Tucked away memories came to life when Alan and I strolled the streets of his boyhood town. White clover blanketed lawns. Narrow sidewalks, cracked with age, bordered quiet streets. Pink and white peonies waved a greeting. Rustling, green leaves shook overhead. Far from the hectic pace of the city, we had returned to Iowa for his family reunion. A slow paced, friendly atmosphere embraced us and reminded us of earlier days in Iowa and Indiana.
An eclectic mixture of homes lined the streets. Colorful flowers edged homes, walls, and fences. Wicker chairs on wraparound porches waited for neighborly chats. Manicured lawns with bright flowers surrounded well kept houses. Ladders leaned against unkempt structures. Tall grass partially camouflaged old toys, ancient tools, cement blocks, and even a white toilet. Long forgotten cars rusted amid weeds. What contrasts.
Stately three story homes brought imagined stories of happy owners, family get togethers, and fulfilled dreams. Broken windows, boarded up doors, and overgrown yards formed tales of lost jobs, unemployment, and despair. Each house held secrets from the past.
A chubby robin swooped past us. Secured between electrical wires and under the gutter, her nest rested securely. Worms dropped into teeny, uplifted beaks. Spring had arrived.
A sweet, distinctive aroma perfumed the air. White lilacs adorned the street. The lovely scent brought back memories of a simpler time.
A huge courthouse anchored the center of downtown. Carved columns stood as sentries beside large entrance doors. White domed lights clustered atop stone torches. Above the doors, words of wisdom were etched into the blocks. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Jasper County for just and good government. Where law ends, anarchy begins. When the courthouse was built in 1840, the country was much different, but the words remain true and powerful.
In the circular reception area, we gazed up above the third level to the glass designs of the rotunda. The intricate beauty was a contrast to the simple stone exterior. Old wooden benches called us to rest before venturing back outside.
A smattering of white clouds floated across the brilliant, blue sky. Like a beacon shining in the night, a large American flag stood as a reminder of our values and freedoms.
As part of the veterans’ memorial, a soldier holding a stricken comrade pleaded for help. Engraved on bricks near the statue were names of local veterans. A reminder of the thousands who have served and continue to serve.
Leafy trees at each corner of the square swayed in the breeze. Small shrubs, lilacs, and tiger lilies accented the manicured grass. Small businesses filled spaces around the square. The picturesque town square continues to symbolize small town America.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Lesson from the Licks
Under a canopy of leaves and surrounded by wild animals—a giraffe, elephant, zebra, and monkey—high pitched screams filled our ears. Only a few feet from us a gaggle of young children gathered.
Seven Happy Meals beckoned. Small hands dipped into colorful bags for food and toys. For a few minutes, play was suspended. They giggled and ate while enjoying Emily’s fourth birthday party. Seated along the wall ten adults consumed other McDonalds’ specialties.
Hardly taking time to finish eating, eager children returned to the two story playground—running and yelling with glee.
Dessert brought them back. While adults savored hot fudge sundaes and McFlurries, the youngsters delighted in tall, swirled cones. I watched Ashlyn and Emily carefully eat their ice cream. Wayward drips were instantly wiped away. I was amazed at how neat and tidy they were.
Another surprise awaited me at a nearby table. Emily’s four year old friend and her toddler brother sat side by side. She held her cone and licked one side. Then she leaned toward him so he could lick the opposite side. Like a choreographed dance the cone moved rhythmically from one child to the other. Her licks were bigger and took a little longer. Anticipating the next bite, his tiny mouth opened wide like a bird waiting for a worm. His little tongue wagged wildly begging for another taste. No words were spoken, but the love between them touched my heart.
After a few minutes, his six year old sister handed him her entire cone. With increased joy, he licked and licked until she retrieved it.
Later Emily opened her birthday presents. But I had received an unexpected gift by watching the sweet sharing between a little boy and his sisters. If only adults could be so generous and kind, with no expectation of anything in return.
Seven Happy Meals beckoned. Small hands dipped into colorful bags for food and toys. For a few minutes, play was suspended. They giggled and ate while enjoying Emily’s fourth birthday party. Seated along the wall ten adults consumed other McDonalds’ specialties.
Hardly taking time to finish eating, eager children returned to the two story playground—running and yelling with glee.
Dessert brought them back. While adults savored hot fudge sundaes and McFlurries, the youngsters delighted in tall, swirled cones. I watched Ashlyn and Emily carefully eat their ice cream. Wayward drips were instantly wiped away. I was amazed at how neat and tidy they were.
Another surprise awaited me at a nearby table. Emily’s four year old friend and her toddler brother sat side by side. She held her cone and licked one side. Then she leaned toward him so he could lick the opposite side. Like a choreographed dance the cone moved rhythmically from one child to the other. Her licks were bigger and took a little longer. Anticipating the next bite, his tiny mouth opened wide like a bird waiting for a worm. His little tongue wagged wildly begging for another taste. No words were spoken, but the love between them touched my heart.
After a few minutes, his six year old sister handed him her entire cone. With increased joy, he licked and licked until she retrieved it.
Later Emily opened her birthday presents. But I had received an unexpected gift by watching the sweet sharing between a little boy and his sisters. If only adults could be so generous and kind, with no expectation of anything in return.
Monday, May 24, 2010
My Sanctuary
My colorful garden captivated me. The mirrored lake formed a perfect backdrop for charming blooms. My eyes jumped from white African iris, lavender lily of the Nile, purple showers, yellow canas, pink petunias, and yellow portulaca. Tiny white, purple and orange blooms nestled among greenery along the shore. My expanded herb garden with tasty leaves and pleasant fragrances made me smile.
Wildlife visited my sanctuary. A female cardinal broke the silence with her chip, chip, chip. Clutching the oak’s trunk, a bright green lizard scurried to the ground. A trio of mallards hit the water with a loud splash and slowly swam out of sight.
I longed to remain in my special haven. The cool morning and comforting tranquility protected me from the noise and stress of the real world. I could grab a book, sip another cup of tea, and remain isolated for the day.
It would be tempting to hover in the corner and ignore the world. Suddenly, reality joined me. Weeds crouched near my lovely flowers. A dead limb protruded from the pine tree. From across the lake, dogs bellowed. My tea turned cold. Noisy lawn mowers growled. Engines blared from the highway. Heat rose around me.
Even if I could stay all day, my sanctuary would not remain. What at first appeared to be perfect really wasn’t. However, my quiet time prepared me for the day ahead. From prayer, Bible reading, and daily devotionals I received comfort, strength, and peace to face the trials of the day.
Wildlife visited my sanctuary. A female cardinal broke the silence with her chip, chip, chip. Clutching the oak’s trunk, a bright green lizard scurried to the ground. A trio of mallards hit the water with a loud splash and slowly swam out of sight.
I longed to remain in my special haven. The cool morning and comforting tranquility protected me from the noise and stress of the real world. I could grab a book, sip another cup of tea, and remain isolated for the day.
It would be tempting to hover in the corner and ignore the world. Suddenly, reality joined me. Weeds crouched near my lovely flowers. A dead limb protruded from the pine tree. From across the lake, dogs bellowed. My tea turned cold. Noisy lawn mowers growled. Engines blared from the highway. Heat rose around me.
Even if I could stay all day, my sanctuary would not remain. What at first appeared to be perfect really wasn’t. However, my quiet time prepared me for the day ahead. From prayer, Bible reading, and daily devotionals I received comfort, strength, and peace to face the trials of the day.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Am I Really Sorry?
Snuggled together on Emily’s bed, Ashlyn, Emily, and I followed their bedtime routine of reading a couple of books, listening to a Bible story, singing three songs, and praying. After the second book, my scratchy throat made me cough so I told them that I would not be able to sing. That did not go over well at all. They informed me that they wanted the songs.
