Reading Between the Lines

For months now, I've eyed that quiet shelf in my office closet, the third one down, with a lifetime of journals and prayer notebooks arranged in order by date. Over the years I've moved them from place to place as we've repurposed and rearranged, but not once did I crack one open to read the chronicles within.  

If you've followed my journey, you're familiar with my occasional yet repeated references to simplifying and downsizing. I've spent the last four years wading through a lifetime of accumulated "stuff," highly motivated by my desire to spare my children the weight of it all.

It's one thing to toss 1984 homeschool catalogs, donate dozens of VHS documentaries, and find teachers and students who gladly receive Latin and Spanish curriculum. It's quite another to decide what to do with decades of handwritten stories. Stories about family, events, celebrations, school days, worries, fears, regrets, life lessons, and well . . . whatever else happened to come to mind on any given day. Memories recorded in black and white . . . someday to be remembered in living color.

On my birthday last September, I decided it was my job to take care of these volumes in one way or another. In March, I finally mustered up the courage to begin. Page after written page, I read. Sometimes I found myself smiling . . . like the time one of the girls danced around the living room singing, "I can read! I can read!" Or when said daughter couldn't decide on which socks to wear to make her "shoes feel good." Or the day she got her head stuck in a chair at school. Another of them dressed up like Polly Pepper, and at Thanksgiving, a native American, complete with fringe and papoose.

I found the record of when we paid off our house and the season we harvested 49 quarts of strawberries and canned umpteen quarts of tomatoes and pickles. I noted the day when Patches the Guinea pig died and how Daddy helped bury him in the garden under a stone painted yellow. I leafed through the celebratory stories of birthdays and end-of-the-school-year-parties, prayers and baptisms, swimming lessons and family outings.

But lest you think our lives were mostly idyllic, my eyes also traveled over pages of weary fatigue, frustration, busyness, uncertainty, and desperate prayers for wisdom and guidance. I scribbled, "God, where are you? I'm trying so hard. Why does it seem I will never be enough? Please take care of my girls." Tears sprang to my eyes as I laid the book down. 

Can you relate?

I happened to mention my bittersweet experience to a friend who parroted back to me what she and I had talked about in times past. "What is true?" she reminded me. "Read your journals as an act of worship as you recall God's work in your life. Let go of the pages that are no longer beneficial." 

An act of worship. Letting go of the If Onlys leaves room for us to read the grace of God between the lines. His unfailing presence. His steadfast love. His promise of redemption. He brought us through those days . . . the learning days . . . the growing days . . . all for His glory. 

It's been good for me to review my life through my own pen. Humbling, really. Words have a way of representing a more accurate picture than memory. All these years later, I find myself worshipping God with a sweeter appreciation for His faithfulness . . . and for His readiness to listen to the broken, hopeful prayers of a mother's heart. 

Behold, I am doing a new thing . . . 

I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.

Isaiah 43:19

Four Questions to Ask Your Kids . . . and Yourself

When's the last time you "happened" to hear or read something not directed toward people in your season of life but nonetheless that grabbed your attention?

I turned in to Focus on the Family this past week while driving home and happened to catch an interview with Dr. Kathy Koch (Ph.D. in Reading and Educational Psychology) centered around her book, Start with the Heart: How to Motivate Your Kids to Be Compassionate, Responsible, and Brave (Even When You're Not Around).

Although my 24-hour-a-day parenting days are behind me, I found the discussion intriguing. She talked about (among other topics) the five basic needs of children, the four roles of parents, and the difference between rewards/punishment and consequences. But what I took away were four questions to ask children in order to understand them better . . .  perhaps every year on their birthdays or at the beginning of a school year. Asking questions requires active listening, follow-up questions, and healthy discussion.

And these four questions are just as good for parents/adults to ask themselves and perhaps talk over with a significant other. 

Here they are:

1. What do I want to BE in my life (can include character qualities, professions)?

2. What do I want to DO in my life?

3. What do I want to HAVE in my life?

4. What/Who do I want to HELP (causes, interests)?

It's good to take a few minutes now and then to prayerfully evaluate where we are and where we would like to be in, say, six months, a year, five years. Not that God can't change our plans (Proverbs 16:9), yet goals propel us forward. For me, if I don't have a list, I get nowhere!

C.S. Lewis once said, "You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream." I have a little dreaming to do this week.

So what do you want to BE, to DO, to HAVE, and who do you want to HELP? 

Here are the links to the programs from Focus on the Family:
https://www.oneplace.com/ministries/focus-on-the-family/listen/motivating-your-kids-to-reflect-the-character-of-god-i-746232.html
https://www.oneplace.com/ministries/focus-on-the-family/listen/motivating-your-kids-to-reflect-the-character-of-god-ii-746439.html

Photos from bing.com/images/free to use

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

Mother's Day Reflections

Mother's Day brings back the memory of a story, a story that turned apprehension into hope.

