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?

A Song in the Night

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I woke with a start and reached for my husband next to me. Then I remembered. His recent illness had brought him downstairs to the recliner. Again, worry brought a sigh and a prayer. "Please, Lord, help him to feel better. Help us to know what to do next."

I closed my eyes to try to get another couple of hours of sleep when, from the living room, I heard Barry singing. I laid still and listened as he sang the words of an old song I taught to the girls as little children, words set to the even older tune of "Guide me, O Thou Great Jehovah."

 

God has made me very special, and I'm dearly loved my Him.   

Even though He knows me fully, He accepts me as I am. 

How I praise Him, How I praise Him,

For His wondrous love for me. For His wondrous love for me.*

 

My husband, in pain and unable to sleep, used the words of a simple hymn to bring comfort and strength to his circumstances. Isn't that when the love of our heavenly Father means the most to us?  When we feel all alone and out of sorts? When we're at our lowest and hope is ebbing away?

 

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I've thought about that song in the night many times since then. Barry had it right. Whether we're feeling the ache of physical pain or the sting of rejection or the angst of loss, how comforting to line up our emotions with truth. God loves me. He knows all about it. 

 

Since my husband passed away I often find myself awake at night, thoughts swirling every which way. "How will I take care of the house and the cars and the yard and the finances and . . . who will take care of me?"

Then, like Barry, I remember an old hymn:

 

Be not dismayed what e're betide, God will take care of you. 

Beneath his  wings of love abide,God will take care of you.

God will take care of you, Through every day, O'er all the way;

He will take care of you, God will take care of you.**

 

God has taken care of me . . . of us. This gives me hope for the days ahead.

What songs have encouraged you through the night?

 

*Words by Verna Birkey, 1977.
**Words by Civilla D. Martin, 1869-1948.

Proof Through the Night

Does your mind sometimes act like dominoes? One thought leads to another, and before you know it, you're thinking about something on another level from your original thought.

On our way home from our Michigan vacation, "up north," we passed a mailbox shaped like a little house with a tiny tattered American flag attached to the front, waving in the breeze.

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That brought my thoughts to the line in "The Star-Spangled Banner" that reads, "And the rockets' red glare, the bombs busting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there . . ."

And this made me think of the "bombs" in my life that had burst all around me in the past several months . . .the sudden illness and passing of my faithful husband, the crushing grief and feelings of vulnerability, the ensuing mounds of paperwork, the never-ending list of phone calls, the flooded basement when a storm took the power out, the breakdown of our good car nine hours from home, the wringing of my hands because he always knew what to do . . . everyday reminders of the earthly permanence of this unsolicited separation . . .

Then I came to realize that these "bombs" have the potential to prove that, through the night, my faith in God is still there. Still active. Still strong. Still flying high . . . tattered and torn as it may seem some days.

I've been reading Elisabeth Elliot's book A Path Through Suffering: Discovering the Relationship Between God's Mercy and Our Pain. She defines suffering as "having what you don't want, or wanting what you don't have" (page 56). Her thoughts about the Old Testament character of Job caught my attention. "We may take heart from the suffering of Job. Suffering was the necessary proof of the reality of his faith . . . a living proof of a living faith . . . Job's suffering provided the context for a demonstration of trust" (pages 52, 53).

No matter what the challenges of life may bring, I want them to give proof through the night that my faith is still there. Visible and present, regardless of the darkness, the testing and trials, the unexplained losses. Just like the flag that inspired Francis Scott Key to write the famous lines that became our national anthem and just like that little American flag attached to the front of the mailbox along a sandy roadside up north.

A Dad Who Prayed

Every morning it was the same.

The alarm went off at 5:59 a.m. We listened to a couple of minutes of news and noted the weather. Barry slipped his arm around me, drew me close, and began to pray.

I loved to hear him pray.