“I won’t be able to sing and read the Bible story because I am losing my voice. You need to decide which you want.”
Ashlyn took the Bible and said she would read it. I thought that would be a good solution, but I was wrong.
“No, I don’t want you to!!!” Emily cried as she jumped off the bed and ran from the room.
I looked at Ashlyn for an explanation, but she seemed stunned too.
Emily raced back into the room yelling, “I won’t listen!!”
I tried to explain to her that my throat hurt and Ashlyn was trying to be nice. She did not seem to care. Then she rushed to the bed and hit Ashlyn. I was shocked by her behavior since she did not usually do that. During this time, Ashlyn remained pretty quiet and did not retaliate.
“You should not hit your sister. What should you say to her?” I asked.
With anger in her little eyes, she replied, “Nothing.”
Ashlyn looked hurt that Emily did not want her to read, and Emily was mad that Ashlyn was going to read. What a dilemma. Quietly Ashlyn handed me the Bible and said I could read it. We decided that we would share the reading so I hoped that would solve our problem.
With a girl on each side of me, I began reading about Zacchaeus. After Jesus spoke to him, he realized his mistakes and said he was sorry. He told Jesus he would repay everyone four times what he had taken from them.
On the devotional page, the first question was Have you ever been sorry for something you have done?
Emily said quietly, “Like when I hit Ashlyn?”
“Yes, like when you hit Ashlyn,” I replied with a smile thinking she had learned her lesson.
“I am sorry, but I don’t want to tell her.”
I guess she only learned part of the lesson. Her pride would not allow her to tell Ashlyn that she was sorry even though Ashlyn was listening.
It is easy to behave like Emily and know we are sorry but refuse to say it. Sometimes a relationship is strained or broken because no one will utter the healing words I am sorry.
Fortunately, Ashlyn forgave her sister so they hugged and kissed good night. If only all stories could end that happily.
“I won’t be able to sing and read the Bible story because I am losing my voice. You need to decide which you want.”
Ashlyn took the Bible and said she would read it. I thought that would be a good solution, but I was wrong.
“No, I don’t want you to!!!” Emily cried as she jumped off the bed and ran from the room.
I looked at Ashlyn for an explanation, but she seemed stunned too.
Emily raced back into the room yelling, “I won’t listen!!”
I tried to explain to her that my throat hurt and Ashlyn was trying to be nice. She did not seem to care. Then she rushed to the bed and hit Ashlyn. I was shocked by her behavior since she did not usually do that. During this time, Ashlyn remained pretty quiet and did not retaliate.
“You should not hit your sister. What should you say to her?” I asked.
With anger in her little eyes, she replied, “Nothing.”
Ashlyn looked hurt that Emily did not want her to read, and Emily was mad that Ashlyn was going to read. What a dilemma. Quietly Ashlyn handed me the Bible and said I could read it. We decided that we would share the reading so I hoped that would solve our problem.
With a girl on each side of me, I began reading about Zacchaeus. After Jesus spoke to him, he realized his mistakes and said he was sorry. He told Jesus he would repay everyone four times what he had taken from them.
On the devotional page, the first question was Have you ever been sorry for something you have done?
Emily said quietly, “Like when I hit Ashlyn?”
“Yes, like when you hit Ashlyn,” I replied with a smile thinking she had learned her lesson.
“I am sorry, but I don’t want to tell her.”
I guess she only learned part of the lesson. Her pride would not allow her to tell Ashlyn that she was sorry even though Ashlyn was listening.
It is easy to behave like Emily and know we are sorry but refuse to say it. Sometimes a relationship is strained or broken because no one will utter the healing words I am sorry.
Fortunately, Ashlyn forgave her sister so they hugged and kissed good night. If only all stories could end that happily.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Eating Leaves
When my young granddaughters came for a visit, we took a tour of my small garden. Emily and I each picked a juicy cherry tomato. We popped them into our mouths and savored the juicy fruits. Ashlyn preferred to try some of my herbs. I plucked mint, anise, and stevia for her to munch. All of us enjoyed our treats.
Later Emily told her mom about our adventure. Her description made it seem quite different from what I saw. “Grandma had a tomato. I had a tomato. Ashlyn just had leaves.”
Immediately, I added that Ashlyn ate some of my herbs not just any kind of leaves. Her story was true but gave a different perception than what actually happened.
Word choice is so important in relationships. Various cultures, life experiences, and languages can cause confusion and unnecessary pain when people see things differently. It is easy to become angry, hurt, or dejected because of perceived slights, attacks, or hypocrisy. How important it is to choose words carefully. Many problems could be prevented if people would really communicate.
Later Emily told her mom about our adventure. Her description made it seem quite different from what I saw. “Grandma had a tomato. I had a tomato. Ashlyn just had leaves.”
Immediately, I added that Ashlyn ate some of my herbs not just any kind of leaves. Her story was true but gave a different perception than what actually happened.
Word choice is so important in relationships. Various cultures, life experiences, and languages can cause confusion and unnecessary pain when people see things differently. It is easy to become angry, hurt, or dejected because of perceived slights, attacks, or hypocrisy. How important it is to choose words carefully. Many problems could be prevented if people would really communicate.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mothers' Day Memories
I stared down at the tiny baby nestled in my arms. My life had changed forever. I was a mother.
Until I became a mother, I did not fully appreciate my own mom. Her years of mothering me rubbed off on me as I started my own journey.
When I unpacked my cedar chest recently, I discovered my bronzed baby shoes. The aged slippers attached to a wooden frame brought back numerous memories.
Memory fragments sprinkled through my mind. In the kitchen I munched on raw potato slices while my mother prepared our meals. Her delicious food included Sunday pot roasts surrounded by carrots and potatoes. Hearty meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans satisfied our hunger. All types of jello concoctions joined Velveeta cheese sandwiches slathered with mayonnaise. Homemade applesauce, strawberries, cakes, and cookies added to our enjoyment.
For years I ate with little thought to the work that went with it. Only when I was old enough to be of help—not always my choice—did I realize how difficult and time consuming it was. I saw little fun in opening pea pods, hulling strawberries, and weeding the garden. During canning time, the stifling kitchen with no air conditioning seemed unbearable. There was no option but to silk the corn, snap the beans, and peel the apples. To feed our growing family, she canned and later froze a variety of homegrown foods. Stores displayed few convenience items, and restaurant meals were a special treat. At Christmas our home was filled with delectable cookie, breads, and favorite candies. Our kitchen was a busy place.
Having children only eighteen months apart meant a mountain of cloth diapers that had to be washed and dried. Bottles were sterilized and little outfits ironed since wash and wear was unheard of at that time.
I remember living in nine houses in various localities. Some were short moves and a couple longer distances. Those moves meant packing and unpacking, making new friends, finding another church, and helping the rest of us adjust to our new homes.
After three children, she decided to start college. In spite of her family duties, she became a teacher after many years of classes and then earned a masters’ degree. Until I entered college, I did not understand the commitment that she needed to reach her goal.
Through each stage of my life, mother was available but not intrusive. She taught me how to be a mother, wife, and friend. I do not remember many of the words, but I do recall numerous examples. I have also tried to instill Christian values and beliefs into my children and grandchildren. I realize that they may not remember my words but I hope I am a good example.
I have had several years as a grandmother, many as a mother, and a host having a mother. I am thankful that she continues to be a part of my life. Happy Mothers’ Day to my mom. I also wish a wonderful Mothers' Day to moms, step moms, foster moms, and moms in love. Enjoy your day. You are changing the world.
Until I became a mother, I did not fully appreciate my own mom. Her years of mothering me rubbed off on me as I started my own journey.
