Tag Archives: family

4TH OF JULY, A LETTER 

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Dear Dad:

In our great nation of 50 states–America–we will celebrate 250 years of “freedom”, commemorating the American War of Independence many years ago in pursuit of being released from British rule. It seems being taxed heavily without having a ‘voice’ regarding its revenue rubbed early inhabitants of our beautiful country the wrong way. Many hard and gruesome battles were waged, yet strong and determined men–many of them mere teenagers–fought valiantly and in harsh conditions to gain victory for a passion woven by deep threads of unity in their hearts, minds, and souls. Much has changed in a young country established as a sovereign nation who founded herself with a Declaration of Independence penned by a committee of five men and later signed by 56. Thus, America was birthed and began further growth and establishment among great nations of the world at that time … .and much has changed.

Today, I’m imagining writing a letter to my dad whose been gone since 2012. At age 90 he lived through his own hard years, the Depression Era, World War II and the Korean Conflict. Either of those events could have claimed his life. Thankfully he escaped severe sickness and even death. Reflecting on his life–and the life of America–has me wondering the depth of conversation we’d have regarding his experiences in America compared to these mere past 13 years he’s been gone, where admittedly, indeed much has changed and in full disclosure–not everything has been in a positive direction.

As July 4 rolls around for the 250th time since the first celebration of being severed from British rule, although parades and fireworks abound from coast to coast, is it possible that hot dogs in backyard barbeques, sparklers in the waving hands of children, businesses open as usual on this grand holiday detract from the significance of this day that I believe was a miracle in the making? 56 men embraced being courageous by signing a document that resulted in them being designated as “treasonists” by the British Crown,  with most of them ending up living in poverty from having their property and estates destroyed during the conflict.

Dad, I fondly remember how you loved singing all the great patriotic songs that have been composed about America. “America the Beautiful” was one of your favorites. I remember being taught this song in grade school, too. This and songs like it were a major part of our music curriculum. Until today, I did not know it was originally a poem written in 1893 by Kathleen Lee Bates after she had taken a trip to Colorado and had climbed Pikes Peak. Imagine her awe and wonder as she gazed across such beauty. Thankfully, her verses tell us of the majesty and beauty captured by her eyes. Sadly, dad, I’m not sure these patriotic songs are being taught in music classes now. 

And how about our national anthem, dad? Written in 1812 by Francis Scott Key as a poem after his witness of a 25 hour bombardment against Fort McHenry by the British, he saw our flag still flying amidst the ashes of battle. It’s a song that has been sung with many variations at all kinds of events, remains revered by most Americans, yet within a few recent years, deeply disrespected as though honoring the legacy of America’s history outweighs freedoms July 4th ushered in for all fortunate to be alive….Sadly, dad, I’m not sure our children know all the words to our anthem.

I can still see you when your hand was placed over your heart when the anthem was part of an important event. In addition, there’s memories of learning the Pledge of Allegiance that I recited every morning in grade school. By junior high this practice disappeared. Until today, dad, I didn’t recall that the pledge we now recite originated in 1892, composed by a Baptist minister, Francis Bellamy.  Go figure, dad, a ‘man of the cloth’, who was trained and educated to serve one God and one kingdom, penned words in support of being in full support of America. The pledge had a few revisions to it, and in 1954 President Dwight Eisenhower encouraged Congress to include “under God” in the wording. Wow, dad, I was one year old when he did that. Now, at age 72, I wonder if all our school children are being taught the pledge let alone reciting it to jumpstart a new school day.

As you can see and read, I’d have a lot to talk to my dad about regarding July 4. By no means am I an adequate student of American history. Thank goodness for easy access to online research using internet resources to revisit topics and facts that have long escaped my memory from all teachers tasked with instructing me on American history, leaning heavily on emphasising tremendous dangers and sacrifices by brave men and women to give us a great nation–not perfect by any means–yet still a country that people from other parts of the world still want to come for a chance to thrive and live in a style of “freedom” that once was foreign to many and now at great cost by those who take advantage of its benefits.

But, dad, as much as you and our family enjoyed many 4th of July celebrations together, there is but one kind of “freedom” that overshadows that which was gained by over 25,000 American deaths. With One death, about 2,000 years ago, One man crucified on a cross, gave His life with shedding of blood that dripped down a beaten and tortured body, so that mankind could be “free” from sin’s penalty. He didn’t choose to enter the battle. He did so under great pain of obedience. He accomplished a promise and new covenant spoken by His Father. 

Thousands of hymns and songs have been written honoring His accomplishment. For many years churches, schools, universities, military choirs have sung these great compositions. Sadly, dad, our halls of great learning are becoming a different kind of quiet as the secular approach to instruction has pushed God out of daily instruction. Is it possible, dad, that our “one nation under God” can prevail? I wish you were here to encourage me that it can, if we were to humble ourselves before Almighty God and seek Him rather than the desires of our own selfish motives, we stand a chance of prevailing.

Dad, thank you, for teaching me about being a patriot, loving an imperfect country, but above all, surrendering my life to an ALL PERFECT God, the One Who had His eyes on brave men and women 250 years ago….the One Who watched as His Only Son carried out your plan of salvation for mankind. Even when I don’t understand what I see and hear in today’s headlines regarding America, I still have hope. Even when I don’t comprehend what I perceive as God’s silence in all of our struggles, I am grateful for my freedom…first and foremost that which comes from God…and secondly from a 250 year old concept birthed in the minds of brave men and women.

