Making Waves

Dune grasses against a blue sky, kites flapping in the breeze, sand between our toes, and the ever constant waves. Last month we headed up to our favorite vacation spot. "Up North," on the shores of Lake Michigan, we enjoyed wonderful times with family: catching up, reminiscing, taking turns reading stories to the kids, and breathing the fresh air.

One day, all of us struck out for the beach. We slathered on sunscreen, took turns zipping around on the jet ski, and watched the little ones play. Boats of all shapes and sizes glided to and from the marina. I found myself mesmerized by the waves, sometimes gentle, sometimes strong, but ever constant. I discovered that a boat can be gone a long time before its wake splashes up on the beach. And this made me think about influence . . . our influence on others and their influence on us.

We all make waves as we move ahead in our life stories. Those closest to us feel the effects in the moment or soon after. Yet, actions and attitudes cause a ripple effect. Long after, our choices still make waves. Often our waves bring a positive effect. And sometimes our wake, even after many years, brings waves of disappointment and pain.

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Makes me wonder what we're leaving behind in our quest for a fulfilling life. Maybe it's a good idea to look behind us once in a while, to pay attention to the influence we have, and to do all we can to make sure we're leaving the right kind of wake . . . waves that bless others . . . for a long, long time.

Back Seat Driver

Saturday became a big day at our house. Our youngest daughter came home with a drivers' license in her hand and a smile on her face. She passed the test after 65 plus hours of practice. Tears came to my eyes as I gave her a congratulatory hug. Her license represented not only a victory for her but also for me.

A 2003 car crash has colored my view of traveling. Getting in the car isn't easy for me, especially for a road trip of any length. And I'll admit, the prospect of teaching an inexperienced new driver caused me a bit of apprehension. Not that she drove differently than any other learner. She actually has done quite well. But for me, I made a conscience choice to accept my responsibility to help her reach this milestone.

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This past summer on family outings, I spent many hours in the back seat with our sixteen-year-old at the wheel and my husband coaching from the front passenger seat. There's something unnerving about the back seat. I couldn't see much, but sometimes what I could see resulted in my giving my two cents--not such a great idea . . .

One night, as Elisabeth cruised along the freeway at 65 mph, I felt a little on edge in my back-seat position. As darkness fell, I prayed for peace and safety, but couldn't shake the feeling. Finally, I turned on my kindle and found my place in Grace Fabian's book, Outrageous Grace: A Story of Tragedy and Forgiveness. A couple pages in, I read:

". . . I knew whatever happened, it was God who had the final say. Prayers ascended. It's okay to be in the dark with God. His presence makes all the difference" (page 76).

These words relayed Grace's trust when she didn't know if she would live or die due to medical complications. She lay stretched out in the back of a van while the driver navigated 75 miles of dark, foggy, pot-holed, winding New Guinea roads to get to the nearest hospital.

Sometimes a story gives us perspective. It quiets fears that hover in the shadows. I will always remember God's reassurance in the back seat that night.

Now we're on a new journey. On the very day the shiny new license came home, I read these words by Sarah Young. "Entrust your loved ones to me; release them into My protective care. They are much safer with Me than in your clinging hands. . . . My presence will go with them wherever they go . . ." (Jesus Calling, page 246).

Congratulations, Elisabeth. You've worked hard. And I've learned a few things, too.

So, what stories have encouraged you along the way? 

God's Perspective When Life Hurts

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Fall is coming. There's something appealing about having a predictable routine again. In many ways, fall represents a new beginning. If you're like me, you may be looking for a new Bible study. I'd like to recommend God's Perspective When Life Hurts.

Last spring I had the privilege of hearing Darlene Kordic speak. She shared her story and spoke about her Bible study, God's Perspective When Life Hurts. Several others gave testimonies of how this study changed their lives in the midst of hardship and suffering. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I listened to their stories. God and His Word, through Darlene's study, made a difference in the way they lived out their faith in the worst of times.

Whether you plan to do this study in the comfort of your home or in a group setting, join Darlene Kordic in the 12-lesson DVD Bible study exploring God's plan and purposes for suffering. Learn what it means to trust in Him with all of your heart because you've come to understand from the study that an all-loving, all-wise, and all-sovereign God has ordered the moments of your life with intricate care and precision. Learn how to resist the temptation to rely on your ever-changing feelings and perceptions when life hurts. Instead learn what it means to rest in His promises and find shelter in the shadow of His wings. 