When I unpacked my cedar chest recently, I discovered my bronzed baby shoes. The aged slippers attached to a wooden frame brought back numerous memories.
Memory fragments sprinkled through my mind. In the kitchen I munched on raw potato slices while my mother prepared our meals. Her delicious food included Sunday pot roasts surrounded by carrots and potatoes. Hearty meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans satisfied our hunger. All types of jello concoctions joined Velveeta cheese sandwiches slathered with mayonnaise. Homemade applesauce, strawberries, cakes, and cookies added to our enjoyment.
For years I ate with little thought to the work that went with it. Only when I was old enough to be of help—not always my choice—did I realize how difficult and time consuming it was. I saw little fun in opening pea pods, hulling strawberries, and weeding the garden. During canning time, the stifling kitchen with no air conditioning seemed unbearable. There was no option but to silk the corn, snap the beans, and peel the apples. To feed our growing family, she canned and later froze a variety of homegrown foods. Stores displayed few convenience items, and restaurant meals were a special treat. At Christmas our home was filled with delectable cookie, breads, and favorite candies. Our kitchen was a busy place.
Having children only eighteen months apart meant a mountain of cloth diapers that had to be washed and dried. Bottles were sterilized and little outfits ironed since wash and wear was unheard of at that time.
I remember living in nine houses in various localities. Some were short moves and a couple longer distances. Those moves meant packing and unpacking, making new friends, finding another church, and helping the rest of us adjust to our new homes.
After three children, she decided to start college. In spite of her family duties, she became a teacher after many years of classes and then earned a masters’ degree. Until I entered college, I did not understand the commitment that she needed to reach her goal.
Through each stage of my life, mother was available but not intrusive. She taught me how to be a mother, wife, and friend. I do not remember many of the words, but I do recall numerous examples. I have also tried to instill Christian values and beliefs into my children and grandchildren. I realize that they may not remember my words but I hope I am a good example.
I have had several years as a grandmother, many as a mother, and a host having a mother. I am thankful that she continues to be a part of my life. Happy Mothers’ Day to my mom. I also wish a wonderful Mothers' Day to moms, step moms, foster moms, and moms in love. Enjoy your day. You are changing the world.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Mistake
“Grandma, what color do blue and green make?” asked Emily.
I was trying to quickly get her into bed for her nap after returning home from the science center. I knew she was tired and required her rest.
Absentmindedly, as I covered her up, I replied, “It makes purple.”
“No, grandma, red and blue make purple,” she stated with confidence.
I could not believe my mistake and then to be corrected by a three year old! “You are right. I was not thinking.”
Emily started laughing. “Ashlyn, grandma said that blue and green make purple!!”
Both girls giggled at my silly mistake. Though humbled, I joined them in laughter.
The goof caused Emily and I to invent our own game. She sat up, repeated my mistake, and then I pushed her back down. We would both laugh, and the cycle would start over again. The girls even made up a song about grandma saying blue and green make purple. When their mom came home, my goof was instantly relayed to her.
Children can be relentless when they observe a crack in our “perfect” adult persona. Unfortunately, that trait often does not go away when childhood becomes adulthood. Perhaps it makes us seem better as we point out the mistakes and flaws in others. We might say it is for their own good, but the intensity and duration of the “helpfulness”often do not match the offense.
I will certainly not forget what I learned many years ago that red and blue produce purple. I will also think more before speaking to prevent avoidable errors and to prevent unnecessary and unwanted “helping”. Sometimes pointing out mistakes and flaws can be beneficial, but it is good to analyze the motives and methods.
I was trying to quickly get her into bed for her nap after returning home from the science center. I knew she was tired and required her rest.
Absentmindedly, as I covered her up, I replied, “It makes purple.”
“No, grandma, red and blue make purple,” she stated with confidence.
I could not believe my mistake and then to be corrected by a three year old! “You are right. I was not thinking.”
Emily started laughing. “Ashlyn, grandma said that blue and green make purple!!”
Both girls giggled at my silly mistake. Though humbled, I joined them in laughter.
The goof caused Emily and I to invent our own game. She sat up, repeated my mistake, and then I pushed her back down. We would both laugh, and the cycle would start over again. The girls even made up a song about grandma saying blue and green make purple. When their mom came home, my goof was instantly relayed to her.
Children can be relentless when they observe a crack in our “perfect” adult persona. Unfortunately, that trait often does not go away when childhood becomes adulthood. Perhaps it makes us seem better as we point out the mistakes and flaws in others. We might say it is for their own good, but the intensity and duration of the “helpfulness”often do not match the offense.
I will certainly not forget what I learned many years ago that red and blue produce purple. I will also think more before speaking to prevent avoidable errors and to prevent unnecessary and unwanted “helping”. Sometimes pointing out mistakes and flaws can be beneficial, but it is good to analyze the motives and methods.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
A Lesson in Patience
Water to his knees. Tiptoeing silently along the shoreline. I watched, fascinated, by his endeavors. The blue heron stretched his long neck, stared at the calm water, and then moved on. With his head erect, he gazed further out into the dark lake. With extreme patience, he waded, walked, and looked with no rush at all.
My patience was short as I urged him to catch something so I could see the flash of movement when he snatched his prey. Then I could get on with my morning devotions. He was not in a hurry but continued watchful waiting for the perfect strike. He rarely misses after his deliberate, diligent waits.
How often have I plunged into a situation before I was thoroughly prepared? There have been times when I grew impatient and moved forward when the time was not right. I have attempted to be in control when it would have been better to wait on God’s timing. The next time I become impatient or try to forge ahead even though it does not really seem right, I will remember the single, blue heron who calmly walks the shore.
My patience was short as I urged him to catch something so I could see the flash of movement when he snatched his prey. Then I could get on with my morning devotions. He was not in a hurry but continued watchful waiting for the perfect strike. He rarely misses after his deliberate, diligent waits.
How often have I plunged into a situation before I was thoroughly prepared? There have been times when I grew impatient and moved forward when the time was not right. I have attempted to be in control when it would have been better to wait on God’s timing. The next time I become impatient or try to forge ahead even though it does not really seem right, I will remember the single, blue heron who calmly walks the shore.
A Lesson in Patience
Water to his knees. Tiptoeing silently along the shoreline. I watched, fascinated, by his endeavors. The blue heron stretched his long neck, stared at the calm water, and then moved on. With his head erect, he gazed further out into the dark lake. With extreme patience, he waded, walked, and looked with no rush at all.
My patience was short as I urged him to catch something so I could see the flash of movement when he snatched his prey. Then I could get on with my morning devotions. He was not in a hurry but continued watchful waiting for the perfect strike. He rarely misses after his deliberate, diligent waits.
How often have I plunged into a situation before I was thoroughly prepared? There have been times when I grew impatient and moved forward when the time was not right. I have attempted to be in control when it would have been better to wait on God’s timing. The next time I become impatient or try to forge ahead even though it does not really seem right, I will remember the single, blue heron who calmly walks the shore.
My patience was short as I urged him to catch something so I could see the flash of movement when he snatched his prey. Then I could get on with my morning devotions. He was not in a hurry but continued watchful waiting for the perfect strike. He rarely misses after his deliberate, diligent waits.
How often have I plunged into a situation before I was thoroughly prepared? There have been times when I grew impatient and moved forward when the time was not right. I have attempted to be in control when it would have been better to wait on God’s timing. The next time I become impatient or try to forge ahead even though it does not really seem right, I will remember the single, blue heron who calmly walks the shore.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Taking Risks
The family festival at a local farm was fun for Anne, Ashlyn, Emily, and me. First we picked strawberries from a large field sprinkled with red berries. After putting the berries in the car, we were ready for the girls to explore the various activities.