Dad, part of me longs for my childhood days when I sat on your lap, ears covered, to be shielded from the loud fireworks display we enjoyed as a family. Now, I long for the day we will be united in heaven where we will sing worship songs together, honoring Christ. Hopefully we’ll get to belt out a rendition of “America the Beautiful”, too. Somehow I don’t think God will mind…

SAWDUST MEMORIES

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Ah, the arrival of hot sticky summer days and evenings is one of those changes in Michigan seasons that awaken more memories from my childhood. Dad arrived home from work promptly at 5:15 pm and the five of us sat down to supper no later than 5:30. There was no central air conditioning in the house, mom moved a floor fan from room to room to help cool her daily tasks. On extremely hot days we often ate our evening meal in the breezeway which afforded some relief from heat. After eating, most nights you’d find my dad out in the garage working on some “project”. That was his workspace for power tools and more importantly, an escape from any stresses that built up during his work day as the chief building inspector for the City of Saginaw.

With the garage door open, table saw or other smaller power tool humming along, his quiet constant whistle accompanied whatever buzzing sound came from his variety of woodworking tools. The openness of the garage allowed him to see any of numerous kids riding by on bikes, others out for a walk around the block, neighbors mowing lawns. Sometimes one of the youngsters would pop in to say hello to him, ask some silly questions and bounce along, returning to their bike or walk. On one particular evening dad’s work was interrupted by a pair of young men out canvassing for their church. The question they posed to my dad was “do you think God has ‘anything’ to do with what’s going on in the world?”

Dad was quick on his feet, always. Whether a person needed some spontaneous wit or a word of encouragement, he was your man. Therefore, there was no long hesitation to give these guys an answer. “Anything?”, dad repeated. “Well, He has “everything” to do with our world.”  I remember their awkward long pause. Apparently their cheat card didn’t tell them how to respond to such a simple statement.

Maybe you’ve pondered the same query that “anything” and “everything” pose to us regarding God’s role in the world. This conversation my dad had took place in the 60s and by then I was finishing my junior high school years, old enough to see for myself all the changes taking place in our nation such as:

  • 1964 Civil Rights Act Passed
  • 1964 Beatles Arrive on the Scene
  • 1968 Martin Luther King Assassinated
  • 1969 Moon Landing & Woodstock Festival make headlines
  • Viet Nam War Rages

From my own viewpoint, every daily headline in the Saginaw News was of great significance. Indeed, the 60s brought about a lot of change, yet nothing then or now came as a surprise to God. Not once has He ever wrung His hands and whispered “well, I didn’t see that coming”. 

Paul writes in Colossians 1: 16 “For in Him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through Him and for Him. He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.” Who is Paul writing about here? That person is Jesus Christ.

Whether we are contemplating nature, other countries, kings and presidents, other people groups, Jesus is part of it all. Those things we see and cannot see, He’s in it. Those rulers and presidents you dislike? He’s over them, too. And though circumstances might look very chaotic? He’s actually holding them together. I take great comfort in that fact as I have given too much energy scratching my head or wringing my hands with deep worry regarding current events in our country.

I need to remember the soft comforting sound of my dad’s whistle as he putzed in the garage. Working with his hands gave him an outlet to express his artistic side while relieving stress. Anytime I smell clean sawdust, I can see him cutting boards, sweeping the garage floor before closing the door and retiring for the evening. By the 60s, dad had lived and served through World War II and later the Korean Conflict. His government had sent him around the world facing some horrible times before peace came and he returned home safely. It’d be years before he shared some of his experiences that could have ended his life.

Yes, a pleasant soft whistle. Hot summer evenings. Open air flowing through the garage. An occasional visitor to interrupt his time, always welcomed with a warm smile and kind truthful answers to life’s serious questions. Because life can be hard, but with God in it all, everything is good and running according to plan

PERSPECTIVE, WHAT’S YOUR VIEW?

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Perspective. A mental view or outlook.

Recently my husband and I attended the funeral for one of my oldest cousins who passed away at the age of 88. Otto was born and raised in Millington and remained in that community his entire life, worked a variety of jobs and enjoyed many hobbies. His funeral was held in the church he attended all his life, St. Paul Lutheran and he was buried in the church’s cemetery nearby. Since we were in that area which is very close to Otter Lake, the last home where my grandparents lived, we took time to drive past the house where many childhood memories were created on Sunday afternoon visits. In contrast to living in the city, their country home offered trees to climb, berry bushes to pick ripened fruit, chickens to feed, kittens to cuddle, endless outdoor games playing with cousins. 

Driving past the house evoked all those memories, but they got tangled up in the disappointment of its present day condition. Gone are the fruit trees. The front yard is overgrown now with shrubs and tall grass. Old cars and a broken down travel trailer made for a sadly adorned front lawn. The lone garage door is crooked on its tracks. A house once teeming with energy and laughter, both wrapped in tremendous love and joy, is gone. And, a reality I had held on to for many years was also gone. As a child, I had always told people “how far back off the road the house sat”. Now, as an adult, I recognized that perception was not true. The house is much closer to the road than I originally thought. My ability to judge distance was skewed by childish measurements along with my grandparents admonishing us kids to never play near the road which stemmed from a tragic accident in the 40s which claimed the life of an older cousin.