For more information about the study and how to order, Darlene has a helpful website: www.wordofgodspeakministries.org

Darlene Kordic and her husband, Craig, have been career missionaries for over 25 years. During that time, Darlene has had the privilege of teaching God’s Word in many venues and places around the world. The Kordics currently reside in Colorado Springs where they continue to take ministry trips into restricted countries to train church leaders. They have two adult children, Amber and Seth, and one teenager, Paul.

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

Rolling With Our Roles

The other day when I weeded the garden beds along one side of the house, I happened to look up--and froze.
 
Tucked between a petunia plant and the house, all curled up, lay a tiny baby deer. I stared in awe. So perfect . . . so miniature . . . so helpless. I drew back a step when it briefly opened its eyes. By this time, the sun's heat beat down on the little creature. Was it thirsty? How long had it been here? And where was the mama?

A quick call to the Game Commission assured me that the doe would be back. After giving birth, rather than draw attention to her vulnerable baby, Mama finds a safe place for it to rest, then later comes back, feeds it, and together they find food and safety.


And so, we kept our distance while the baby lay sleeping in the sun. An hour and a half later, it was gone.

Reflecting back on this experience, we could not do one thing to help our tiny friend. We could not touch it, give it food and water, or find its mother. It wasn't our role.

In our life stories, we often wrestle with our roles. We want to help, lend a hand, or even rescue. Yet, it may not always be in the best interest of those we wish to assist. As with the deer, we have the potential to do more harm than good.

A friend once suggested we ask three questions:
What is my role?
What role do others play?
What is God's role?

These questions have been a most helpful tool to discern when to help and how. And when to do nothing more than watch and pray. God, in His infinite wisdom, has a plan in place. We only need to discern our role and carry it out. 

What's your role today?  

Thirty-five Years . . . Together

Thirty-five years ago today, Barry and I began our lives together promising to love each other for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. Thirty-five years is a long time, yet it slipped through our fingers so quickly. Through it all, we've seen God's faithfulness over and over. Happy Anniversary, hon. I love you!

Together

We dance together, you and I, in step to life's music.

Sometimes the sound of trumpets and flutes

Twirls us around dizzy, back and forth.

The driving bass and roll of drums

Bring matching steps of duty.

And when the soft whisper of violins catches us close and slow,

I look into your eyes

And know, whatever the orchestra plays,

We will always dance . . . together.

An American Tradition: "Take Me Out to the Ballgame!"

Photo by Elisabeth Phillips

We joined nearly ten thousand people gathered at PNC Field to support the Scranton-Wilkes-Barre Rail Riders. Had a great time - despite the breezy cool temperatures. 

Besides keeping an eye on the game, I found myself doing a fair share of people-watching. The kids with Mohawk haircuts, the chummy couple sitting in front of us, the man whose wife made sure we knew he served in the military, the dancers who jived to the music, the constant parade of junk food addicts stepping up and down stadium stairways . . . . Americans, young and old, came out to celebrate Independence Day with a ballgame and fireworks.

Our time at the stadium represented more than a ball game. A young boy sang "The Star-Spangled Banner." Half-way through the game, we again stood to sing "God Bless America." We acknowledged veterans medaled with purple hearts and years of service. Old Glory blew in the breeze. Several times, the loud speaker blared Lee Greenwood's lyrics:

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And I'm proud to be an American
Where at least I know I'm free
And I won't forget the ones who died
Who gave that right to me

And I gladly stand up next to you
And defend her still today
'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land
God bless the U.S.A.

And there I stood, wiping my eyes, indeed proud to be an American, grateful for freedom's ring.

America's traditions . . . her melodies of patriotism . . . her symbols and all they stand for . . . . Somehow they've reached deep into the hearts of ordinary citizens like me. 


By the way, the Rail Riders won the game with a walk-off home run on the last hit, a memorable take-me-out-to-the-ballgame moment! 


Which country claims you as a citizen? What do you treasure about being a part of this tradition?