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"Pregnant! The word jolted me as I listened to the nurse's voice on the other end of the line. I was thirty-eight with an eleven and fourteen-year-old, and God wanted me to raise another child?

I decided to keep the news quiet as long as possible. I felt embarrassment mixed with panic and needed time to get used to the idea. At the same time, I felt guilty when I thought of the many who longed for a child and found themselves grieving with empty arms.

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A few weeks later we visited my parents' church. I felt as green as the dress I wore. God must have smiled as the service began. He had a special message just for me, one I would carry with me for a long time. It came in the from of a song, one written by Bill and Gloria Gaither when they, too, were expecting a child.

This child can face uncertain days because He lives!
Because He lives, I can face tomorrow . . . I know He holds the future . . .*

Tears sprang to my eyes as my husband squeezed my hand. The resurrection of Jesus . . . Of course! Because He lives, I could trust Him with our future and the future of our tiny secret, fearfully and wonderfully growing deep inside me.

November 1997

We named our baby Elisabeth Grace in remembrance of God's promise in 2 Corinthians 12:9. "My grace is sufficient for you . . ." Now a junior in college, Elisabeth brings her humor, conversation, and thoughtfulness to our family. How could I have ever doubted God's wisdom? That Easter morning holds a hallowed place in my heart. God's faithfulness during that time has given me courage to face other challenges, far more daunting.

I'll always remember the day when Elisabeth, then in elementary school, said to me, "I'm glad my middle name is Grace."

I couldn't trust my voice to answer, but gave her a wobbly smile. Me, too, Elisabeth. Me, too.

*Copyright by William J. Gaither, 1971.

The Things We Keep

September . . . my favorite month of the year, a new beginning in many ways . . . a new season, a new school year, new routines, new start-up activities in the community, and maybe even a new project or two . . .

I'm ready to settle in. How about you?

This fall my Bible study and writer friends are meeting around my table. Having the accountability is nice for all of us. Then there's a few monthly commitments that will pick up again. All good.

Every month (when I'm focused), in my journal, I write out what I need to do and what I'd like to do and even who I'd like to connect with for that month. For the past couple of years, cleaning things out and simplifying has topped the list. In honor of my late husband, Barry, I touched almost every one of his papers, files, and books. I've found treasures--thoughts covering all kinds of topics--that I've filed so I and the girls can easily access them. I've also given away an odd assortment of things that were important to him . . . but to me? Not so much.

The things we keep or get rid of tell a story.

I recently cleaned out my desk and found something my dad had passed down to me a while ago: the hospital bill from my birth fifty-some years ago! I carefully removed it from the envelope . . . $119.75. To think my parents kept this bill over all these years. From what they've told me, my coming was not exactly in their plan just yet, but I always felt wanted and cherished. A wonderful gift, I know.


Another treasure I came across is the budget Barry and I kept from our first year of marriage in 1979. Barry graduated from college with $40 in his pocket. He drove home and worked for several area farmers until our wedding in July, saving enough to last until his first paycheck as a Social Studies teacher in a Christian school. Our weekly income after taxes and giving turned out to be $133.55. We began a meager savings account at that time and even gave ourselves an "allowance" of  $2 a week! At ages 21 and 23, we enjoyed one of the happiest (and simplest) years of our lives.

Over the past months, I've found quite a few things I want to hang on to. Suffice it to say, the things we keep tell a story . . . a story of God's faithfulness over many years, of His watch-care over a chubby baby girl from Buffalo, and of His provision for a couple of young kids who wanted to serve God together more than anything else in the world.

What have you saved? And, more importantly, what stories do they tell?

A Way to Remember

So, what's the best way for you to remember? 

What do you do to remember to make that call, bring the chairs to your in-laws, or take the library books back? I'm a great one for making a list or placing a card with the task written in bold on the kitchen window sill or setting the timer. When I forget I find myself inconvenienced, annoyed, or just plain frustrated. You, too?!

To remember important events or places and to honor the people we love, we celebrate holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. We visit cemeteries with carefully chosen epitaphs. We sponsor 5K runs in honor of a cause or in memory of a loved one. Even in biblical times, a pile of stones or any number of sacred objects reminded the ancients of certain lessons, lest they forget their heritage. When Jesus observed the Passover with His disciples, He instructed, "Do this to remember me."  

Last week, a small group gathered on a hillside behind a local church to plant a tree in memory of Barry. They wanted a tangible way to remember him . . . the humble, quiet man who contributed to their Bible study and nurtured in them an even deeper love for the Word of God.