So, my recent visit to their last home is giving me a good lesson on perspective.

Things are not always as they appear and life has many opportunities from which to learn and grow. Therefore, I made a quick investigation into scripture to see if God has anything to offer us regarding perspective. No surprise here, He does.

I found three very good takeaways. First, perceiving how we can view life. Proverbs 3: 5-6 says “ Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight”. Our commands given here are to “trust”, “lean not”, “submit”. The benefit of doing so is a “straight path”.

Secondly, a good perspective in life when we face trials and suffering comes from James 1: 2-4. “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything”. It would never be my intention to underplay anyone’s suffering; I’ve had my share of trials and hardships. Life is hard at times and some experiences–those that are most painful– are beyond our control. How we respond comes from the ability to stand firm or cave to pressures. Once again, I think back to my Grandma Jewell whose last months of life were under the care of a nursing home as her body battled bone cancer. Often, in deep pain, she could hear other residents crying under the weight of their own suffering, and from the depths of her compassion for others, instruct the nurses to care for others first over her own needs or ask “do they know Jesus….” so she could pray for comfort and salvation.

Lastly, perspective points to thoughts of eternity. Colossians 3 1-2 describes it this way: “Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.” Once I came to fully understand the concept that Paul writes about here, it allowed me to coin a phrase I’ve often used to weigh the heaviness of situations. “In the light of eternity, will ‘this’ matter?” That simple question has saved me from many worrisome nights or agonizing over things out of my control. 

So, even though I feel sad regarding the disarray of my grandparents’ home in Otter Lake, I’m thankful for 14 years of memories with every Sunday visit, meals at their table prepared by a grandmother who cooked and baked during the week anticipating several of her children’s families to be at her table and spill into the living room of their modest home. I’m grateful for her example when facing death, for she had learned at a very young age to adopt the wisdom of Proverbs commands. Grandma Jewell trusted, she leaned on God during everything in life, and she accepted the path God laid down for her. Her path had sorrows, pain, and a fair share of disappointments I’m sure,  but true to her nature, she spoke mostly of life’s joys and hope, her hope in Jesus…and always with a twinkle in her eyes.

I think she’d be very sad to see, now, how her modest home in Otter Lake has become compared to the vibrant years she and Gramp tended to. Yet, more importantly, she’d wonder about the people living inside its concrete walls  and ask, “do they know Jesus?” 

SNOW DAYS, PAST & PRESENT

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Ah, snow days. Who doesn’t like a good occasional break from winter’s routines with weather that can interrupt and bring life to a fast standstill. And while such storms have their fair share of dangerous opportunities and mishaps, personally I find that the feelings that well up inside me when I hear of snow days for kids and teachers in our schools, still evoke a certain satisfaction inside me. And, because I don’t have a job or career that takes me outside the home anymore, I find I’m quite content to be home in comfort and away from any of a storm’s harsh realities. So it is this past week that I’ve paid attention, waiting to hear or read about cancellations, which takes me back to memories from childhood, when winter storms created snowdrifts up our back door, impassable streets and sidewalks.

When I was a child, we relied on our local television networks to broadcast weather. Much anticipated school closings were announced using a message tape that ran across the bottom of the TV screen. In our home, it was my dad’s routine to tune in “The Today Show” for the morning news. Invariably, if a pounding snowfall began in the night, I was up in the morning my usual time, still getting ready for school, but anxiously watching the television for the answer to my prayer –”please God! Let it be a snow day”. Often, I was disappointed when the ticker message didn’t include Saginaw City Public Schools. Alas, meaning I kept getting ready. In elementary years we walked two blocks to school. By the time junior high years arrived dad dropped me at my best friend’s home and we walked together, covering more than two blocks to our building. In high school, dad often drove me or dropped me at a corner where us kids could catch a city bus which was chartered for transporting students (there was no school bus operation in the late 60s and 70s) When my best friend could drive, she used her family car to get us to school, rain, shine and snow.

Those days are long gone now for me, yet I can still pull images from my memories of snow days that involved a lot of shoveling, snowforts, snowball fights, piles of snow on every corner and along driveways. There was one year that the pile of snow dad and my brothers created from clearing the drive that us kids were able to mold it into an igloo complete with digging it out for a couple of us to crawl inside. If memory serves me correctly we may have even sprayed it down with water to form a good ice covering, but then that would mean my memory says the hose to the faucet was available. Hmmm, maybe that part was a pipedream!

Then there was the winter blizzard of 1967. My oldest brother’s wedding was planned for January 28 but when Thursday rolled around, snow began falling and didn’t stop for hours. Streets, roads, sidewalks, driveways were buried under almost 23 inches of pure white flakes. Needless to say, with a lot of phone calls and tears, Dave’s wedding was cancelled. Those of us in the family who could dig out were able to gather on Sunday for a small ceremony, allowing them to get married. Dave’s father-in-law and other family members put together a meal which we enjoyed in the comfort of their farm home. Not to leave out celebrating with family and friends, my brother and his new wife hosted a reception a month later which meant Kay got to wear her wedding gown a second time, as did the bridal party. The blizzard of ‘67 was a topic of family get-togethers for years….tears  that had by now turning to smiles and laughter as we reminisced about overcoming mountains of snow!

