We each have a life story, penned without ink, read by the people around us. Who's writing your story?

Tuesday, February 19, 2019

Time to Move On?

"Whatever God has called you to go through in His providence, there is always hope."
"It's okay to be marked by the past but not okay to be controlled by it."
"If the past has a grip on you, is it time to move on?"

The pastor had my attention. Seemed to me I'd overcome many fears from the past. Or at least, with God's help, found the courage to do what needed to be done in spite of my demons. Like drive over 600 miles to Indiana to take my daughter to college and then drive home alone.

Our car after the crash in 2003
I'm not sure a person ever quite gets over the panic, the stress, and the trepidation that follows trauma. Nearly sixteen years after breaking my neck in a turnpike pile-up,* I'm relatively calm about driving in good conditions (well, most days), but the fear of fog, slippery roads, heavy rain, and snow still ties me up in knots. I have friends who choose not to drive (or ride) on the freeway at all. I understand. I know firsthand what can happen.

I can manage the necessary visits to see my family (trips to see my daughters and the grandboys and even to visit my late husband's family), but to plan an outing (i.e. road trip) that isn't really necessary still makes me a little nervous--even in good weather. It almost seems irresponsible to me. And that's where the speaker's comments challenged my thinking.

Just a few weeks ago, I booked a bus trip to see the Philadelphia Flower Show with my dad. A big step for me. The next day though, I again found myself wringing my hands with regret. What if something happens? My daughters need me, especially the youngest. I don't have to do this. The risk suddenly loomed large in my mind. Too large.

Perhaps my what ifs reveal fear and lack of trust. And, I might add, a desire for a little control. Yet God has been gentle and patient with me and, little by little, has been teaching me to walk according to His truth in an area that has been challenging. I'm meditating more on God's sovereign, yet gracious, control in all things . . . and the truth of Jesus' words in Matthew 6:27: "And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?" God will lovingly complete the good work He began in my children's lives when I'm here and when I'm not (Philippians 1:6). I want to make responsible decisions, yes . . . yet step by tiny step, I'm gradually experiencing more freedom in "moving on" and letting go of stubborn, even unreasonable, fear.

What about you? No matter what your past looks like, I trust these three thoughts will bring you closer to a God whose promises never expire and whose presence always brings hope.
"If the past has a grip on you, is it time to move on?"
"It's okay to be marked by the past but not okay to be controlled by it."
"Whatever God has called you to go through in His providence, there is always hope."

To read the story. Click HERE.
Last two photos: bing.com/images/free to use

Tuesday, February 5, 2019

A Fresh Look for Some Old Chairs . . .

Last week's frigid temperatures kept me inside with a project that had been on my list since last fall. I recovered my dining room chairs. I had enough of the same fabric to recover four of the six, and since the fabric is reversible, I just turned two of the old covers over. Much better! Mission accomplished.

As I stapled away using my kitchen counter as a work bench, my mind wandered to the history of the table (with two leaves), chairs, matching china cabinet, and buffet. As the story goes, my great-grandmother purchased the entire set in 1929. Ninety years ago! At that time she was 48 years old and only enjoyed her new furniture for six years before she passed away in 1935, a year before my dad was born. After the Depression, Dad's immediate family moved in with relatives for a time where he remembers seeing the set in the middle room in the upper family flat on Edison Street in Buffalo. 

As a young girl, I remember this same furniture in the same house in the same room, arranged the same way. (Dad and I compared notes over dinner the other evening, drawing out the floor plan and furniture arrangement.) By this time, my great Aunt Anita and her brother, Uncle Freddie, lived there.

Sometime in the mid-80s, while Barry and I lived in Rochester, NY, my great aunt sold the house, and the furniture was given to me. I was thrilled. We hauled the chairs into our front enclosed porch and began the painstaking task of refurbishing the seats, by now in need of repair. Barry removed the tiny tacks and old straw "padding" and nailed thin boards onto each seat frame. 

As a young twenty-something, I had no idea how to cover chairs, so I brought one of the
frames to an old fabric warehouse in Rochester and left with foam, batting, material, and determination. Over the years I've changed the seat fabric many times. By now the chairs creak, the legs look worn, and a few of the wooden frames have grown brittle, yet I've managed to cover the seats by improvising here and there.

If my chairs could speak instead of squeak, what stories they would tell! Six generations of families have sat in them around the old table. . . telling stories over spaghetti dinners, birthday celebrations, and Saturday night suppers. Children wearing bibs have graduated from booster seats. Guests have come and gone. Shared memories keep traditions alive.

I still treasure the times when family and friends gather. Most recently, a ladies' Bible study, my writers' group, and a Moms in Prayer meeting gather around the table on a regular basis, using the same chairs my great grandparents, my grandma, my dad, my children, and grandchildren have used . . . all to the glory of God.

"One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts." Psalm 145:4