We gathered at the assigned place as the tree expert from Corky's Greenhouse began to dig the hole, shoveling out rock and sod together. Once the Tulip Poplar was placed, we each poured a shovel full of dirt around it, then watched as the finishing touches brought stability to the ten foot tall sapling. 

We circled closer and each, in turn, thanked God for Barry and for all he had taught them and for this token that would remind them of the lessons learned around their study table. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I listened. After the last "Amen," the sun burst out from behind a cloud, warming faces and hearts together. 

I'll never forget this day . . . and all it represents. And I have a hunch that I'll be driving home this way more often . . . just to get another glimpse of Barry's tree . . . 

A wonderful way to remember, don't you think?!

Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,

nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; 

but his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night. 

He is like a tree planted by streams of water

that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither.

In all he does, he prospers.

Psalm 1:1-3

Tulip Poplar Blossoms

One Quiet Invitation

Do you ever wonder if your efforts to encourage others will a make a difference? If your initiatives to offer kindness and help others will mean anything in the long run? Perhaps this story will encourage us all.

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Today is the 80th birthday of Barry's Aunt Sue. A former second grade teacher, she has lived a quiet life. Apple orchards and grape vineyards surround her modest home on the family homestead in southern Michigan. She and her daughter keep a small garden. She reads and walks and attends church. She keeps up with us by writing letters.

Aunt Sue's birthday marked the perfect opportunity for me to thank her for what may have seemed like an insignificant event back in 1971. I don't think she'd mind if you read over her shoulder.

Dear Aunt Sue,

 

I've been thinking of how God has used your influence to touch the Phillips family. Barry often told the story of how you and Uncle Earl invited him to a Campus Crusade for Christ concert when he was 15. There he began to understand God's love and placed his faith in Christ for salvation. Little by little his faith grew. That decision forever changed the direction of his life story.

 

After college, Barry taught at and became the principal of a Christian school and moved on to become a professor and administrator at a Christian college. He brought up our girls in "the nurture and admonition of the Lord." Over the years, he aimed to love God and love his neighbor.

 

All because of one quiet invitation.

 

Barry touched hundreds of lives through his teaching, his leadership, and his influence . . . and somehow, Aunt Sue, I think you have a significant part in his legacy.

 

Now when we sing songs in church about eternal life and spending forever in heaven, tears run down my cheeks. In the end faith in Christ matters most - and because of your initiative, I have the assurance that Barry is with his Savior.

 

Thank you for not overlooking an opportunity to encourage a tall, gangly teenager named Barry. It made all the difference for him and for countless others. Have a wonderful birthday!

 

With Love,

Sarah

I'm sure Aunt Sue had no idea how one invitation would bless so many. We don't know how our offers will influence others. Perhaps Paul had this in mind when he wrote, "Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain" (1 Corinthians 15:58).

So, how has one quiet kindness blessed you?

Finding Focus

"Can you wait a minute, hon?" someone from the ER asked as she pointed to a wheelchair and turned her attention to another patient.
 
"Uh . . . sure." I tried to breath as I lowered my bulky self into the chair. I had been in labor all day and had no intention of arriving early enough to walk the halls as I had done with my firstborn. By now, the clock read 9:35 p.m. Maybe I'd waited too long.
 

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Finally, after a bumpy elevator ride, I somehow got into a hospital gown and stumbled toward the bed. A quick check revealed it was time . . . time to push. But the contractions, one on top of the other, got the best of me. I lost my focus.
 
The nurse gently took my face in her hands, looked me in the eye, and spoke calmly and firmly. "Sarah! It won't be long now. Come on. You can do this."
 
That's all I needed. Less than thirty minutes later, we welcomed our beautiful Sharon Joy into the world. I cuddled her close and focused on her tiny face. Twenty-nine years ago today. Happy Birthday, Sharon!
 
Sometimes, life's circumstances seem a little like birthing a baby. Maybe we've been working on a project for a long time. Or, a difficult relationship seems to be wearing on us. Or, keeping up our health regime seems overwhelming. Or, it seems like forever until we will finally finish an important goal. It's easy to feel panicky, to lose our bearings. Maybe all we need is for someone to encourage us, to help us focus.

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Today, let's find someone to encourage. We all need to hear: "It won't be long now. You can do this. I know you can."

An unnamed New Testament author must have needed a little focus, too, when he wrote, "Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith . . . Consider him . . . lest you become weary and discouraged in your souls."(Hebrews 12:2).

Need a little focus today? Look up!

Perspective

Sweet Sixteen. How did sixteen years slip by so quickly? I'm not sure, but this birthday needed a celebration. So, with a little brainstorming, our daughter and I came up with a plan to celebrate with a few of her girlfriends.