That same weekend I can still see Tommy who lived across the street from us. Tommy was an amateur daredevil. Before our street was plowed out from the “city crew”, he was able to get into his bright blue 1967 Chevy Nova II, maneuver in reverse down our road, put it in drive and hit the pedal as though he was starting a drag race! Tommy’s goal was to “clear” a huge snow drift that had formed near our adjoining driveways. I still laugh as I “see” Tommy’s enthusiasm come to a screeching halt when the front end of his car disappeared under the drift, thankfully not causing any harm to him or his car.

Snow storms that turn into blizzards or freezing rain that covers roads and power lines are indeed big challenges as we hunker down through winter months. They are like a two edged sword….no school means a different kind of playtime for kids….hazardous roads need attention from hardworking plow crews…possibilies of power outages give concern to families and businesses. Yet, with each storm, each blizzard, each setback in comfort, somehow we manage, don’t we? Ingenuity –like Tommy’s–and resilience take over, thus removing doubts of seeing the sun come out, temps rising, all the conditions that begin melting those piles made which left us tired, sore, and cold to the core.

I certainly am not wishing for another blizzard like the one in ‘67 but I will say this, all these years later I still enjoy a good snow storm. I can brew a cup of tea in the afternoon, layer myself under a throw blanket, and watch  nature’s beauty from a window, seemingly endless pure white flakes falling and cascading in the air, landing on our pines, painting portraits of perfection. And, much like when my family stood at our living room window watching Tommy in his Chevy Nova, listening to him rev the engine, all of us giggling at his “foolishness”, wondering if he’d indeed win the battle against a looming snow drift,  I smile.  I breathe sighs of contentment and happiness. “These” current snow days are very different from my childhood but one thing remains. The peace, awe, and wonder from winter’s offerings always overshadow anything else going on that’s less than pure joy for my own “snow day” at home!

Be safe! Stay warm! 

JESUS, THE PERFECT GIFT

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In a recent devotion I read this Advent season, the author asked us readers to close our eyes and think about a memorable gift we received at Christmas. We were asked to go as far back into our childhood for possible images. While I thought I might remember one, I actually thought of two gifts at different times in my life.

I admit the first gift I thought of was my Barbie Dream House. I would have been about 8 years old or so. It was the first one on the market, green, compared to pink versions that came along later.  The house opened up with walls, and inside she had a living room, bedroom, all the rooms in a home. There were small storage spaces for her accessories. A carry handle allowed me to lug it wherever,  even to a friend’s home where we combined our Barbie accessories for hours of play.

I also remember when I was 11 or 12, my brother Mark bought me a pair of ice skates. He had taken on a paper route that year so he was floating in money! I wore those skates well into my late teens as I was fortunate my feet had stopped growing. I brought them with me to Fowlerville when we moved here in 1989 but sadly, the skating opportunities here weren’t the same as my hometown Saginaw.

Another gift that had a tremendous impact was actually one my father gave to my mom. Her parents both died well before my birth. We had our share of snapshots of them that were stashed away, but dad was able to borrow their formal portraits from a cousin, had them professionally duplicated and gifted them to mom. This was in 1979. By then, I was 25, had my own apartment and to make Christmas special that year, I slept at my childhood home Christmas Eve so I could wake up in the morning as a “little kid” so-to-speak. That Christmas was probably one of my favorites until our children came along, making celebrations through their childhood years fun and memorable. Now we have four grandchildren which absolutely brings about more merriment, laughter, and memories.

Christmas 2025 is but a few days away as I write this. Our home is ready. Decorations have been in place for a couple of weeks. Gifts are wrapped–well, all but a mere few. Chex Mix has been made–and enjoyed–for a week. Almost time for another batch!

As I’ve been out on my errands, I have to admit it’s rather sad there’s not much evidence of Christmas in some of our public spaces. I fear that being politically correct has stripped away former years of beautiful decorations and Christmas music in the background. I’m thankful, though, for the beauty of our downtown streets with lights, garland, and yes–even a tree that has a slight lean. While there’s been those who wondered why the village couldn’t do better, I beg to differ. There’s beauty in imperfection and I think a tree that has a slight lean to its stature is a good reminder we are all imperfect people in one way or another! Afterall, it’s our great imperfections–our sinful lives–that caused God to have a plan of salvation in place to redeem mankind. We need not look too far to realize that our world is ever changing–some for good and much towards evil. 

