirky little jokes when I close my eyes. I’m thankful that God used an unlikely co-worker to help me during a difficult time in my life. I still smile when I think about the “mascara smudge comment” which taught me a valuable lesson: Don’t assume. Seek openness and honesty. Ask questions to bring clarity to avoid misunderstandings. Stop being jealous over silly stuff. Be a friend. Help others, even those you don’t like at first…..

World Changer 3

Well, I may have run out of “Betty’s” (the two women who I wrote about in the past two weeks) but I’m not void of women who have helped shape who I am today. I’d like to introduce you to Janet.

I met Janet when we moved our family from Saginaw to our current home, some 70 miles south, going from being a city dweller to embracing the unknowns of rural living. One aspect of our move was me leaving the workforce of 40 hours a week to that of full time mom to our two small children at the time. A huge part of my adjustment to being home full time–AND not knowing anyone in our new community–was finding ways to connect with other people, especially women. After we got our home settled, the unpacking of boxes, registering our daughter for school, etc. we made a natural decision to attend the church in town that was the same denomination as what we had attended in Saginaw. Janet was the church’s organist. Me, being a vocalist, relied upon her for piano accompaniment when I began singing during worship services. I liked her immediately and the feeling was mutual. During one of our early getting to know each other conversations I remember Janet saying to me “Susan, you’re a little spitfire. How about you come to a Bible study that I attend on Wednesdays?” She gave me the lowdown on how the group was formed, who taught, and direction’s to Norma’s home, a beautiful older woman who opened up her home every Wednesday to this great group of women from all church backgrounds and ages to learn from Jean, the pastor who taught straight from the Bible, no notes or agenda. Our time together always ended with prayer and over the weeks and few years that I was part of the group, the box that I kept God in kept being needed to be replaced with a larger one. But, back to Janet.

Janet was older than me too. Her children were grown and she was a grandmother. Though she loved all her family, in particular she spoke about Mikey the most because of a heart defect he was born with, one she was sure God could and would heal because of Who He was to her and what was written in scripture about His power and ability to heal. Most every week we got a short report on how Mikey was doing. She always had a twinkle in her eyes and a constant smile on her face as she told us how  he was doing.

But Janet was more to me than being someone who recognized a fire inside me or the need for friends. She became a mentor without realizing it. During one particular time in our marriage my husband lost his full time employment and was receiving unemployment benefits. I remember standing in the church parking lot chatting with Janet after church and telling her “we won’t be able to tithe with Jim losing his job.” She didn’t waste any time. “Susan!” she said, kind of admonishing me with a chuckle hidden behind her big smile. “It’s not the amount, it’s the percentage! You can still give 10% of whatever you’re bringing in as income”. I had to admit to her I had forgotten or truthfully never thought of our giving in that manner. I was tied to the amount. Janet continued my parking lot mentoring lesson by encouraging me to remember that God would provide, He would see us through to the end of the unemployment period, and that blessings would come. She was right because He did all of that and more.

I think Janet was able to bring an increase to my knowledge and understanding of God’s many principles because she was no stranger to hardship. She and her husband had Mikey to be concerned about, and during other conversations I learned how her husband lost his entire business and had to start over, the term we use when everything is lost financially. Jim and I actually got to know Mack, too, and much like Janet, he was soft spoken but firmly rooted in a faith that matched hers. Together, this quiet unassuming couple shined Christ unlike people I’ve ever known, then or now, years later.

Our kids are grown now. We’ve since left the church where I met Janet. The Wednesday Bible study slowly faded into becoming non-existent and I lost track of Janet. What I haven’t lost is my ability to see her face. See her smile. See that twinkle in her eyes. Hear her voice telling me or a group how much she loved Jesus and what He was capable of accomplishing. 

I’m thankful I met Janet, that she saw me and my hidden potential, made me a friend but more importantly, helped mold my faith into something that keeps needing a bigger box, as if I really could fit God in one….thank you Janet, for helping me see and learn there ain’t no box that big.

My last entry under World Changers (Oct. 12) featured Betty, a woman I met years ago while living in Saginaw. If you haven’t read about her, I highly recommend that you go back to that post and enjoy the experience. Today, I’d like to talk about another Betty that I met, around the same years living and working during my banking career. “This” Betty was one I met at a business women’s networking group; she was older than me, and a beautiful black woman. I only mention her skin color describing her because back in the 70s and 80s, we women were still getting accustomed to meeting, working, and socializing with women that weren’t white, although Saginaw certainly was a melting pot for MANY ethnic groups struggling and learning community life…no different than other cities large and small across our nation. Back to Betty…

