Behind the Mask

"Trick or treat!" Ready or not, Halloween has arrived, the holiday where kids and adults alike dress up to pretend to be someone or something else for an evening. There's a certain delight that comes from becoming another character and sometimes hiding one's identity altogether. Being an introvert from childhood, I never much cared for Halloween. My younger sister, more outgoing than I, took the lead. I felt a wave of relief wash over me when we finally got home, and I could be myself again. I can't help but wonder how many of us, as adults, hide behind a mask when the calendar does NOT say October 31st. When we pretend to be someone or something we're not. When we're afraid to show who we really are . . .                           So, why do we hide behind this different-than-I-truly-am persona? Is it because we worry others won't like us? Or feel we can't measure up or aren't "perfect" enough? Or want to portray our idea of a shining picture of success?   Can we be at peace with who we are . . . with who God created us to be: "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139:14)? Yes, we make choices to improve our character and habits. We pray for grace to help us overcome our flaws and weaknesses. We ask for forgiveness. Yet at our core, we are made in the image of a loving God who gives us a variety of talents and gifts to bless those within our influence. We don't have to hide behind a mask. What a relief. I can't be who my husband was. Or my mom. Or any of my writer friends. Or anyone else. I'm learning to be comfortable in my own skin. It's freeing to know that I can just be me. And aim to faithfully live out what God has given me to do today. So this Halloween, dress up with the kids! Pretend! Wear that mask from the dusty Halloween box you haul out of the attic! But then let's be willing to lay all that aside and resolve to be our best selves . . . for the glory of God. Photos from bing.com/images free to use This post is from my fall newsletter since it reflects the theme of Halloween. If you are not receiving the quarterly Penned Without Ink Newsletter and would be interested, click HERE. I plan to send the next issue out after Christmas.

Pursuing Perspective

Five states covering over 2100 miles . . . 

A vacation? Mostly - and a college run for the third year in a row!

Photo from PA Grand Canyon Website

There's something about getting away that gives us perspective. We break out of our normal routines and travel to various cities and towns with different geography, different ways of speaking, and different attractions. We often visit with people we don't see very often and hear ourselves summarizing the highlights of the past year. We're introduced to new ideas, recipes, and even health tips. In the quieter moments, we turn the future over in our minds, purposing to make changes to "do" less and "be" more. 

This year, to begin our trip, my youngest daughter and I took a winding detour to visit the PA Grand Canyon. As we stood at one of the lookout points, vultures circled below us. Down, down at the bottom of the gorge a lazy river wound its way around the huge canyon walls. Photos can't begin to capture its essence and grandeur. We felt small, indeed.

Photo of me by Rayan Anaster -

 www.rayananastorphotography.com 

From there we headed to Michigan, Barry's home state, and spent time with his family. Sandy beaches, boat rides, and the dunes at sunset - all interspersed with great conversations - made for a restful time (even if I did need Bonine to push back "that feeling" caused by the waves when the boat was anchored). Sitting here on the beach with the waves lapping at my feet, I again felt small and far away from home, praying for wisdom for yet another season.

Indiana's flat-lands welcomed us as Elisabeth began classes once more. After a tearful good-bye (always!), my dad (who had taken the train to my sister's the week before) and I headed south to visit The Ark Encounter. A wonderful experience. Talk about perspective! Here, too, I felt small - not only because of the tremendous size of the Ark but also in comparison to history and all that has happened. Our visit truly marked a day to remember.

So now, we are all in our respective places . . . back to normal, I guess. But I don't want to just shuffle through my days. I want to live with purpose, remembering my smallness compared to a great big God who has a master plan for this world and yet . . . and yet . . . who cares for our smallest needs with love and compassion here and now. 

Mother's Day Reflections

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

bing.com

"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.

bing.com

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.

Lessons From the Let-Down

I sank into my favorite chair and took a deep breath. 

Photo by Julie Manwarren

What a week it had been! My sister flew in from Indiana. Two of my daughters and their little sons came in for the weekend. My book signing turned out to be a wonderful time of greeting friends from the community and area churches, some closely associated with my late husband, Barry. They came and they stayed, coffee in hand, seizing the opportunity to catch up with old friends and meet new ones. Afterward, the family gathered around my dining room table to sip soup and recount God's blessings as many took our story home with them that day. 

Photo by Julie Manwarren

On Monday evening, my sister, and I enjoyed our dad's famous chili, and together, watched old slides, once again hearing his navy stories and enjoying poses of us as little girls with very young parents. The next couple days we shared meals, raked up leaves (Dad's and mine), and enjoyed just being together until Wednesday evening, when Barb boarded a plane heading west and I led a Bible study on Chapters 11-14 of my book. 