Furthermore, I think our current world climate exemplifies words spoken from the prophet Isaiah in Chapter 5: “They say that what is right is wrong and what is wrong is right; that black is white and white is black; bitter is sweet and sweet is bitter.” (Living Translation)

It’s my humble opinion that much of our culture is upside down and most of what I call “common sense” has been exchanged for worry over offending someone. While common courtesy and kindness should never be excluded from how we treat others, there is also a responsibility to understand God, His purpose and plan for sending His Son to save all of us. This is why Christmas is important. Although December may not be the actual birth month for Christ’s arrival on earth, we celebrate because He CAME to dwell among us. And, sure, there weren’t Christmas lights, trees, Santas, reindeer–all the trimmings you and I adorn our homes–but there were angels, shepherds, and a star. The latter are now woven into some decor. Some homes even set up nativity scenes, another rarity in our culture as blow up snowmen, santas, elves–even dinosaurs–adorn front lawns.

This Christmas, close your eyes and think about the best gift you ever received. A favorite toy, a pair of skates, precious photographs–those hold special memories for me, yet they pale in comparison to me realizing I was a sinner in need of a saviour. THAT gift, given to me over 2,000 years ago, is mine now. I opened my heart to God’s gift in 1979 and it’s one that isn’t old, remains undamaged, not stored away, but hopefully shines brightly in my life as I live and breathe through each day I’m blessed to be share with family and friends.

Merry Christmas 2025!

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations”. (Jeremiah 1:5)

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“For He chose us in Him before the world to be holy and blameless in His sight.” (Ephesians 1:4)

Two very profound statements about a person’s importance in God’s eyes are contained in these two verses. There’s plenty of others in both the Old and New Testaments that describe how God views and cherishes us as well as giving us purpose and value that stand out from things that perish. In my current study time which is camped out in 1 Peter I’m learning that because of my relationship with Christ I have an inheritance that “can never perish, spoil or fade.” Furthermore, my salvation cannot be destroyed; it was purchased (redeemed!) by the imperishable Christ’s blood shed on a cross. Talk about a WOW factor!

Today, my typical day to sit and write is Wednesday. It also happens to be my 72nd birthday. I honestly have a hard time assigning a larger number to my life with each passing birthday because even with a few aches and pains, reduction in complete flexibility of limbs at times my mind still thinks like a young adult. Celebrating another year of life–which is a true gift–also allows me to reflect back on my life. Many memories flood back, mostly very wonderful, others bittersweet.

Born as the last of three children to my parents, coming home to two older brothers, I rounded out the family they had dreamed of creating in the aftermath of World War II and the Korean Conflict which saw dad serving in the U.S. Navy. After living in their first house, land was purchased where dad built the family home I grew up in and upon completion in 1954 I took my first steps as a toddler.

My entry into our world was a whirlwind. I still smile as I remember hearing how mom told dad “it’s time…” and he didn’t fully believe her. His hesitancy to drive her to Saginaw General Hospital resulted in my arrival 13 minutes after getting there. It’s a screenplay my mom didn’t enjoy watching or experiencing over and over again but she wasn’t mean spirited about my birth event, merely sharing the reality she endured of a hard fast delivery!

My birthday–though very much a joyful event–was also bathed in sadness. I dmy arrival with the departure of an older cousin who lost her battle to polio. This is a disease myself and many other parents have not had to fear because of wonderful medical breakthroughs which gave us a vaccine. Thankfully, my uncle and aunt, who lost their oldest daughter, embraced me with incredible love and their home became a favorite place to spend summer days playing with my other two cousins who came along after their sister’s death.

My life also causes me to reflect on my origins. When the 23and Me DNA testing came along as a way to discover one’s ancestral roots, I sent for the kit. I’ve always been curious about who I am and where I came from. Well, my DNA revealed no great surprises. I’m mostly Northern European with a little bit of Irish and French sprinkled in. The research showed my origin back to the Balkans as far as the 1600s. From there my long gone ancestors’ journeys will forever remain a mystery until hearing how mom’s parents came to America in the early 1900s, their past lives shrouded in many unknowns, too. Dad’s folks have been traced back to the 1700s with names written in the Jewell Family Bible. Woven in the mysteries of their lives is one important thread–the brilliant color of Christian faith which began “somewhere” and was adopted with each subsequent generation on both sides of my family.

The world has changed immensely since November 5, 1953 to the one of 2025 as I sit here. I admit what I see and hear coming from news outlets doesn’t give me much hope in mankind–but God! Our world is broken. It has been since Adam and Eve ate forbidden fruit. But, God in His mercy, had a plan in place before He laid the foundations of the earth! We read in 1 Peter 1: 24 which quotes the prophet Isaiah: “All people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever”.

One day I will join my loved ones in heaven who have gone before me. But, for now, I will celebrate being 72 and living life covered in great love and affection from my Creator, Who knew me before He created all that we know and call our “world”. I’ll try to wrap my mind around the mystical and imperishable ways of God…smiling about how I “arrived” here while rejoicing about “where I’m headed” as I continue living wrapped in God’s abundant promises!

WHAT’S TUCKED AWAY IN YOUR PANTRY?

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“For the Lord takes delight in His people; He crowns the humble with victory”. (Psalm 149: 4)

I’ve been thinking a lot about pride and humility often the past several days, especially as I continue to take in current events around the globe and in our nation. It seems strife and evil are prevailing in countries far away and close to home, too. Thinking or dwelling on what headlines are telling me is overwhelming, yet I don’t want to ignore the seriousness of any upheavals. So, although I am only one person, I find solace in praying for peace, asking God to intervene to protect the innocents, and raising up leaders of nations who are willing to lead in humility versus pride fed by egos and selfish ambition. Honestly, I think that’s a very tall order to hope for but I know all things are possible with God. But, writing about the woes of our world isn’t my focal point today. Setting that aside I want to visit a sweet memory belonging to my Grandma Jewell who often exemplified humility .