What teenager doesn't want to take great photos to post on facebook or share with family and friends? So . . . on the appointed day, we asked each guest to bring a camera. Kim, our photographer friend (PS Impressions Photography), gave some tips on how to take a good photo. She talked about lighting and how to work with shadows. She discussed balance and the law of thirds. She also gave some insight into viewpoint or perspective. "Choose one subject," she challenged the girls, "and take four photos from different perspectives. Rather than just shooting from eye-level, consider photographing from the side, from the back, from high above, from ground level, from far away or close up. Be creative. See what you can do."

And they did!

After a trip to the local drug store to develop each one's photos, the girls gathered around our dining room table. Each used an 11 x 14 inch canvas, paints, ribbon, buttons, etc. to create a background for their four prints. What a diversity of finished products! Each one captured her subject from various perspectives with wonderful creativity.

I think the way we view life is a little like those four photos. The same "subject" or circumstance can be seen in various ways, depending on our perspective. Will we look through the lens of gratefulness or drudgery?  Will we work to see the positive or settle for the negative? Can we intentionally view our life stories from another angle? A higher perspective, even on the days when everything looks grim?

The next time I take a picture, I want to remember what I learned about photos--and perspective. Elisabeth Elliot wrote, "The secret is Christ in me, not me in a different set of circumstances" (Keep a Quiet Heart, page 20).

What's your perspective?

Perspectives On Aging

So, how do you feel about getting older?

As a child, I loved birthdays. I felt special all day long. My parents retold the stories surrounding my birth, and I never tired of hearing them. I realize now that they gifted me with much more than stories. They let me know how much they loved and valued me as a member of the family. I treasure those memories now.

Back then, I looked forward to getting older. Imagine! 

Recently we visited the home of a young couple. As we pulled into the driveway, the yellow house, the almost-finished barn, the garden patch, and the laughter of children all told a story. A story that brought out the melancholy side of me. I felt a bit wistful.

I remember when two little girls laughed and played inside our picket fence, when the tooth fairy stopped by on a regular basis, when young scientists littered the kitchen table with their projects. Young and strong, my husband and I worked hard to live out our dreams. 

How the years slip by . . .

We're not so young and strong anymore. Life has given us ample blessings to be sure, but realism has pushed our young idealism  to the side. With a lesser confidence, I find myself looking back and hoping we've pleased God in one way or another.

And in the midst of my unsettledness, I run across these words:

The righteous shall flourish like a palm tree . . . Those who are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bear fruit in old age; They shall be fresh and flourishing, to declare that the Lord is upright; He is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in Him (Psalm 92:12-15).

It seems God's perspective on aging is a bit different than mine. While I'm not exactly "old," I have added mother-in-law and grandma to my list of names. "Bear fruit in old age . . . fresh and flourishing" brings my focus around to look forward with expectation. Perhaps to be a voice of experience to "declare that the Lord is upright," that He is a rock, an anchor of hope no matter where our life stories lead us.

I want to bring this promise with me as the years go by. How about you?

Windows of the Soul

What gifts have meant the most to you? Why?

To me, a gift is more than the essence of tissue paper and ribbon or the element of surprise. A thoughtful gift reflects the giver and his initiative to make a meaningful connection, to share something of himself, always with the benefit of the receiver in mind.

In September 2010, my mom penned some words inside a little book, her birthday gift to me.

She gave me two gifts, really. Her words of affirmation written in the flyleaf, which I treasure more than ever now that she's gone. And the words of Ken Gire in his book, Windows of the Soul.

It's not only what Mr. Gire writes, but how he writes that had my attention from the start. His chapters have nudged me to pause, to take the time to open my eyes, to see beyond the obvious. "Windows of the soul is where God finds us, or where we find Him . . . . He comes to us where we are, speaks to us in our own language, calls us by our name" (page 236).

Mom, through sharing an author she enjoyed, gave me a precious gift, a shared experience. It's a nice feeling to know she and I have read the same words, some of them over and over. Like this story:

Today I [went] to the tracks to pick up a small joy unclaimed from my childhood.

I put a line of pennies on the polished rail and returned later to find them all thin as aspen leaves. I palmed them all the way back to my office, looking at them with such childlike delight I almost stepped in a mud puddle . . . .

No matter how defaced the coin, I could still tell it was a penny. I could tell by the copper color and the round shape and by the faint outline of Lincoln's face that somehow survived the train (page 228).

Sometimes I feel like those pennies, don't you? Flattened by circumstances, grief, and loss, "thin as aspen leaves." Yet no matter how "defaced" I find myself, I pray people will still be able to recognize the outline of God's image and the In-God-We-Trust reality of my faith.

Someday, like my mom, our "faith shall be sight." The ultimate gift, wouldn't you say?