Because there was a fee for two rides, the girls had to pick one. Both girls decided to try the elephant since pony rides were more common. After waiting for several minutes, it was their turn to climb the high, wooden platform. Emily’s small legs had to stretch to reach each step, but she made it on her own. Ashlyn pulled herself up onto the elephant’s back, but Emily needed a lift. They straddled the huge animal’s back and grabbed the bar that partially enclosed them. The elephant plodded around the small area—plodded along by its trainer. When Anne poised the camera for pictures, the girls grinned. I saw no evidence of fear but only excitement.
On the obstacle course, they ran between poles, crossed tubes, and climbed fences. The only problem was when Emily got stuck at the top of the fence and did not know how to get down. She tried valiantly before asking for help.
During the hayride, Ashlyn declined sitting on my lap when the space was limited. Instead, she preferred to sit opposite us by herself. She calmly looked down at two snakes that were on the ground by her side of the wagon.
While on the swings, Emily kept wanting to go higher and higher. Previously, she had only wanted to move a little bit but was learning to swing herself.
Both girls ran to the zipline to wait their turn. Most in line were older boys but that did not deter the girls. From the high, wooden stand children had to grasp the handles which would take them to the end. A mother, who stood on the platform, helped each child get onto the apparatus before they zipped away. Her husband sent the handles back to her after the ride.
I held the handles so she could boost Ashlyn up. Away she went in a blur with Anne on the ground snapping pictures. Emily was so tiny that she had to be picked and held high so she could grab the handle with her teeny fingers. With trepidation, I watched her zoom down the line hanging high above the ground. At the end, a father caught her and lowered her to the ground. As fast as they could run, both girls returned to the line for another trip. I held my breath until the each finished but laughed at their enthusiasm and courage. I would not have depended on my own fingers to hold me as I flew many feet above the ground.
Every activity they tried required them to face fear and risk, but they did it with joy. I thought of the consequences of what could happen if they fell, but they only thought of the fun they would have. They had a delightful day filled with many pleasant memories instead of regrets for not trying.
Unfortunately, as adults we often think of all the risks which keeps us from experiencing the fullness of life. Of course, we do not want to be reckless but some risks are beneficial. Perhaps by taking a class, volunteering in the community, visiting a neighbor, starting a career, traveling to a different place, speaking before a group, writing a book, or attending church. Each person has specific fears and insecurities to be faced and overcome. Maybe the results won’t be what we desired, but at least, we will know that we tried. There may be wonderful surprises.
When I think of excuses for why I should not do something, I will remember Ashlyn and Emily hanging from the towering zipline with their little fingers holding on tightly while relishing the ride. If they can take risks joyfully, so can we.
Because there was a fee for two rides, the girls had to pick one. Both girls decided to try the elephant since pony rides were more common. After waiting for several minutes, it was their turn to climb the high, wooden platform. Emily’s small legs had to stretch to reach each step, but she made it on her own. Ashlyn pulled herself up onto the elephant’s back, but Emily needed a lift. They straddled the huge animal’s back and grabbed the bar that partially enclosed them. The elephant plodded around the small area—plodded along by its trainer. When Anne poised the camera for pictures, the girls grinned. I saw no evidence of fear but only excitement.
On the obstacle course, they ran between poles, crossed tubes, and climbed fences. The only problem was when Emily got stuck at the top of the fence and did not know how to get down. She tried valiantly before asking for help.
During the hayride, Ashlyn declined sitting on my lap when the space was limited. Instead, she preferred to sit opposite us by herself. She calmly looked down at two snakes that were on the ground by her side of the wagon.
While on the swings, Emily kept wanting to go higher and higher. Previously, she had only wanted to move a little bit but was learning to swing herself.
Both girls ran to the zipline to wait their turn. Most in line were older boys but that did not deter the girls. From the high, wooden stand children had to grasp the handles which would take them to the end. A mother, who stood on the platform, helped each child get onto the apparatus before they zipped away. Her husband sent the handles back to her after the ride.
I held the handles so she could boost Ashlyn up. Away she went in a blur with Anne on the ground snapping pictures. Emily was so tiny that she had to be picked and held high so she could grab the handle with her teeny fingers. With trepidation, I watched her zoom down the line hanging high above the ground. At the end, a father caught her and lowered her to the ground. As fast as they could run, both girls returned to the line for another trip. I held my breath until the each finished but laughed at their enthusiasm and courage. I would not have depended on my own fingers to hold me as I flew many feet above the ground.
Every activity they tried required them to face fear and risk, but they did it with joy. I thought of the consequences of what could happen if they fell, but they only thought of the fun they would have. They had a delightful day filled with many pleasant memories instead of regrets for not trying.
Unfortunately, as adults we often think of all the risks which keeps us from experiencing the fullness of life. Of course, we do not want to be reckless but some risks are beneficial. Perhaps by taking a class, volunteering in the community, visiting a neighbor, starting a career, traveling to a different place, speaking before a group, writing a book, or attending church. Each person has specific fears and insecurities to be faced and overcome. Maybe the results won’t be what we desired, but at least, we will know that we tried. There may be wonderful surprises.
When I think of excuses for why I should not do something, I will remember Ashlyn and Emily hanging from the towering zipline with their little fingers holding on tightly while relishing the ride. If they can take risks joyfully, so can we.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Splendor of Spring
Rebecca Carpenter
March 27, 2010
Filmy haze danced just above the lake in the early morning chill. A cloudless, blue tinged sky formed a canopy. I savored the serenity while I sipped my hot tea and snuggled in my wicker chair on the patio.
My personal zoo stretched before me. I delighted at the number of animals in my oak tree. Three squirrels played a game of hide and seek—up and down the trunk and out onto the limbs. A brilliantly colored blue jay swooped from the tree to the feeder—scaring away the smaller sparrows. They immediately returned each time he left and formed a circle as they ate. My favorite scarlet cardinal took his turn after calling his mate. He even dropped a seed into her mouth. A single red bellied sapsucker circled the tree while tapping at the trunk. One squirrel ventured to a small bush closer to the feeder. He gazed longingly at the tasty morsels but finally realized the gap was too far to jump and scampered away. A lone dove scavenged on the ground for dropped seeds. Along the shore, a great white egret tiptoed quietly with only his head showing. Splashing water startled me as I observed a large bird rising from the lake. In his talons was a very frightened fish that would soon be breakfast.
The “silent” morning was actually filled with a bird chorus. Melodic patterns echoed back and forth across the lake. Tweets, chirps, and caws joined together to produce a pleasant interlude. Punctuating the tune was the clicking of the cardinal.
Sunlight illuminated bright green trees showcasing the newness of spring. Streams of light highlighted the trunks of tall pines bordering the water.
The beauty of the morning captivated me. I was encased in a magical world of God’s magnificent creation. Each tree, flower, and bush added their own special touch to my private zoo with its exceptional wildlife. I longed to remain and seclude myself in its grandeur. However, the duties of the day called to me. I smiled knowing that the memories would be replayed in my mind. Even though I would not be able to stay, I could take a break wherever I might find myself to really enjoy the scenery. What wonderful surprises await me when I really open my eyes!
Rebecca Carpenter
March 27, 2010
Filmy haze danced just above the lake in the early morning chill. A cloudless, blue tinged sky formed a canopy. I savored the serenity while I sipped my hot tea and snuggled in my wicker chair on the patio.