Imagine that you’re living on a small family farm during the depression years and waste–especially regarding food–was something as a homemaker you gave careful attention to avoiding. Tending your garden of vegetables, nurturing berry bushes you grew or foraging in nearby woods, you created jams, jellies, canned vegetables in a root cellar. Jars of mincemeat lined shelves waiting to layer between pie crusts.  Maybe your family owned one or two cows for milking from which you churned your own butter from the luscious cream. You realized, however, that although pantry foods will help get you through another year feeding a growing family of 11 children, the cows may stop producing in harsh winter months, the barn too cold for them I’ve been told. Your source for butter has run out, causing you to find alternative spreads for morning toast or evening’s biscuits.

Dad told me years ago the family entertained a male guest one evening. He joined them for supper. I don’t remember what grandma served–probably chicken from one of the farm’s donors–vegetables from her pantry, potatoes from the root cellar and either homemade bread or biscuits. But she didn’t have any butter. She knew she had a huge bowl of pumpkin butter in the pantry, but she was too embarrassed to include it in the meal.

Polite dinner conversation filled her kitchen and as the evening progressed everyone began sharing memories and favorite things they liked. Lo and behold “Mr. Dinner Guest” declared “you know what I have missed for a LONG time?–pumpkin butter! Haven’t had it in years”. That’s all it took for a loving memory to push aside grandma’s fears and shame of not being able to offer her guest proper “butter”….dad said she stood up and in her well known sweet voice said “well, you just wait now, I’ll be right back”. She returned with her huge bowl of homemade pumpkin butter and set it smack dab in front of her house guest, beaming with joy as fearful pride faded from her spirit, now turned into a gesture of humility, giving way to delight this man’s tastebud memory!

I’m pretty sure the pumpkin she used to make the butter came from her own garden patch or maybe from a neighbor. It doesn’t really matter. Her ability to make the spread came from years of being frugal and creativity preparing meals for the family. The bounty she was able to collect from foraging, growing, and collecting were covered in prayers, too,  that often lasted into nighttime hours when her family was fast asleep.

I’ve never made pumpkin butter but I think I’ll give it a try. The ingredients aren’t too difficult to gather. I won’t have to forage for them. I actually have pumpkin in my freezer that I cooked and froze last fall. When I get around to making a batch, I will imagine my grandmother making hers–did she still have her wood stove at the time of this story? Did she save the seeds from the fruit of her pumpkins and roast them? Something tells me she did. Because grandma didn’t waste anything that could feed her family…or an evening houseguest the Lord knew she needed for reassurance there’s no shame when the cows aren’t producing the milk you rely on for regular butter.

A WAGON’S JOURNEY TO GREAT PURPOSE

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Recently, I wrote about my dad’s childhood memory from the farm, where my grandpa didn’t throw anything away. In the 30s old and broken things weren’t tossed out, burned or trashed. No, the pile next to the barn was most likely an original “recycling” concept born out of necessity and never wasting anything “if” it could become part of something “new”. Dad and his brothers were allowed to glean what they needed to build sleds, skis, and wagons.

Today I’m smiling as I can still hear my dad’s voice describing to those fond memories from his childhood, crafting and building outside toys to enhance an otherwise poverty stricken life during the depression years. Now, as I look back on that experience of his, I can see how God used dad’s woodworking abilities during his more mature years to still craft and create wagons–only now he could well afford to use new materials–complete with well skilled talent honed from trial and error, along with good tools.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose”. 

This verse is used often to describe how the hardships of believers intertwine with God’s plan to bring good out of something bad. I’m one who certainly has adopted this explanation when seeking to understand complexities of life’s circumstances. Such was the case when years ago my mother underwent major surgery for cancer, which at that time necessitated a radical mastectomy.  On the day of her surgery I accompanied dad to the hospital. Lunchtime happened to roll around while she was still in recovery so we got on the elevator to go to the cafeteria. Conversation was limited. Quietness and concern filled the air as we rode down three floor levels. Our “car” stopped, the doors opened to allow other folks to join us. We had stopped at the pediatrics floor, where a young child was being transported in a very large bed, rails and pillows that seemed to overwhelm his small body.

We got to our lunch table. Dad broke our silence by saying “I can’t get that little guy in that big bed out of my head. Doesn’t seem very fun or comforting to be carted around in such a thing”. He had an idea. “Hey,” he said to me in almost the form of a question. “Let’s go back to that floor. I want to talk to a nurse”.

Now, with a sense of renewed purpose and hope, dad did speak to a nurse. He asked if he could donate a hand built wagon to be used to move the kids around the floor. “Absolutely!” 

We got back on the elevator to return to mom’s floor. The atmosphere between us had changed. Purpose, hope and generosity for others had replaced any heaviness our hearts had carried before lunchtime. Dad’s demeanor had changed. Quietly, he said to me, “I suppose it was no coincidence we stopped at the ped’s floor, for me to see how I could help kids have a little bit better time while in the hospital”.