As I said, we met at a business lunch meeting. She was full of life, confident, and her presence was certainly notable in the room where we were seated in chairs. In the meeting where I first met her, I remember being drawn to her immediately. Perhaps it was her wide toothed smile, her perfectly coiffed hair, and poise whether she was standing or sitting. I certainly was captivated by everything she had to say that day, yet surprisingly right now I cannot recall where she was employed or what her position was that qualified her to attend the business networking group that I was fortunate to be part of as an administrative assistant for NBD Bank in the 80s. Besides her character, what I remember above all is that at the end of the meeting the chairperson asked Betty to sing. It was very impromptu but I had no way of knowing that. In my curiosity, I looked around the room. Hmmm, I thought, I don’t see a piano. I don’t see Betty getting out a “boombox” to drop in an accompaniment tape (my standard accessory as a soloist back in those days). No, having nothing at her disposal to aid in her solo moment, Betty merely stood off to one side of the room and began to sing “Amazing Grace”, acapella and a rendition fitting to her personality…bold….on pitch…full of crescendos and adding freedom to the notes. We could have heard a pin drop when she finished. Well, I thought to myself. I HAVE to talk to Betty before returning to my office. I HAD a burning question for her. “Betty!” I exclaimed. “How did you muster the courage to sing today with no piano!”

She smiled her big smile and laughed, but it wasn’t the kind of laughter to rebuke or make me feel ashamed for my question. It was the jovial kind of laughter leading to her answer…”Well, I love the Lord Jesus and whenever I get a chance to talk or sing about Him, no matter where I am, I just do it”. 

And there you have it. Betty didn’t need a piano which would have been my first crutch as a soloist. She didn’t need a boombox either, my second crutch. No, she only needed her two strong feet to stand on while belting out what is probably one of the most well known songs to have been written, “Amazing Grace”, which pretty much sums up the message of the Gospel in all its verses.

As you can see, I’ve not forgotten Betty. I learned important lessons from her that have carried into my life since sitting in a meeting room with her, a place where I was able to see and witness removing obstacles from an opportunity to share the Good News which is salvation by the grace of Jesus Christ. Fast forward to the 90s and I have had the privilege of singing our national anthem at our high school’s basketball games…acapella…and at graduations for our students who attended alternative education programs..with my boombox….and a Christmas party for school administrators…boombox in hand and songs that spoke of Jesus Christ. 

Thank you, Betty, for being an example to a younger woman to stand with confidence and sing about our shared relationship with our savior. I’m pretty sure you’ve arrived in Heaven by now based on your age at the time in the 80s. I’m quite confident you are singing every day now, however that looks in eternity. And I’m willing to wager you aren’t near a piano…or a boombox….

I’m participating in a group Bible reading devotional with some dear friends from my church family. Currently, we are working our way through the book of Genesis, chapter by chapter. This week we’ve been reading about Abraham who is probably one of the most famous people written about in the Old Testament. Anyone familiar with his life story knows that God asked him to sacrifice his son Issac which he was obedient in carrying out only to experience that his faithfulness resulted in taking his son off the altar of wood and being provided a ram in his son’s stead. As much as that part of Abraham’s life contributes to his story, every time I re-read about him I discover new “takeaways”. Today, when reading how Abraham negotiated with the Hittite people for a burial place for his wife Sarah, I noted a simple sentence that described Abraham as being a “prince among us”–the Hittes, the native people to the very place he’d been living when Sarah died. Prior to this exchange there is yet another reminder from God that Abraham will be responsible for many nations on earth to be blessed. One man = promises, blessings, obedience, favor from God and man. Reflecting on these descriptions made me ask this question,  Is Abraham a world changer? Sounds like it to me. 

How does the idea of one person and a good reputation wrapped in the promises of God and obedience affect me? How can I be influenced by this description of a man who was not perfect, yet still seeking to live a righteous life? Can my life be one that brings change to a world that is vast and full of chaos? These are not easy questions. I don’t have quick answers. What I do have to fall back on  is examples of people that crossed the path of my life and effected change for me….

Meet Betty. I met her years ago at a Teen Challenge ministry event. The details of how and why I was briefly involved with this wonderful organization are now faint images in my mind, but something Betty said will never leave me. Betty told me about working with some of the boys who were living in the ministry’s house and how she loved to encourage each one. Doing so came easy for her, except for one boy. She was sad as she told me “no matter how hard I tried to think of something to say to him, the words just never came. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him. Instead, one night as he was sitting at a table, I tapped him on the shoulder as I walked past him and I quietly said ‘I love you’….and kept on going. We didn’t engage in any conversation that night or any others and over time he left the home and life carried on.” Until her phone rang years later.

“Betty”? Asked a male voice.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if you remember me. My name is John (not his real name)”

“Oh, yes, I do”,  admittedly laughing after a long pause to dig deep to recall with certainty that she truly remembered him.

“I just wanted to call and thank you for being so kind to me when I lived at Teen Challenge.”

Betty listened. She was embarrassed, she told me. She didn’t recall doing anything for this boy who was now a grown man.

“You told me you loved me, and that changed my life. I want you to know that I’m doing good. I’m married, I have kids and I’m a minister.”