My personal zoo stretched before me. I delighted at the number of animals in my oak tree. Three squirrels played a game of hide and seek—up and down the trunk and out onto the limbs. A brilliantly colored blue jay swooped from the tree to the feeder—scaring away the smaller sparrows. They immediately returned each time he left and formed a circle as they ate. My favorite scarlet cardinal took his turn after calling his mate. He even dropped a seed into her mouth. A single red bellied sapsucker circled the tree while tapping at the trunk. One squirrel ventured to a small bush closer to the feeder. He gazed longingly at the tasty morsels but finally realized the gap was too far to jump and scampered away. A lone dove scavenged on the ground for dropped seeds. Along the shore, a great white egret tiptoed quietly with only his head showing. Splashing water startled me as I observed a large bird rising from the lake. In his talons was a very frightened fish that would soon be breakfast.
The “silent” morning was actually filled with a bird chorus. Melodic patterns echoed back and forth across the lake. Tweets, chirps, and caws joined together to produce a pleasant interlude. Punctuating the tune was the clicking of the cardinal.
Sunlight illuminated bright green trees showcasing the newness of spring. Streams of light highlighted the trunks of tall pines bordering the water.
The beauty of the morning captivated me. I was encased in a magical world of God’s magnificent creation. Each tree, flower, and bush added their own special touch to my private zoo with its exceptional wildlife. I longed to remain and seclude myself in its grandeur. However, the duties of the day called to me. I smiled knowing that the memories would be replayed in my mind. Even though I would not be able to stay, I could take a break wherever I might find myself to really enjoy the scenery. What wonderful surprises await me when I really open my eyes!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Signs of Hope
Signs of Hope
Rebecca Carpenter
March 23, 2010
Since arriving home from our long trip, my sleep had been erratic and a bad cold had sapped my energy. One cool morning, I ventured onto the patio with my fuzzy robe and a cup of hot tea.
Winter in Florida had been longer and colder than any I had experienced. Normally, in March I would be wearing shorts, working in the yard, and enjoying the warm sunshine. This year was quite different.
Before Alan and I left on our month long journey, the lawn was brown and many plants were lifeless and droopy. We had been advised to not cut back any plants until March so we left hoping that some would survive.
As I peered at the lawn from my favorite patio chair, I was pleasantly surprised. Green grass had overtaken the dead, brown blades. Tiny, bright green leaves poked out on previously barren branches. A single, white African lily peeked from green leaves. The most astonishing sight was our azaleas at the edge of the patio. Before we left, their scraggly brown leaves seemed to show very damaged plants. What a transformation they had made. Each bush was swathed in colorful blooms-bright pink, variegated pink, and muted rose. They had defied the cold to harm them and burst forth with a glorious display.
Next to them, my birthday petunia also exploded with bright, pink flowers. The entire section of garden next to my favorite spot with filled with color.
In addition to the lovely landscape, I was greeted with beautiful music from a chorus of birds. My favorite red cardinal perked at the feeder as if welcoming me home. The red bellied sapsucker tapped at the oak providing percussion for the symphony.
Spring had finally arrived. Perhaps it was more stunning and cherished because of the longer, colder winter and because I had not been feeling well. Even though the landscape still held brown leaves and dead plants, hope had returned.
When we feel that all is lost, we can remember the exquisite splendor of spring.
Rebecca Carpenter
March 23, 2010
Since arriving home from our long trip, my sleep had been erratic and a bad cold had sapped my energy. One cool morning, I ventured onto the patio with my fuzzy robe and a cup of hot tea.
Winter in Florida had been longer and colder than any I had experienced. Normally, in March I would be wearing shorts, working in the yard, and enjoying the warm sunshine. This year was quite different.
Before Alan and I left on our month long journey, the lawn was brown and many plants were lifeless and droopy. We had been advised to not cut back any plants until March so we left hoping that some would survive.
As I peered at the lawn from my favorite patio chair, I was pleasantly surprised. Green grass had overtaken the dead, brown blades. Tiny, bright green leaves poked out on previously barren branches. A single, white African lily peeked from green leaves. The most astonishing sight was our azaleas at the edge of the patio. Before we left, their scraggly brown leaves seemed to show very damaged plants. What a transformation they had made. Each bush was swathed in colorful blooms-bright pink, variegated pink, and muted rose. They had defied the cold to harm them and burst forth with a glorious display.
Next to them, my birthday petunia also exploded with bright, pink flowers. The entire section of garden next to my favorite spot with filled with color.
In addition to the lovely landscape, I was greeted with beautiful music from a chorus of birds. My favorite red cardinal perked at the feeder as if welcoming me home. The red bellied sapsucker tapped at the oak providing percussion for the symphony.
Spring had finally arrived. Perhaps it was more stunning and cherished because of the longer, colder winter and because I had not been feeling well. Even though the landscape still held brown leaves and dead plants, hope had returned.
When we feel that all is lost, we can remember the exquisite splendor of spring.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Tiny Ministers
A few years ago when I was babysitting for Ashlyn and Emily, I was amazed at what they taught me. Emily was not happy that her parents left for the evening and started crying. Nothing that I did made her stop so Ashlyn said she would “read” the story before bed. After we finished a book, Ashlyn announced that Emily wanted a Bible story. Four year old Ashlyn selected the children’s Bible from the basket of books.
“Emily, what story do you want?” she asked. It was obvious that she knew the stories as she thumbed through the pages.
“Here is one about David and Goliath. Goliath was a giant. David was a small boy. David used his sling shot with a stone and hit Goliath. God was with him,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Emily, let’s pray.” As she prayed she said each word slowly so that Emily could repeat them.
“Jesus, thank you for David. Thank you for Goliath. Amen,” they both said.
I understood why she prayed for David but why Goliath? Then I remembered Ephesians 5:19-20 …Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Without a Goliath, David may have only been an unknown shepherd. The difficult people and situations in our lives shape us and prepare us for God’s special plans. That was my first sermon from the small minister.
The next story that Ashlyn chose was the one about Mary and Martha.
“Martha wanted to clean the house and fix food,” she said while studying the brightly colored pictures. Then she looked at her little sister, cupped her hand over her ear, and proclaimed, “But Mary listened to Jesus. Emily, she listened.”
Emily cupped her hand over her tiny ear as she imitated her big sister.
“Let’s pray. Emily, say this. Jesus, thank you for Martha and her sister, Mary.” Again, Ashlyn spoke slowly and distinctly so that Emily could repeat every word.
The second sermon that I heard was the importance of really listening to those around us. What a joy to see both girls grow physically and spiritually. When Jesus said to let the little children come to Him, He knew how important they were and that they could teach in their own sweet, precious way. Grandma was certainly learning from the tiny ministers.
“Emily, what story do you want?” she asked. It was obvious that she knew the stories as she thumbed through the pages.
“Here is one about David and Goliath. Goliath was a giant. David was a small boy. David used his sling shot with a stone and hit Goliath. God was with him,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Emily, let’s pray.” As she prayed she said each word slowly so that Emily could repeat them.
“Jesus, thank you for David. Thank you for Goliath. Amen,” they both said.
I understood why she prayed for David but why Goliath? Then I remembered Ephesians 5:19-20 …Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Without a Goliath, David may have only been an unknown shepherd. The difficult people and situations in our lives shape us and prepare us for God’s special plans. That was my first sermon from the small minister.
The next story that Ashlyn chose was the one about Mary and Martha.
“Martha wanted to clean the house and fix food,” she said while studying the brightly colored pictures. Then she looked at her little sister, cupped her hand over her ear, and proclaimed, “But Mary listened to Jesus. Emily, she listened.”
Emily cupped her hand over her tiny ear as she imitated her big sister.
“Let’s pray. Emily, say this. Jesus, thank you for Martha and her sister, Mary.” Again, Ashlyn spoke slowly and distinctly so that Emily could repeat every word.
