Saturday Exchange

clean water for dirty

white rags for gray

cluttered for space

littered for swept

dusty for shine

smudges for bright

early zip for "I'm zapped"

ah-h-h-h

"I never could have done what I have done without the habits of 
punctuality, order, and diligence, without the determination 
to concentrate myself on one subject at a time."
Charles Dickens

I never could have done what I have done without the habits of punctuality, order, and diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on one subject at a time.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/c/charlesdic121515.html#iGx2Af3Z0PdT0O3u.99I never

I never could have done what I have done without the habits of punctuality, order, and diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on one subject at a time.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/c/charlesdic121515.html#iGx2Af3Z0PdT0O3u.99

I never could have done what I have done without the habits of punctuality, order, and diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on one subject at a time.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/c/charlesdic121515.html#iGx2Af3Z0PdT0O3u.99

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?

The Day After

Every Sunday, 8:00 a.m. will always have a hallowed place in my heart. Each week I will make it a point to glance at the clock . . . and remember. Remember my wonderful mother who enriched every day of my life in a myriad of ways. 

Sunday, August 11 at 8:00 a.m. marked the day Mom stepped into heaven after a long and weary journey with cancer. Finally home. In the words of David Phelps:

No more night; no more pain;
No more tears, never crying again.
Praises to the great I AM!
  We will live in the light of the risen Lamb!

Friends and family came from Illinois, Georgia, Indiana, New York, Missouri, and Pennsylvania. They brought with them words of comfort. They told stories of how Mom touched their lives. They pressed hope into our hearts with their hugs. Local friends dropped off food. Pastors prayed with us. Many cried with us.

Over forty family members gathered at the cemetery on that cloudless Thursday. Each one quietly placed a flower on the casket, signifying their final good-byes. I'll always remember the spontaneous verses of "Amazing Grace" sung by a family who has experienced the story of God's grace over multiple generations.

But when the last notes die away and loved ones have waved their tearful farewells, what then? What does a family do the day after the services, the cemetery, the formal observances?

Sometimes I think God whispers ideas into our hearts.

At 10:00 a.m. on Friday, ten of us (including little Ty) descended on my parents' home with garden tools, rakes, knee pads, and lunch. Under my dad's direction, we  pulled weeds, trimmed plants, and cut grass. Dad had kept up the yard well during my mom's illness, but the weeds seemed to take advantage of his preoccupation the last couple months of her life. In less than two hours, the flower beds and yard my mom loved so much looked immaculate. Dad looked more than pleased.

Something else happened as we worked in the sunshine. We found a sweet solace in our togetherness. We shared a common cause, a united commitment of loyalty that drew us closer. Perhaps our quiet conversations between the flowering bushes or the visible improvements somehow eased the heaviness. Working together and then sharing lunch in the back yard generated hope, and we all felt a little better. 

As we enter the new normal, we already have have some good memories. I think Mom would have liked our idea, too.

 
What has helped you and your family in seasons of grief?

Remembering Mom: Lillian Marie Ewert May 30, 1936 - August 11, 2013

You gather a handful of seed, God’s seed, and scatter it wide.

You purposely plant; you carefully cultivate.

Some seed falls among rocks,

          Some amidst thorny patches

          Or on the hardened roadside.

But, by faith, you dip into God’s seed basket again and again.

Often the seed lands on good ground—with promise of harvest.

In time, misty shoots and sun-drenched leaves of faith

          Begin their journey upward.

Tightly closed buds burst

          Into fragrant bright blossoms

          And the ripening fruit of the Spirit.

In the seasons of His choosing, the breath of God

          Carries your handfuls far beyond this field,

          Past the ground you see

          To soils beyond your human reach.

Near and far, God gives the increase.

With gratefulness,

          I tend the garden

          You planted in my heart.

*Based on the Parable of the Sower in Matthew 13

Mom with her girls, Barb and Sarah, Easter 2013

          

A Memorable Monday

Monday began at thirty thousand feet above the midnight outline of Africa, heading due north.

At fifteen years old, our daughter, Elisabeth, found herself leaving behind a rich experience with precious children she would always hold close to her heart. She spent four weeks at Dayspring Children's Village near Mageliesburg, South Africa, a school for disadvantaged children. She worked with first graders during most the school day, listening to them read and guiding them through their paces. She taught piano basics to all who showed an interest and helped the older students with their writing skills. She assisted teachers by making charts, accompanying the little ones on a field trip, and playing the piano for music classes. Every day found her busy and involved.