As Betty told me this story, I remember getting God chills. She was elated that in her weakness, God used three simple words to change someone’s life. Hearing Betty tell me this story about a troubled young man finding his way to a better life fueled me then and continues to feed my desire to be the same kind of encouragement for women and men that cross my path.

I think Betty is a world changer. She was one woman working with teens who had fallen into  traps offered by a sinful world whether it be drugs, alcohol, abuse…and because of a heart filled and spurred on by a loving Heavenly Father, she gained favor and ability to share Him with others. 

I want to be more like Betty and less like the world in terms of success or worldly reputation. I want to see the “Johns” and “Janes” in my community that merely need to hear “I love you”, with or without a gentle touch on the shoulder. I don’t care if my efforts produce a phone call years later to tell me if my actions succeeded or not. If God wants to bless me that way, then so be it. If He doesn’t, I’ll rest assured that as I continue to love, to encourage, to initiate life changing words no matter the person, my rewards will come from Him in due time.

Will you join me in being a world changer? If one person adds another person, adds another person…..the results will be amazing and out of this world!

Favorite Encounters

I don’t work full or part time any longer. I left a part time position in 2012 and find at my current age it’s great to be home. Although not idle by any means, I fill my weekly calendar with volunteer work at my church during the work week and weekends. I care for grandchildren when needed, perform routine chores such as housework and errands outside the home, cook meals, clean up our house, all the “things” it takes to run a household whether working for income or not. Because I no longer “work” getting out and about whether it’s church or shopping keeps me connected to people and gives me opportunities for conversations which leads me to today’s topic–Favorite Encounters.

I need to give you some background information about me. Up until I was about 15 I was awkwardly shy. Most of my social life centered around family, church, and school.Though I was comfortable with family and close friends, I didn’t talk a lot with people I didn’t know. The awkwardness began to fade about my sophomore year in high school and as years passed I gained confidence as I graduated, attended business college and landed my first full time employment position. Fast forward from my 20s to my current age of 67, take a peek into those years and you’ll find many times I experienced some pretty neat encounters with complete strangers. Some were by no effort on my part, others were on purpose or encouraged by how I have learned to listen to someone and their choice of words when conversing with me. I love striking up conversations with complete strangers regardless of gender, age, ethnicity. I have found people are people wherever I go. So, I’d like to tell you about Beata. I met her last Friday during a trip to a beautiful market we seldom visit because it’s a good 45 minutes or so from our home.

My husband and I were having a “day date Friday” and after finishing our meal (which was delicious by the way!) we drove to this market where I intended to purchase a variety of apples to make sauce, one of my favorite fall activities. I filled my small cart with the apples and other produce selections and made my way to the coffee aisle in search of my husband. Along the way I found an area of the market I did not know existed–oodles of flavored vinegars and olives oils! I circled the shelves of the luscious containers looking at all the varieties and that’s when I saw a small woman about my age filling a bottle with an oil. Now, mind you, my motive in speaking with her was merely to glean information from her since I’m a newbie to all this “fill your bottle/cork it/label it” kind of stuff so to jumpstart my curiosity I said politely “So, excuse me–what’s your favorite oil?” That’s all it took! That one question turned into a wonderful conversation and soon I shared with her that this “market” reminded me of one we had visited on our trip to Israel. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I want to go there someday!” She asked me my name and I hers. “Susan”….”Beata”…and I inquired as to the origin of her name. “Deutsch,” she told me. Hmmmm, I quickly told her I am German, too. I asked her the meaning of her name. “Blessed” was her response along with her own question, “Susan, can I pray for you?” And pray she did, right next to the flavored olive oils, no one else around to eavesdrop, as if that would have bothered us. Clearly, she was as comfortable as I was in the midst of how God can create an atmosphere that exudes His presence accompanied by brief, polite conversation.  In turn, I asked if I could pray for her and she accepted. As we ended with our “amens” she continued to instruct me on the benefits of using the olive oils when preparing healthy meals.

I love divine appointments which is how I describe grocery store conversations that introduce me to a brother or sister in Christ that I may never see again even though a moment in time created a faith marker or memory in my mind. I have had many such encounters and I actually think I’ll write about more of them over the next few weeks. For now, I’m still smiling as I think of Beata, a kind small German woman who came to America at the age of two, who told me she became a naturalized citizen, and above all else, entered into a relationship with Christ that bridges her and me from our time here on earth to eternity. It may be trite to say “I may never see her again here on earth, but in Heaven I will”…..I’m not sure how God has it worked out in Heaven for all of us when we arrive. Will I meet up with Beata again?  I know she, me, and everyone else who loves and has a relationship with Jesus will be there with lots of room and plenty of time for conversations that won’t be surrounded by “things” such as olive oil containers…

 I think I’ll begin making a list of questions I can ask in order to start more interesting conversations…and give fair warning that IF you meet up with me in a store, I WILL start talking to you, especially if I need to learn something new…think you may need a kind word or a prayer spoken over you…