The second sermon that I heard was the importance of really listening to those around us. What a joy to see both girls grow physically and spiritually. When Jesus said to let the little children come to Him, He knew how important they were and that they could teach in their own sweet, precious way. Grandma was certainly learning from the tiny ministers.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Mismatched Creature
Like a set of Tinker Toys, it seemed God picked random body parts to form an outlandish bird. A tiny, splotched head stuck onto a large white body. Black tinged feathers appeared at the tail section. He must have laughed when he picked up bright orange feet and fastened them to the ends of gangly, pencil thin black legs. He screwed the spindly legs into the hefty, white body. A very long, slight, curved beak completed the unusual creation.
As I pondered the features of the stork behind my house, the bizarre bird rose into the air and gracefully soared above the lake. It landed softly on the smooth bank and surveyed the dark water. With a nod, he stuck his head under the water and came up with breakfast again and again. The peculiar parts taken together produced a delightful surprise that was both graceful in the air and competent at getting food from the water. God took the ugly parts and used them in wonderful ways.
God can also take the pain and ugliness of our lives that seem to have no meaningful purposes and use them in astonishing ways.
Romans 8:28 And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose.
As I pondered the features of the stork behind my house, the bizarre bird rose into the air and gracefully soared above the lake. It landed softly on the smooth bank and surveyed the dark water. With a nod, he stuck his head under the water and came up with breakfast again and again. The peculiar parts taken together produced a delightful surprise that was both graceful in the air and competent at getting food from the water. God took the ugly parts and used them in wonderful ways.
God can also take the pain and ugliness of our lives that seem to have no meaningful purposes and use them in astonishing ways.
Romans 8:28 And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A Delightful Mistake
Following several intense days of touring, I needed time alone to rest, reflect, and write. The Garden Tomb had been a refuge for me on previous trips so it seemed the perfect spot. While Alan meandered around the bustling, noisy Old City, I would retreat to the Garden.
From our hotel, we walked along the congested street toward the Old City of Jerusalem. The Garden Tomb was just off the mayhem behind a high wall. The door was closed, but a man came along, inserted a key in the lock of the gate, and started to enter. When I informed him that I wanted a quiet place to write, he motioned for me to follow him. Alan left, and I went off with a man I had never seen before.
I found out that he had been there for forty years, and I told him I was part of a group from America. We ambled up a long path to the top of a small hill. He pointed out a bench under a tree where I could sit. Then he disappeared into a stone building, and I was alone. Even though I had been to the Garden Tomb several times, I had never been in that section. It looked totally different from what I remembered.
Quietness surrounded me as I began to write. Tension from the past few days melted away while I put my thoughts on paper. I noticed two or three cats lounging along the walkway. Two men appeared and talked for a few minutes. Behind the building were several cars which surprised me. The Garden Tomb had always seemed isolated from the traffic and outside influences. Perhaps I was in an out of the way area. However, when I noticed a few more people come from the path and go into the building, I had a strange feeling.
I picked up my belongings and followed the trail toward another wall. Rising above the wall I saw the outside of a large church. I continued my exploration and entered a courtyard with flowers and statues. The doors to the church were all shut. A man quietly came out of a small, wooden door so I decided to see what was inside. Gingerly, I pushed the door open and was overwhelmed by the gorgeous, marble sanctuary. Stripes of rust and white marble framed the gigantic arches and columns. High stained glass windows lined both sides. Arched niches beneath the windows contained sizeable pictures of various saints.
Three huge paintings adorned the altar area. The prominent, center one was Jesus welcoming me with an outstretched hand and holding the Scriptures in the other one. It was like He knew that I needed a place of solitude and invited me to join Him in the lovely, majestic church. A comforting tranquility surrounded me as I rested and prayed.
It was obvious that I had stopped at the wrong gate and entered the grounds of a Catholic Church instead of the Garden Tomb. The man who had graciously allowed me to enter had helped me find my quiet place. The “mistake” of not finding the Garden Tomb was no mistake at all. In its place I had been given a glorious gift—of encouragement, peacefulness, and thanksgiving.
I laughed to myself as I gathered my things and left the church. I hoped that I could find a way to leave through the locked gate and find the Garden Tomb before Alan returned for me. Fortunately, I had seen a young couple turn a lever to get out. Then I quickly walked a short distance to the sign that plainly said “Garden Tomb”. I could not wait to tell Alan about my morning “mistake”.
From our hotel, we walked along the congested street toward the Old City of Jerusalem. The Garden Tomb was just off the mayhem behind a high wall. The door was closed, but a man came along, inserted a key in the lock of the gate, and started to enter. When I informed him that I wanted a quiet place to write, he motioned for me to follow him. Alan left, and I went off with a man I had never seen before.
I found out that he had been there for forty years, and I told him I was part of a group from America. We ambled up a long path to the top of a small hill. He pointed out a bench under a tree where I could sit. Then he disappeared into a stone building, and I was alone. Even though I had been to the Garden Tomb several times, I had never been in that section. It looked totally different from what I remembered.
Quietness surrounded me as I began to write. Tension from the past few days melted away while I put my thoughts on paper. I noticed two or three cats lounging along the walkway. Two men appeared and talked for a few minutes. Behind the building were several cars which surprised me. The Garden Tomb had always seemed isolated from the traffic and outside influences. Perhaps I was in an out of the way area. However, when I noticed a few more people come from the path and go into the building, I had a strange feeling.
I picked up my belongings and followed the trail toward another wall. Rising above the wall I saw the outside of a large church. I continued my exploration and entered a courtyard with flowers and statues. The doors to the church were all shut. A man quietly came out of a small, wooden door so I decided to see what was inside. Gingerly, I pushed the door open and was overwhelmed by the gorgeous, marble sanctuary. Stripes of rust and white marble framed the gigantic arches and columns. High stained glass windows lined both sides. Arched niches beneath the windows contained sizeable pictures of various saints.
Three huge paintings adorned the altar area. The prominent, center one was Jesus welcoming me with an outstretched hand and holding the Scriptures in the other one. It was like He knew that I needed a place of solitude and invited me to join Him in the lovely, majestic church. A comforting tranquility surrounded me as I rested and prayed.
It was obvious that I had stopped at the wrong gate and entered the grounds of a Catholic Church instead of the Garden Tomb. The man who had graciously allowed me to enter had helped me find my quiet place. The “mistake” of not finding the Garden Tomb was no mistake at all. In its place I had been given a glorious gift—of encouragement, peacefulness, and thanksgiving.
I laughed to myself as I gathered my things and left the church. I hoped that I could find a way to leave through the locked gate and find the Garden Tomb before Alan returned for me. Fortunately, I had seen a young couple turn a lever to get out. Then I quickly walked a short distance to the sign that plainly said “Garden Tomb”. I could not wait to tell Alan about my morning “mistake”.
The Strange Bird
I peered out the window, opaque from condensation. Cool morning air had caused me to remain inside instead of sitting at my favorite place on the patio. My view of the scenery was limited, but I spotted a large bird at the edge of the lake.
His stark white body and long, spindly legs reminded me of a graceful great white egret. That was where the similarity ended. His pencil like black legs ended with bright orange feet. Black edged tail feathers gave the impression that he was dingy and dirty. His small head looked like the wrong one had been affixed to his body. A bizarre black and white mottled face gave him an even more peculiar look. A long, curved dark beak overpowered his tiny head and made him look top heavy. The odd, mismatched appearance of the wood stork was perplexing.
I watched his antics as he thrust his tiny head into the dark water. Using his thin beak, he snatched a fish and stepped toward the shore as he finished his meal. Only then did I recognize that his dark legs and spattered face had camouflaged him in the dark lake. The seemingly mismatched body parts were actually carefully assembled for his habitat and livelihood. Even though it seemed very strange to me, God had a special plan in creating the atypical bird.