On Thursday, I fulfilled my time in the dentist chair, ran to the Ronald McDonald House to present them with a check (proceeds from the book signing) and a copy of Penned Without Ink for their library . . .  then finally found my chair.

Whew!

But I don't do let-downs well. 

By Sunday evening, my eyes were "gunky" (as my mother used to say), bloodshot, watery, swollen, and irritated with bags underneath. An uninvited case of conjunctivitis brought my go-go-go pace to a screeching halt. The side effects from the drops reduced me to sitting alone in my living room with the shades drawn, wearing sunglasses, and squinting to try to read blurry texts from my girls. 

Google Images

A let-down, indeed!

But in spite of all this, I wanted to listen . . . to listen to the still, small voice that often whispers truth at times like this. Here's what I hope to take away from this experience:

• An even greater appreciation for Barry, whose eye issues never left him after the car crash. Again I remembered 2 Corinthians 4:18: "The things that are visible are temporal (brief and fleeting), but the things that are invisible are deathless and everlasting" (AMPC).
• An increased sensitivity to those who suffer illness alone, who can't drive themselves to pick up what they need, who don't have someone present to talk things through.
• An awareness that perhaps my life should include a little more down time. It's been a hectic eighteen months since Barry passed away. Maybe I need to make time to finish a quilt, read more, and have friends in more often.
• A renewed realization of the fragility of life. James 4:13-16 came to mind, especially verse 15: "If the Lord is willing, we shall live and do this or that." All it takes is pink eye or some other where-did-this-come-from ailment. Or rolling fog. Or any number of "unexpecteds," and we again realize God's sovereign control and our human frailty.
• A sense of comfort, knowing that God regards me with compassion, and nothing - not even my contagious eyes - could separate me from His love and grace (Romans 8:38, 39).

The meds are doing their jobs well. I am much better and oh-so-grateful to be on the other end of this week. 

So, when you're on the downside of a let-down, remember to listen for the whispers from the God who cares about all that happens to us.

 

The Most Meaningful Easter

What Easter traditions do you remember from childhood? What activities, sights, tastes, and smells bring a wave of nostalgia? Which customs and rituals do you still carry out? 

For my sister and me, Easter meant Mom sewing us each a new dress. On Saturday evening, we colored eggs with the kind of dye that floated in droplets on top of the water in a large bowl. We used a toothpick to mix the colors around, then slowly dipped each egg into the swirly water on a homemade wire egg holder.

We often attended an Easter sunrise service, then a breakfast at church. Mom made what she called "kuchen." She mixed up a yeast dough, and after the first rising she rolled the dough out into a large rectangle, filled the center with plum or apple filling from end to end, and then cut the flat dough on the sides into one inch strips. She brought the strips to the center and braided them to cover the filling. After a second rise, she baked it until it turned golden brown, then drizzled the top with a thin glaze.

We joined my grandparents for Easter dinner, where all the aunts, uncles, and cousins also gathered. Grandma's best china and table linens graced the big dining room table. After a solemn blessing, we celebrated together. We went home with jelly beans, chocolate bite-sized bunnies, and a cake in the shape of a lamb, complete with white frosting and coconut.

However, the most meaningful part of the day for me took place while still snuggled in my bed. In the quiet of the dawn, I read the Easter story from the gospels. I thought about the Good Friday service at church, where our pastor did a chalk drawing depicting three crosses against an ominous sky. I tried to imagine in my young mind what it would have been like to be there and witness the death of the very Son of God. How sad and lonely. And then how wonderful to arrive at the tomb that Sunday morning when the angels announced, "He is not here. He is risen!" The miracle of it all made a deep impression on me.

This year I find myself thinking about the resurrection of Jesus in a new light. It's the first Easter Barry is on the other side. When someone so dearly loved has died, the words from 1 Corinthians 15 give hope and perspective: 

But now Christ is risen from the dead, . . . So when this corruptible has put on incorruption, and this mortal has put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: "Death is swallowed up in victory." O Death, where is your sting? O Grave, where is your victory? . . . But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ (verses 20, 54-57).

Remembering the resurrection means so much more than listening to a once-a-year sermon. Because Christ lives, Barry's story isn't over. He lives! The resurrection has birthed the unwavering hope of eternal life. "So shall we ever be with the Lord" (1 Thessalonians 4:17).

Now that's worth celebrating, wouldn't you agree?

Photos from google images.   