He thanked God for His goodness and His blessings. He prayed for each daughter by name, mentioning their specific needs. He prayed for our grandchildren. He asked for wisdom with reliance on a Heavenly Father who cares for us, one day at a time.

And he often, with some variation, repeated the same phrases. I never knew where these words came from until after he passed away. Tucked into the books next to his side of the bed, I discovered a half sheet of paper, photocopied from an unknown book. I've bolded the words I heard most often.

FIRST THINGS FIRST
The day begins for [John] Stott* at 5:a.m. He swings his legs over the side of his bed and starts the day in prayer:

Good morning, Heavenly Father; good morning, Lord Jesus; good morning, Holy Spirit. Heavenly Father, I worship you as the Creator and Sustainer of the universe. Lord Jesus, I worship you, Savior and Lord of the world. Holy Spirit, I worship you, Sanctifier of the people of God. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.

Heavenly Father, I pray that I may live this day in your presence and please you more and more. Lord, Jesus, I pray that this day I may take up my cross and follow you. Holy Spirit, I pray that this day you will fill me with yourself and cause your fruit to ripen in my life: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Holy, blessed, and glorious Trinity, three persons in one God, have mercy upon me. Amen.

For decades, Stott has begun each day with a version of this Trinitarian prayer. 

That's all the paper held . . . until I carefully, almost reverently, turned it over. In Barry's familiar handwriting I found this addition: "That I might live a continual life of repentance, being transformed into the glory of God through the gospel of Christ by the work of the Spirit (2 Corinthians 3:18).

I will always treasure the memory of Barry's morning prayers, prayers filled with worship, humility, and a deep desire that his children walk in truth.

 *John Stott (1921-2011) was an English Christian leader and Anglican cleric.

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.

A New Appreciation

Sometimes I take everyday gifts for granted . . . but don't realize it until they're not there, even temporarily. Can you relate?

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My husband's  been out of commission for a week and a half. Intense pain brought us to the ER, the primary care physician's office a couple times, and finally to the fourth floor of the hospital. The surgeon removed the pesky problem--or so we thought. It's been a rough recovery, though, which leads me to question if there's isn't more to the issue . . ..

The recliner has become Barry's bed. He's finally keeping clear fluids down . . . yet I wonder what tomorrow will hold. He has tried to engage, but exhaustion has a way of taking its toll. We miss his take on the newspaper headlines, his "living encyclopedia" answers to our questions, and his sense of humor. He can't mow the lawn and trim the yard, take the garbage out, weed the flower beds, or plant the broccoli . . . We've managed to pitch in and take up some of the slack, but we realize one thing more than ever. He does a lot around here!

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So thank you, Barry, for all you do every day--and more importantly, who you are to all of us. Please get well soon. We love you!

What gifts do you appreciate, perhaps even more because of changes in your life or in the lives of those you love? 

Why the Pharmacist Made Me Cry

If you know me well, you understand that I lean toward the side of alternative medicine, i.e. natural ways to stay healthy. We use essential oils, herbs, and home remedies, not to mention preventative measures like healthy food choices and habits.


But sometimes we find our backs against the wall.

This past week has been one of those times. An ER visit for my husband left us in need of some OTC meds and prescriptions, which sent me to the pharmacy multiple times. And as you have probably surmised, I'm a little leery about the drug store scene.

So, I asked a few questions.

The pharmacist not only answered them, but offered practical, useful information. In the midst of the flurry of her busy afternoon, she took her time, looked me in the eye, and encouraged me to call if I had any more questions. She treated me like an important part of her day. It meant the world to me, by that time a little frazzled and more than  exhausted.

I can hold up under duress for a long time but let someone express kindness, and I might find myself in tears. Like when I drove out of the parking lot that day. 

When in a quandary about whether we should even go to the ER, I called a nurse friend whose words soothed my worries and offered a logical plan of action. I blinked back the tears then, too.

Kindness. It made all the difference in my day.

What stories can you tell of kindnesses, large and small, that turned your day around?