Likewise, each person has unique abilities and skills which may not initially appear to be relevant or significant. However, God has a purpose in creating every individual instead of making clones. As we accept and utilize our specific gifts, we can use them to benefit ourselves and others.
His stark white body and long, spindly legs reminded me of a graceful great white egret. That was where the similarity ended. His pencil like black legs ended with bright orange feet. Black edged tail feathers gave the impression that he was dingy and dirty. His small head looked like the wrong one had been affixed to his body. A bizarre black and white mottled face gave him an even more peculiar look. A long, curved dark beak overpowered his tiny head and made him look top heavy. The odd, mismatched appearance of the wood stork was perplexing.
I watched his antics as he thrust his tiny head into the dark water. Using his thin beak, he snatched a fish and stepped toward the shore as he finished his meal. Only then did I recognize that his dark legs and spattered face had camouflaged him in the dark lake. The seemingly mismatched body parts were actually carefully assembled for his habitat and livelihood. Even though it seemed very strange to me, God had a special plan in creating the atypical bird.
Likewise, each person has unique abilities and skills which may not initially appear to be relevant or significant. However, God has a purpose in creating every individual instead of making clones. As we accept and utilize our specific gifts, we can use them to benefit ourselves and others.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Gethsemane
Two thousand year old olive trees stood guard at the Garden of Gethsemane. Splashes of red, pink, yellow, and purple flowers colored the ground beneath the ancient, gnarled trees. An iron fence surrounded the portion of garden remaining from long ago. Our tour group strolled along the walk bordering the fence and headed into the Church of the Nations. Catholics from around the world contributed to the building and upkeep of the church on the Garden grounds.
Gray clouds and a light mist added to the somber mood of the site where Jesus prayed before He was arrested. A silence fell over visitors when they entered the dark, solemn church.
In front of the altar a gigantic, gray rock protruded from the floor. An iron crown of thorns circled the rock as a reminder of Jesus’ torture. Group members surrounded the rock and knelt to touch it. As I touched the rock, I thought of the agony Jesus endured that night as He prayed in the Garden. I looked up at the huge painting behind the altar. It depicted Jesus lying against a rock and praying. We were feeling the rock that tradition says is the one where Jesus prayed.
My hand slipped to the iron spikes, and I grabbed the thorns. To me the crown of thorns was more significant than the rock itself. What horrible cruelty He suffered to save us.
Silently our group filed into the first two pews of the church and began singing Amazing Grace. After the first verse we stopped singing and sat in reverent silence. Directly in front of us by the rock, a lady from India, in her traditional clothing, continued the song. In her clear, sweet voice she sang to Jesus. Our group joined her on the next verse.
What a perfect way to close our time in the Church of the Nations. Christians from widely different cultures and parts of the world united in praising God.
Gray clouds and a light mist added to the somber mood of the site where Jesus prayed before He was arrested. A silence fell over visitors when they entered the dark, solemn church.
In front of the altar a gigantic, gray rock protruded from the floor. An iron crown of thorns circled the rock as a reminder of Jesus’ torture. Group members surrounded the rock and knelt to touch it. As I touched the rock, I thought of the agony Jesus endured that night as He prayed in the Garden. I looked up at the huge painting behind the altar. It depicted Jesus lying against a rock and praying. We were feeling the rock that tradition says is the one where Jesus prayed.
My hand slipped to the iron spikes, and I grabbed the thorns. To me the crown of thorns was more significant than the rock itself. What horrible cruelty He suffered to save us.
Silently our group filed into the first two pews of the church and began singing Amazing Grace. After the first verse we stopped singing and sat in reverent silence. Directly in front of us by the rock, a lady from India, in her traditional clothing, continued the song. In her clear, sweet voice she sang to Jesus. Our group joined her on the next verse.
What a perfect way to close our time in the Church of the Nations. Christians from widely different cultures and parts of the world united in praising God.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Small Celebrations
"Hello, Ashlyn," I answered but was surprised that she was calling past her normal bedtime.
"I have some exciting news!" she exclaimed.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I just lost my first tooth!"
I could hear the excitement in her voice and imagined her now partially toothless smile. She continued talking and told me the tooth came out when she wiggled it.
"I am going to put it under my pillow. Daddy woke Emily up to tell her too."
I could hear Emily talking in the background. Then Ashlyn stated, "I have to go to bed now."
"Thanks for calling."
I hung up the phone and thought of the special moment she had shared with me. How momentous it was for her--a passage into a more mature stage of childhood. More teeth will come out but probably not with the fanfare of the first one. The enthusiasm of a child is contagious if we do not snuff it out with our lack of interest or cynicism.
As adults we have been hit with pain and disappointments so we frequently neglect to commemorate or even notice the small milestones and accomplishments that are before us. Life can take away our spontaneity and zeal so that we become sluggish and boring. Ashlyn's special moment reminded me that life is filled with small, but meaningful celebrations. What will I see today? Let me know what you find in your life to celebrate.
Acts of Kindness
After going to Alan’s doctor’s appointment, I arrived late at my neighborhood Bible study and did not have time to go home to get my Bible. It was good to be back with friends after being gone because of my surgery. The circle was widened to add another chair, and I sat down between two friends.
The group shared concerns and prayed before starting the actual lesson. The first verses were read as I listened while everyone else followed along in their Bibles. Another lady read the next few verses while I longed to have my Bible too. The friend on my left moved her Bible closer to me so I could join her. She smiled and nodded when I whispered that I did not have time to go back home.
Normally, we go down the row with each person reading. As it got closer to me, I thought I would remind the leader I had no Bible. However, the friend on my right handed me her Bible with a smile just before it was my turn.
In both cases, my friends saw a need and with no fanfare met it. Their small gestures allowed me to fully participate in the study. How kind they were.
I thought of the thousands of opportunities that are presented to me to be of service to others, and sadly, how many I miss. I realized that I need to be more observant and then proceed. Frequently, the actions may seem rather insignificant but to the receiver they may be monumental. It seems that our society has become so busy, distracted, and isolated that we often neglect good manners and small acts of kindness.
The group shared concerns and prayed before starting the actual lesson. The first verses were read as I listened while everyone else followed along in their Bibles. Another lady read the next few verses while I longed to have my Bible too. The friend on my left moved her Bible closer to me so I could join her. She smiled and nodded when I whispered that I did not have time to go back home.
Normally, we go down the row with each person reading. As it got closer to me, I thought I would remind the leader I had no Bible. However, the friend on my right handed me her Bible with a smile just before it was my turn.
In both cases, my friends saw a need and with no fanfare met it. Their small gestures allowed me to fully participate in the study. How kind they were.
I thought of the thousands of opportunities that are presented to me to be of service to others, and sadly, how many I miss. I realized that I need to be more observant and then proceed. Frequently, the actions may seem rather insignificant but to the receiver they may be monumental. It seems that our society has become so busy, distracted, and isolated that we often neglect good manners and small acts of kindness.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Scampering Squirrels
The Scampering Squirrels
Rebecca Carpenter
March 19, 2009
Near the lake, the dark trunk tilted slightly like a drowsy giant. At first, it seemed that the wildlife were still sleep too. Then I noticed him-a furry squirrel clinging to the tree and scrutinizing the yard. As he descended the tree at the back, his companion skimmed the front. They did not appear to even see each other since both were lost in thought.
The first squirrel signaled his feelings with his fuzzy, gray tail forming undulating waves while his body remained still. Then instantly his position changed. Up and down the tree he went scaling the trunk and scampering from limb to limb. He ventured to the end of a high branch and looked longingly at the feeder but realized that it was too far away to jump.
