Pruning Creates More Beauty

Published in the Charleston Gazette~Mail Sunday, June 5, 2011

Shortly after a tree service had severely pruned a large tree in our yard, leaving it looking like a giant multi-tined fork reaching straight for the sky, our young granddaughter came for a visit and was devastated.  She asked, “Why did you ruin that beautiful tree?”

The tree had become too tall, was misshapen and large limbs were starting to drop during strong winds and thunderstorms. We felt it was time to either remove it altogether or prune it and hope for a healthier tree next season. Trusting the advice of the tree man, we decided to prune.  It would be worth tolerating its rather odd looking shape for the rest of this season knowing the end result would be a safer, better looking tree next spring.

But trying to explain to my granddaughter that pruning is good for the tree was futile. To her, it made no sense to make something that is already beautiful, ugly on purpose so it will be beautiful again later.  To help her understand, I accessed the Internet, found pertinent information and, together, we took a crash course on the benefits of pruning trees and shrubs. Here are some things we learned:

“Pruning should be a regular part of all tree and shrub maintenance programs. Proper pruning involves the selective removal of plant parts, which reshapes the tree, allowing sunlight to get to all fruit-bearing branches.  The size and quality of the fruit will be increased and new fruit is more likely to develop.  Over time, the tree becomes stronger, more attractive and is no longer a danger to property as it may have been before.”

After our little session, my granddaughter felt better and vowed she would be watching the tree to see if it actually does start to become more attractive and healthier as a result of pruning.

Problem solved.

It would have been impossible to guide my granddaughter through this learning experience about pruning without remembering John 15:1, in which Jesus tells His disciples, “I am the true vine and my Father is the Vinedresser. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit, He prunes.”

In his book, Secrets of the Vine, Bruce Wilkinson explains, “Our Father, the Vinedresser is guided by the same principles as the expert pruner. To make room for the kind of abundance He created us for, He must first cut away parts of our lives that drain precious time and energy from what’s truly important.  God asks you to let go of things that keep you from His kingdom purposes and your ultimate good.  He cuts off every branch that bears no fruit.  Every branch that does bear fruit, He prunes, that it may bear more fruit.  (John 15:2)  If your life consistently bears no fruit, God will intervene to discipline you.”

Perhaps just as important as being disciplined and pruned is what Jesus says in Verse 5: “I am the vine, you are the branches.  He who abides in Me and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me, you can do nothing.  As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me.”

Abide means to remain; to stay closely connected.  When we spend time with our Lord, we are strengthened and refreshed to do His work.  Abiding helps us to sense God’s leading; we learn to recognize His still small voice.

Jesus goes on to say, “If anyone does not abide in Me, he is cast out as a branch and is withered; then gathered and thrown into the fire, and burned.”

The point Jesus is making is this: If you are not abiding, you wither and die and become of no spiritual use. But if you draw close to Him and remain there, nothing can hold you back from attaining the most abundant life possible.

 

Rejoice And Be Glad

Published in the Charleston Gazette-Mail today, March 6, 2011

It’s a dreary day—the kind that makes some of us feel less than cheerful. On a day like this, I find myself turning on every light in the house – even the window candles – and playing the liveliest music I can find at very high volume. Today, I am reminded of an incident from many years ago when I sold real estate.

Perhaps it would be more honest to say, I attempted to sell real estate.  Selling was never my strong point. I was more than slightly likely to say to a prospective buyer, “You wouldn’t want to look at a house on Main Street, would you?” A lady once asked me on the phone, “What does the house look like on the outside?” I answered, “It’s fine if you like bright green.” Needless to say, she didn’t wish to inspect the house, and I never heard from her again. My Broker told me I wasn’t “hungry enough” to sell real estate. He wasn’t trying to insult me; he was just wise enough to know the truth when he saw it.

Sorry, I digress.

One misty March morning, it was as gloomy as it is today when I arrived at the office for a meeting. When I walked through the door, our secretary, a sweet Christian lady, greeted me cheerfully. “Good morning, Peggy!  How are you?” Her lilting voice almost irritated me. I answered, “What’s good about this morning? It’s dark and depressing and I’d rather have stayed in bed all day!”

My sharp reply didn’t dampen this lady’s spirits for one minute. You see, her Godliness was apparent!  She lived it twenty-four hours a day! Her whole face lit up with a smile as she softly said, “Peggy, this is the day the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!” (Psalm 118:24)

Looking back, I’m sure she must have relished the chance to set my thinking straight. And she did just that. I apologized right away and ever after that, I’d enter the office with a smile on my face, even if it had to be forced, and say in as cheerful a voice as I could muster, “Good morning! How are you today?”

Funny thing though: after a while, it wasn’t pretense anymore. I actually began to enjoy mornings, no matter what the weather. I started to see and feel things I had not been aware of before. I noticed that there’s nothing like the smell of an early morning rain in springtime; I had forgotten what it was like to step outside and be met with the sweet fragrance of fresh cut grass glistening with dew; I felt genuine excitement when I awakened to hear birds singing outside my window – very early, before dawn. I had never noticed the intensity of their twittering before.  It was like an early morning concert.  Driving to work, I passed an entire field of dandelions – not the most beautiful flower by far – but it was easy to appreciate the cheerfulness of a meadow turned bright yellow by this iconic spring flower.

As seasons changed, I became newly acquainted with the early morning sights and sounds of each that I had either forgotten or been too busy to notice.  I felt as if I had been sleep-walking all of my life.  Thankfully, my friend in the real estate office was able to awaken me by reminding me that each day God makes for us is special and worthy of our time and attention.