“No”, I responded. “Dad, God knew those kids would love a wagon. And He knew who He could trust to provide one”.

You see, I don’t know how many “rough” wagons dad may have assembled in his young years on the family farm. I do know that in the 90’s when our son was a youngster, dad designed a wagon, actually got a patent for his design which is called “The Dan Wagon”, built one for our Daniel, and used those plans to assemble one for Covenant Hospital.

I don’t know if the hospital’s wagon is still being used or not. Our own “Dan Wagon” is worn looking from numerous trips down our driveway’s slight slope, just enough of an angle to delight its rider. I know that childhood attempts to make a useful toy from junkpile bounty later transformed into beautiful new creations using pristine materials.

And isn’t that what God does with us when we come to Him for salvation?  “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (2 Corinthians 5: 17)  No matter the size of junk in our lives, or the depth of our sinful habits, true repentance creates something “new”, meaningful, and with great purpose!

Just like a small wood wagon with bright shiny tires and side rails to protect its occupant. All that is needed is that “SOMEONE” who has the ability to see a pile of junk and think to HIMSELF ….”Hmmm, wonder what I can fashion out of this and make it into something grand!”

TRAIN, TEACH, ENCOURAGE

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“Train up a child in the way he should go (teaching him to seek God’s wisdom and will for his abilities and talents), Even when he is old he will not depart from it. (Proverbs 22: 6)

This verse has often been used as encouragement within the walls of our churches to our parents struggling with prodigal children. The encourager’s intentions are not wrong, however, a deeper understanding what’s being said is as parents, when we get to know our children, how they’re wired, gifted, their talents, we can better direct them towards activities and proper academics to hone in on their particular “bent”–how they learn, what excites them and what brings utter lack of enthusiasm. 

Often, I draw on my father’s family for numerous life experiences that are the backdrop for examples or topics for my weekly writing. This week is no different. As I look back on each of my uncles and aunts lives, including my dad’s, I can truly note where their childhood experiences and talents took them in life.

My Aunt Joy was the second oldest. As she grew old enough to help grandma, quite often she helped care for the younger ones. Helping in the kitchen and chores with grandma were normal. It’s no wonder that as added income for her own family, she cared for several elderly women who actually lived with Joy in their large home. This was a “side gig” she did even after Uncle Ed had passed away. Joy was loving, compassionate, kind, and very patient dealing with aging minds and weary bodies.

Lyle was 17, working in one of the farm fields, when a small plane flew overhead. This disruption in his duties distracted him long enough to pause, looking up as he shielded his eyes to watch this “marvelous machine” pass over the family farm. “One day I’m going to fly, too”, he said. And fly he did. Lyle served in the Air Force as a pilot, retiring as a Colonel. 

Grandpa had a pile of what we’d call common “junk” nowadays. Worn out wood, metal scraps, odd and ends from farm materials, and discarded wheels in a variety of sizes were piled next to the barn. If the boys wanted a sled, well they made one. In summer months they longed for a wagon, so one of them figured out how to fashion one from the pile. Nothing went to waste in the depression years. Access to materials–old or fairly new–was the drafting table for all kinds of things to enhance childhood years. I don’t know the quality of the things the boys made but I do know that all of them had a love and great ability to build anything from a wagon, pair of snow skis, to furniture and homes.

My four aunts inherited grandma’s sewing abilities. Lots of clothing, and later on, numerous quilts were constructed by careful hands and an eye for design. Reading was a favorite pastime as there was no TV or radio in the home. My Aunt Esther was the only girl to graduate college and taught elementary age children until retiring. She had a passion to learn which overlapped with a deep desire to teach.

So, with the start of another school year, it’s my hope that our young parents–our guardians, our grandparents, will embrace how God has created our “littles” as unique individuals. Not every child will excel on an athletic field. Reading may be boring to some while others will tuck themselves into a corner to bury their nose in a books pages. Drawing and creating works of art from raw materials will soothe and fill the child whose creative mind is chomping to test and explore the beauty of color. Create a stack of small musical instruments and watch who will wander over and pick one up to test what kind of sound it makes. 

 The worst thing I think we as parents can do is forcing our child to do and be what goes against their natural inclinations. A great book I read years ago is “Eight Great Smarts: Develop & Nurture Your Child’s Intelligences” (available on Amazon) Each chapter is a short read and helps identify each way a child has been created to learn. And, each chapter will give you guidance on how to develop the hidden stuff in your child!

My Aunt Esther, the avid reader of the girls, preferred books over household chores. Pulling her away from a book to help in the kitchen was a disruption to where exciting novels and non-fiction materials could take her young mind. She was also bold and not afraid to climb trees. She even climbed a water tower in one of the small towns the family lived in for a stretch of time. She had a keen ability to memorize children’s storybooks and often acted them out with silly props for her young students. Her favorites were any of the Dr. Suess storybooks. 