At the base of the tree he disappeared and then rose unexpectedly above the grass as he stood upright—his white chest a striking contrast to his gray body in the early light. He nibbled small acorns with his tiny jaws vibrating rapidly. His eyes continued to dart back and forth across the lawn. For such a small animal he had tremendous energy but seemed to have little notion of where he was headed.
Often we are like the squirmy squirrel—running around with no apparent destination or purpose. Scrambling from one activity to another—working a short time—and then continuing the quest but not even sure what it is. Just as the squirrel takes opportunities to momentarily remain still and survey his world, we should stop and evaluate our world too with its constant enticements. But instead of running off again, we should decide where and why we are running. Then we can determine the right path for our current season of life.
Rebecca Carpenter
March 19, 2009
Near the lake, the dark trunk tilted slightly like a drowsy giant. At first, it seemed that the wildlife were still sleep too. Then I noticed him-a furry squirrel clinging to the tree and scrutinizing the yard. As he descended the tree at the back, his companion skimmed the front. They did not appear to even see each other since both were lost in thought.
The first squirrel signaled his feelings with his fuzzy, gray tail forming undulating waves while his body remained still. Then instantly his position changed. Up and down the tree he went scaling the trunk and scampering from limb to limb. He ventured to the end of a high branch and looked longingly at the feeder but realized that it was too far away to jump.
At the base of the tree he disappeared and then rose unexpectedly above the grass as he stood upright—his white chest a striking contrast to his gray body in the early light. He nibbled small acorns with his tiny jaws vibrating rapidly. His eyes continued to dart back and forth across the lawn. For such a small animal he had tremendous energy but seemed to have little notion of where he was headed.
Often we are like the squirmy squirrel—running around with no apparent destination or purpose. Scrambling from one activity to another—working a short time—and then continuing the quest but not even sure what it is. Just as the squirrel takes opportunities to momentarily remain still and survey his world, we should stop and evaluate our world too with its constant enticements. But instead of running off again, we should decide where and why we are running. Then we can determine the right path for our current season of life.
Tragedy and Thankfulness
Clean water flowed into my cup as I prepared my morning tea. While I read my morning devotionals, I snuggled in my comfortable chair. Wrapped around me was a soft, velour blanket. Beyond the window birds darted back and forth across the lake—chirping and singing. The serene picture was comforting.
When I finished and started preparing for breakfast, I thought of the abundant choices I had and also the wonderful meals that friends had provided during my convalescence. In addition to plenty of food, I lived in a sturdy, clean home. Even though I had some issues at the hospital, my overall treatment during surgery was excellent. All of my blessings came to mind as I followed the news about Haiti.
Pictures of destruction, despair, and death flashed across the television and covered the papers. How were they coping? How could the people survive in such deplorable conditions?
How they would treasure a cup of pure water. A warm blanket and a comfortable chair would be a dream. A clean bed in a home with sturdy walls and roof would be a fantasy. A pantry or refrigerator full of food would be unheard of. A closet of clothes would be only a vision. Things that I often take for granted would be cherished.
Since I first heard the news of the earthquake, I have been praying for the victims of the disaster both in Haiti and their loved ones who are far away. It is so reassuring to see people around our country and around the world come together to help in so many ways. If only, instead of arguing and fighting, we would all continue to reach out to each other.
When I finished and started preparing for breakfast, I thought of the abundant choices I had and also the wonderful meals that friends had provided during my convalescence. In addition to plenty of food, I lived in a sturdy, clean home. Even though I had some issues at the hospital, my overall treatment during surgery was excellent. All of my blessings came to mind as I followed the news about Haiti.
Pictures of destruction, despair, and death flashed across the television and covered the papers. How were they coping? How could the people survive in such deplorable conditions?
How they would treasure a cup of pure water. A warm blanket and a comfortable chair would be a dream. A clean bed in a home with sturdy walls and roof would be a fantasy. A pantry or refrigerator full of food would be unheard of. A closet of clothes would be only a vision. Things that I often take for granted would be cherished.
Since I first heard the news of the earthquake, I have been praying for the victims of the disaster both in Haiti and their loved ones who are far away. It is so reassuring to see people around our country and around the world come together to help in so many ways. If only, instead of arguing and fighting, we would all continue to reach out to each other.
Patient Renewal
A cool breeze blew across the lake towards the patio. I wrapped myself in a warm blanket, sipped hot tea, and marveled at the scene before me. A cover of gray clouds hung just above the trees. A trio of mallards hovered just over the water as they zipped down the channel. I turned when I heard a splash as they returned and screeched to a landing on the surface—one, two, and three.
A timid squirrel tiptoed along the brick patio in front of me. Two dark, shadowy figures ambled along the shore across the lake. They resembled the bear that had previously visited our yard, but then I realized they were twin dogs who had strayed from their home.
Twirling like miniature ballerinas on a magnificent stage, a succession of tiny leaves fluttered in the breeze. A few surged with the wind currents and disappeared over the roof. A single leaf pressed against the screen, hesitated, and dropped to the ground. Small clusters swirled together in a special dance before descending. The performers rested on the frost damaged green and brown lawn.
Standing tall before me, the sturdy oak was also a combination of green and brown. Dark green leaves clutched several branches. However, only a few sparse brown leaves hung precariously on nearby branches. One tree with opposing looks.
My entire garden was like that—a combination of vibrant and lifeless. The recent freeze had snuffed life from the less tolerant plants but served to strengthen the more hardy ones. In the spring, dead plants will be removed, damaged ones pruned, and hardy ones lightly trimmed. Eventually, the garden will be renewed and return to a sanctuary of beauty.
For now, I have to be content with what is before me. If I rush to prune, another freeze could cause even more damage. If I pull up brown vegetation, I won’t give it an opportunity to possibly recover. If I dig up and replace the damaged ones, I risk having them also freeze. Though difficult this is a time of rest and recuperation for my garden.
Surprisingly, through the trees at the end of the lake, a burst of sunlight glistened from the sunrise. A small section of water blazed with a golden sparkle—a promise of new growth and improvement. While I wait patiently for my garden, shouldn’t I also do the same for my own recuperation? It is easy to think we are to scramble to always be busy when we really need to stop and enjoy the rest.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Don't Call Us
Six year old Ashlyn and I were talking on the phone recently and discussing my recovery from surgery. I told her the doctor thought I was doing well but had to be careful for a while.
"After I opened our large sliding glass door yesterday, I was hurting," I told her.
"Grandma, put a note on the door that says 'Do not open'," she stated.
" That is a good idea," I said. "Also, I can't use the vacuum, and the floors need to be cleaned. Grandpa can't use it either because of his back."
"Put a note on the vacuum too," she giggled. "You should get someone to help you."
"I had thought about that," I answered.
"Just don't call us!" she stated matter-of-factly.
We both started laughing at her statement and continued with our conversation.
Later when I thought of her answer, I laughed at her honesty. As adults we are often quick to give advice, notice faults, and criticize. However, when it comes time to take action, we answer "Don't call us!!" It is much easier to complain than to be part of the solution.
"After I opened our large sliding glass door yesterday, I was hurting," I told her.
"Grandma, put a note on the door that says 'Do not open'," she stated.
" That is a good idea," I said. "Also, I can't use the vacuum, and the floors need to be cleaned. Grandpa can't use it either because of his back."
"Put a note on the vacuum too," she giggled. "You should get someone to help you."
"I had thought about that," I answered.
"Just don't call us!" she stated matter-of-factly.
We both started laughing at her statement and continued with our conversation.
Later when I thought of her answer, I laughed at her honesty. As adults we are often quick to give advice, notice faults, and criticize. However, when it comes time to take action, we answer "Don't call us!!" It is much easier to complain than to be part of the solution.
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