Rethinking Mealtimes

So, who's the main person who feeds the people at your house? The one who cooks, packs lunches, and makes sure everyone is fed and nourished? In my home, it's me. I enjoy it most of the time.

Do you sometimes resent all those hours in the kitchen because of the more worthwhile items on your TO DO list?  At times, I do. Especially this season of the year. Recently, I heard a statement that has revolutionized the way I think about the time I spend in the kitchen. 

"Jesus took time out of His sermon to feed people."

I found the story in all four gospels. People had come from far and near to hear Jesus teach. When "the day was already far gone," Jesus sent the disciples among the people to search for food "that these may eat." All they could find was a little boy's lunch, consisting of five barley loaves and two small fish. In the end, Jesus fed 5000 men plus women and children from this little lunch, lovingly prepared by an unnamed mother that morning. Several ideas stand out in bold as I read this story.

• Jesus asked the people to sit down, which they did, in groups of hundreds and fifties, "looking like so many garden plots" (The Amplified Bible). Even though the hour was late, they didn't "eat and run" or eat standing up. They sat down.
• Jesus gave thanks. A simple tradition that acknowledges a heavenly Father who takes care of us.
• The food was simple yet nutritious: fish and bread.
• This picnic was an organized affair, not a free-for-all. Lots of helpers made it work. Jesus distributed "to the disciples and the disciples to those sitting down."
• There was plenty. The people ate "as much as they wanted."
• Nothing was wasted. Jesus gave specific instructions to "gather up the fragments that remain, so that nothing is lost."
• In the gathering dusk, the people went home with more than full stomachs. The experience touched them. "This is truly the Prophet who is to come into the world."

All worthwhile activities, wouldn't you agree? So much more that just getting the crowd fed. Translated into our century: a simple menu of plentiful, nutrient-dense food. A table of seated family members and guests. The giving of thanks. A setting for conversation, for sharing the wonder of daily miracles, for telling stories that reflect God's faithfulness. A feeling of warmth and belonging. It doesn't always happen this way, I know. Yet even though mealtimes have their challenges, perhaps these observations are worth our consideration. Perhaps there's another way to view our work in the kitchen.

The next time we're tempted to sigh over the endless cooking and baking responsibilities and all that goes with it, or even feeding a baby every three hours around the clock, let's remember how Jesus took time out of His important kingdom service to feed people. There's a whole lot of worthwhile-ness in that! 

Quote by Jennie Allen, Restless: Because You Were Made for More, W Publishing, 2013, video for Lesson Six.
Story from Matthew 14:14-21, Mark 6:33-44, Luke 9:11-17, John 6:1-14. 
Photos from bing.com

The Making of a Man

On May 15, 2015, I lost my best friend . . . my husband, my confidant, my true love for nearly forty years.

Even after he stepped over the threshold into the heavenlies, I learned a few things about him I didn't know before. Close to 500 people came to the visitation and/or memorial service. Many of them told me stories of their connections with Barry. Over and over again I heard the words, "kind," "gentle," "a good man." What a legacy he left us all.

After everyone found their way home after the service, my sister stayed a few more days. She helped me clean bathrooms and floors, launder sheets and towels, and make up beds.

After Barb and I finished in "our" room, Barry's bedside stand caught my attention. I dropped to the floor to take a closer look. Stuffed into the bottom section and spilling onto the floor, I noticed a large print Bible, his guidebook for life. I  found titles such as Composers on Music, A Gospel Primer for Christians, The Consolation of Philosophy, The Secret of Father Brown, Dialogues of Fenelon, Hearing God, and The Lazy Gardener. I also discovered a small book of Norman Rockwell prints, a 2011 anniversary card I had given him, a couple of textbooks he ordered to keep up with Elisabeth in English this past year, and a treasury of Curious George stories in Spanish.

I leaned my back against the bed to take it all in, then said to my sister, "This is the perfect snapshot of Barry's life. All these interests packed into one small space . . into one small life . . . that he lived out in a BIG way to touch many lives."

With intention, I left the "picture" just as you see it here. Somehow it represents the story of a man with an undeniable quest for learning. And the making of a man who shared his quest with whoever wanted to join him on the journey. 

I have a feeling, I'll be learning a few more things about Barry as I sift through his piles of papers and file folders, the 3 x 5 cards from his pockets, and his library of books.

I love you, Barry. And miss you more than words can express.

Because He Lives

Easter morning brings back the memory of a story, a story that turned apprehension into hope.

 

bing.com

"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.