It’s a new school year, from kindergarten to college courses and even trade schools or military enlistments! No matter the age, no matter the path of education, let’s all work together to train, guide and encourage our children along their unique avenues of learning. And let us not forget our wonderful teachers, these men and women who are challenged with 20 plus kids every day, who learn differently. Some will be daydreamers. Others will stay on task. Some will be anxious to get outside to run, jump, play, and climb. There will be those who are content to sit on the sidelines and merely watch, while contemplating what’s next in their day. All of their differences combined which cause minds and bodies to be going in numerous directions are not bad, merely different. Different is not bad. May we embrace “different” and properly fuel busy little people and our young adults, too.

Blessings on a new school year! I’m thankful for teachers who encouraged me to read, helped me get through math that made no sense…brought out my love for vocal music…honed my skills that lead to a passion for writing…my dad who drove me to the library week after week for a new stack of books. Now, I still have stacks of books in different rooms of our home, waiting to be picked up to be devoured, filling my mind with new information! Guess I better buckle down and join all the students who have returned to classrooms!

A LIFE FULFILLED OUT OF OBEDIENCE

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“I figured if the Bible said to obey and honor your parents, I’d live a long time”. 

This was the response given to the question posed to my great aunt Esther when The Flint Journal reporter interviewed her for her 100th birthday celebration. She was asked “why do you think you lived to be 100 years old?” Always fast on her feet with witty remarks, Aunt Esther was actually paraphrasing three verses from the Book of Ephesians, chapter 6, verses 1 through 3: “Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honor your father and mother–which is the first commandment with a promise–so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy a long life on the earth”.

My great aunt was quite the character. She had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes at all times. She was a woman of modesty and what we’d call “old fashioned” tendencies. In her 100 years of life I never saw her in a pair of slacks. She always wore dresses. Her long hair was styled in a messy bun. She was gentle yet firm in her beliefs and expectations of others like the time she “chewed” out my Uncle Lyle for wearing a pair of shorts on one of his visits to her. I’m thinking the visit may have fallen on a Sunday when more “godly rules” were followed. Not to be outwitted by her, Uncle Lyle wore his Air Force dress uniform to her 100th party and asked her “is my attire suitable now, Aunt Esther?” 

My beloved aunt was an evangelist in her own right. She and Uncle Alvis lived in a very small home. During the summer months the garage was used to invite the neighborhood children in for her own version of Vacation Bible School. If the garage wasn’t available, her back porch and small yard became her backdrop for teaching numerous children Bible stories and God’s plan of salvation. Many of those children were influencers in their families and often parents came into a relationship with Christ because of Aunt Esther’s passion for reaching children with the gospel message. In fact, she and several families were the founding members of the current Court Street Church of God in Flint, which was the host building for her 100th birthday. Many of those children–adults by then–attended her party, surrounding her once again to be loved and teased.

She and Uncle Alvis were not blessed with children of their own. Yet, in addition to loving several generations of kids in their neighborhood, they also fostered children who needed a loving secure environment. She was also the sister to my dad’s mother who came to the farm to care for the family each time my grandmother had given birth to a new child. She is credited with holding newborn David, naming him David Paul and declaring that “this one” would grow to be a man in Christian ministry. God heard her proclamation and indeed my Uncle David was a minister in the Free Methodist Church for his entire pastoral career.

Aunt Esther and her wonderful life examples came back in a flood of memories this morning–Wednesday– after my reading schedule took me to Psalm 119. It’s a long chapter and as I read through all the verses I noted five words that occur quite often…Laws, Commands, Precepts, Decrees, Statutes. Obviously, the psalmist is referring to these as belonging to God and a common denominator I also noticed is the concept of “obedience”.  Along with obeying there are also promises such as by following His commands we can have a fulfilling life. His precepts offer divine instructions to guide behavior and practices. Decrees give us God’s eternal plan and purpose, encompassing everything that comes to pass. His laws outline His will and expectations for believers.

O, that it is “that” easy to obey all that God desires for us. Somehow my only memories of Aunt Esther are wrapped in all things positive. As much as I’d like to think in fairness to her as merely another imperfect person in need of a savior, I can’t recall any negative traits or memories of her being nothing short of loving, kind, and passionate for Jesus. 

I certainly have no idea what heaven is like. I know Jesus said He would “go and prepare a place for His children”…mansions with many rooms is how John describes God’s house. Heaven sounds like a pretty grand place. It’s where my Aunt Esther has been for a few years now and when I close my eyes I can see her sitting on a chair or her back porch, Bible in her lap, maybe a flannel graph board, to tell the children at her feet all the wonderful stories from scripture that talk about God’s love, how special they are in His sight, and I’m willing to bet she reminded all of them to “obey their parents”….

Ample time on warm summer days. A garage or a porch. A few supplies. Maybe some lemonade and cookies. A Bible with worn pages. A twinkle in your eye that was magnetic. A big warm hug. These simple things were all that Aunt Esther needed to fulfill her purpose in God’s plan. Visualizing what her day must have looked like makes me smile and wonder….is she sitting on a small porch in heaven enjoying the fruit of her labors? Or did God promote her to a larger one to accommodate all the souls she won to Christ? Is she still adorned in a modest dress with a messy bun, her thick glasses almost hiding the twinkle in her eyes? Or, is she wearing a white robe of righteousness with her promised “new body”? No matter the reality of heaven and what I think it may look like…I’m excited one day to see her and get one of her “big hugs” along with “hello, Susie”…..