Her world expanded to include first-hand connections with hurting kids: orphans, those with abusive home situations, those who would have little hope without the influence of a school like Dayspring. She took a close-up look at the many faces of Africa. She saw poverty manifested in tin shacks, small crowded homes, and those selling their wares on street corners. She experienced bustling highways and an upscale shopping mall. She enjoyed two game parks, offering opportunities to see zebras, lions, hippos, giraffes, and more. She observed three separate church settings with vastly different worship styles, all directed to the same great God. She felt the support of the entire Dayspring family as they gathered in a circle to thank her for coming and to pray for her - out loud all at once for quite a long time.

 A memorable story!
As Monday's dawn began to break, the plane pointed its nose toward Paris. Here Elisabeth (and one of her former teachers who has made the trip to Dayspring many times) decided to take advantage of an all-day layover. They took a double decker tour bus to see the sights: the Eiffel Tower, the Arc of Triumph, Notre Dame, etc.

In the late afternoon, they boarded the plane once more, this time headed for Philadelphia. Somewhere, as they flew west, night fell behind them and six hours added themselves to this memorable Monday. By 8:15 p.m. EST, we had our very-much-missed daughter with us again, heading north on the PA Turnpike and hearing stories all the way home!

A day with lots of shared memories, gratefulness for God's safe-keeping, and an appreciation for our brothers and sisters in Christ all over the world, especially at a little school among the dry waving grasses of South Africa: Dayspring Children's Village!

On Family: It Seems To Me . . .

. . . that family is important. Parents, children, grandparents, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, in-laws all shape our lives directly and indirectly. We belong to each other—and we need each other.

Thirty-four years ago my husband and I spoke our vows surrounded by flowers and a community of family and friends. In time three wonderful daughters entered our household. Two young men have also joined the Phillips family in recent years. And a year ago last November we welcomed an adorable grandbaby named Ty. When my parents join us, we have ten around the table (plus Eva, the dog!). I savor the times when we’re “all together.”

And boy, are we different!

Different personalities, skill sets, opinions, political views, preferences, tastes, incomes, spending habits, etc. . . . I love it that we’re a diverse unit—often reflected in our conversations over coffee and dessert. Sometimes we laugh with (and at) each other; it just can’t be helped!

What makes a family work? How can we nurture a feeling of belonging in the midst of diversity?

Three words come to mind. I think about them often and hope and pray they will consistently characterize our family:

Grace      Acceptance     Respect

I want our home to be a safe place for every family member when they walk through the door. No one is exempt from making mistakes; we all need grace. We may not all agree, but we still need to feel accepted. We hold to a variety of values and beliefs, yet we all need to sense respect. It all works for the best when each of us gives grace, acceptance, and respect in the same way we would like to receive it.

It seems to me . . . that family is important. My husband and I are blessed. Our “kids” (all seven of them now) mean everything to us. Our family’s storyline isn’t perfect but, near or far, we belong to each other. Isn’t that what family is about?

Vacation . . . More Than a Good Time?

Nearly thirty hours and 1900 miles on the road this past week . . . vacation, they call it. A break in the story. A digression from the plot.

Barry, Elisabeth, and I navigated our way to Covington, KY where we stepped back in time to witness the first eleven chapters of Genesis at the Creation Museum. We learned how the Flood has impacted the world of today and how the Tower of Babel scattered the population to the ends of the earth. We found ourselves flung into space among the stars of the Milky Way and beyond. We pondered the past, snapped photos, and dodged dinosaurs. Time well spent, we decided.

Next we meandered "up north" to Michigan, the favorite gathering place each summer for Barry's side of the family. Here we found a warm welcome and a pink dusky sky awaiting our arrival. Over twenty adults and children came and went over several days, savoring not only the sun-kissed beach but abundant comfortable laughter and conversation . .  the feeling of belonging, all centered in memories built over a lifetime.


We played together, ate together, worked together. Some hiked the dunes; others poked around the Main Street shops. The brave splashed in the frigid lake water while others preferred a walk on the pier to the lighthouse. On the fourth, we all climbed the hill to see the parade and stayed up late to watch fireworks on the beach. A diverse bunch in every way, yet bonded together by blood . . .  and a commitment to connect, miles notwithstanding.

Late Saturday afternoon we pulled into our driveway, home once again, back to our usual schedules and calling commitments. But we carry the memories with us, memories tucked into our hearts. Perhaps what we call "vacation" is more than a pause in our routines, more than thirty hours and 1900 miles on the road, more than a good time. These experiences add color and texture to our story lines and depth to our souls. Our small worlds suddenly expand with sun and sky, sea and sand. We hear the stories of those we love, and they nudge us to see broader and with deeper awareness and appreciation for all that comes our way. 

And a deeper appreciation for life itself.