 

bing.com

A few weeks later, Easter Sunday found us visiting 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 I squeezed my husband's 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 high school, Elisabeth brings her humor, conversation, and friends to the dinner table. 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.

 

Still Kickin' Through the Leaves . . .

Autumn Walk

I walk
around the block, dwarfed
among balding maple giants
whose hair, crinkled and withered
tops rough and knotty skin.

I kick up
dusty piles and a smell
that makes me a little girl again . . .
with hand-me-down jacket and homemade scarf,
raking leaves into rows, neat and square
to build yet another leaf house
in the back yard after school.

What fall memories make you smile?

Faces of Niagara Falls

Niagara Falls. Every second, 3,160 tons of water thunder over and down into the swirling whirlpools below. Mist rises high and rains on umbrella'd and camera'd visitors, all awed by the power of the mighty Niagara, a natural wonder that draws visitors from all over the world.

Mist Rising from the Canadian Falls

As part of our vacation this year, we crossed the Peace Bridge from Buffalo to Fort Erie and meandered up the Niagara Parkway. Everything about our trip brought back childhood memories: meatloaf-potato salad-blueberry pie family picnics along the river, youth group banquets at the Victoria Park Restaurant, daring Maid-of-the-Mist voyages, and quiet strolls amidst a plethora of colorful blooms at the Niagara Parks School of Horticulture.

I grew up less than fifteen minutes from the Peace Bridge. Although respectful at the border, we came and went without a thought of terrorists or bombings. Life seemed simpler back then.

Something else connects me to this place. My grandfather, an artist and musician born in 1895, painted souvenirs for the shops in Niagara Falls: mugs, ashtrays, lighters, bread trays, knives, and other memorabilia--all with his signature painting of the falls. 

As young girls, my sister and I traipsed behind him to the barn to watch his steady hand at work. The barn always smelled the same: oil paint, turpentine, natural gas, and old dusty beams all together. First, he lit the small gas heater. He always put on a tinted green visor. Then he sat down at his table, mixed just the right shades of paint, arranged his brushes carefully, and set to work, mug after mug, ashtray after ashtray, large boxes of them. He had an assembly line of sorts. One part of each small painting must dry before the next could be applied.

I've often wondered where all those souvenirs ended up. Attics? Basements? Estate and antique sales? Out of the thousands of souvenirs Grandpa painted, our family now has only a few. Perhaps just old souvenirs to many but to me, priceless treasures, telling a bit of the story of the man behind the paintings. The gentle man with snowy white hair who we knew as "Grandpa Ewert."

For me, Niagara Falls means much more than its mighty, thunderous presence. It reminds me of home and family, both gifts from a God who is faithful to every generation.

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God (Psalm 90:1,2).

So, what landmark means more to you because of a special memory or unique connection?

An Old Barge Stuck in the Rapids

Alive in Christ Forever

They all came.

Children, siblings, grandchildren, nieces and nephews came to Northeastern Pennsylvania from as far away as Illinois, Indiana, Missouri, and Michigan. They came to say goodbye. I’ll always remember the day we gathered under a blue August sky to say our final farewells to my mom. With the pastor’s closing prayer, we filed by, one by one, carefully placing a flower on her casket. In the still and almost reverent moments that followed, someone began to sing. Soon, we all joined in.     

   Amazing grace! how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!
   I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see.

   When we’ve been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun,
   We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise than when we’d first begun.

                           (John Newton, 1725-1807)

Tears slipped down my cheeks as the familiar melody drifted up to heaven. Here on a quiet hillside stood a family. A family bound by grief. A family united in hope. That day’s memory of the family I love and to whom I belong has a hallowed place in my heart. I have drawn on this remembrance for strength many times over the last months.

Then they all returned home. But they didn’t forget. 

One day my sister called. In the course of our conversation, she said, “I’ve been thinking. Mom is in heaven because of the resurrection of Jesus.” What a wonderful truth! I found myself thinking about another funeral, one Jesus attended when He proclaimed Himself the resurrection and the life. Not long after, He proved it. With the empty tomb, Christ conquered death forever (I Corinthians 15).

The Easter season holds a special significance for me this year. The resurrection of Jesus means eternal life for my mom, and someday for me. And for all those who have placed their complete trust in Christ who died so they could live. I think of my sister’s words each time my dad and I visit the quiet hillside cemetery, where I picture my family singing “Amazing Grace.” And where Mom’s tombstone reads, “Alive in Christ Forever.” 

May this Easter season breathe hope into our hearts. He is risen! And that makes all the difference for us – both now and for eternity.

I am the resurrection and the life.

 He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.

And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die.

John 11:25, 26