Since any one of these days could be our last, let us remember to rejoice and be glad in each of them!

 

Make Life a Little Sweeter

O let me shed a little light

On someone else's path I pray;

I'd like to be a messenger

Of happiness today!

It may be just a phone call,

A smile, or a prayer,

Or long neglected letter

Would lift the edge of care.

I want to spread some happiness

In what I say or do,

Make life a little sweeter

For someone else! Don't you?

                    ~Alice Hansche Mortenson

Remembering Sadie

While looking for an old picture, I came across a letter that I had received from a friend telling me how sorry she was to hear that my little Yorkie had died. Memories of Sadie came flooding back.

She was already six years old when we brought her home. I had just lost a Yorkie that I loved and was sure I’d die if I didn’t have another right away! The breeder we always dealt with didn’t have any puppies but told me that she would have before long and I could get one as soon as they were ready to leave their mother. I didn’t want to wait that long, but agreed to do it since there seemed to be no alternative.

However, I had seen Sadie at the breeder’s house and fell in love with her cute actions. She seemed to be showing off for us. Mrs. Davis saw this and, after thinking it over for a day or two, called and asked if I’d like to take Sadie. I was thrilled!

From the time we walked in the front door with her, Sadie was “at home.” We put her food and water dishes down and she claimed them right away. She had been at the Davis home for six years, but it seemed she never looked back. We accepted her that easily, too. She was a member of the family from day one!

Sadie was six pounds of cute, bouncy, yappy Yorkie!  And it was obvious she thought she ruled the house – her attitude conveying that to get into our house, you had to get by her first. She definitely would not tolerate anyone who wore a hat or gloves. The yaps became vicious toward those who dared.

Since I fed her, brushed her and did most everything for her, she soon chose me as her “person.” Every time I sat down, she was there almost before I was, waiting until I got comfortable and then cuddling just as close as she possibly could. We watched TV together, took naps together and she wore her little body out following me all over the house on a busy day. When I had to leave the house without her, I was told that she very unhappily watched out the window the whole time I was gone – sometimes for hours.

We had eleven happy years with Sadie. During that time, my daughter got married and moved to Michigan – eight hours away. My husband and I took a trip to visit them about twice a year and of course, Sadie came along. We’d put a pillow between us in the front seat and she’d curl up on it and sleep a good part of the way – at least until we stopped at Rax for a roast beef sandwich.

She seemed to know the minute we pulled into the parking lot. She’d sit up,  look out the window and whine excitedly while my husband went inside and came back with the good smelling food. Oh, she just couldn’t wait for hers! I couldn’t get it unwrapped fast enough to suit her. Then she’d eat the yummy roast beef as fast as she could and as much of it as her little tummy would hold. Sometimes I feared she’d overdo and get sick... but she never did. When she’d finally stop eating, I’d give her a drink of water and take her for a short walk on her leash.

Once all that business was taken care of, we’d be on our way again. Sadie would settle down once more on her pillow and sleep the rest of the way.

We made many trips during the time our daughter lived away and my husband and I were getting a little tired of roast beef so, on one trip, we stopped for hamburgers. That didn’t work! When my husband came back to the car with burgers, Sadie sniffed the air, circled around a couple of times on her pillow and plopped down. She seemed to be saying, “No thank you!” I begged and pleaded with her, putting the warm burger right under her nose, but she just turned away and didn’t eat a bite... nor would she take a drink of water. That was the last time we tried that.

I’d like to say we lived happily ever after with Sadie, but that wouldn’t be true or realistic. Strange things started to happen when she was around fifteen. We’d hear a thump-thump-thump and go to investigate and find that Sadie had fallen down the stairs. After we knew she was okay, we’d laugh and accuse her of getting clumsy in her old age. Then one morning, she and I were sleeping in and I heard a thud and a small yelp. Checking to see what it was, I found that Sadie had fallen off the bed. She wasn’t hurt but a little dazed, I think.

After that happened a few more times, Sadie decided that she’d sleep on the floor beside the bed. I eventually gave her a special bed of her own at the foot of ours.

A visit to the Vet one fall afternoon, told us what the problem was. She had cataracts that were so advanced that the doctor thought, considering her age, it would be dangerous to operate. Sadie was almost blind. But she adapted just as blind people do. We soon noticed that she took a certain route from the family room to her food and water dishes in the kitchen. It was always the same. She had it figured out perfectly. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was counting her steps.

I took Sadie almost everywhere I went. If I went to the grocery store, I’d leave the car running so the air conditioning would stay on for her. I’m not sure, with the car running, that she ever realized I was gone. Our family couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

She lived quite a while, but her overall health was deteriorating. Another trip to the Vet, at seventeen years old, revealed that she had liver disease. The doctor told me in his most serious voice. “You have a decision to make.” I said, “Oh no!  How long does she have?” He said, “I wouldn’t wait too long. When the time comes, it will be painful.”

I cried all the way home. But, unfortunately, I did wait too long. I just couldn’t bear to let her go, nor could I make the decision to put her down. So, as a result of my selfishness, late one night, Sadie curled up on my lap – a place she loved to be – and started whining... intermittently at first, but it soon  became steadily worse until she sounded like a screaming woman! It was a horrible thing to watch! I finally called the emergency animal hospital and was told to bring her right away. I did, but she went into convulsions on the way and died on my lap. I’ll never get over it. I called myself stupid and worse for months – no, years!

I haven’t had a dog since. Losing them is too painful. I can’t go through it again! I did adopt a cat that was destined for euthanasia. I promise, when her time comes, I will do whatever is necessary to spare her the misery that my beautiful little Sadie had to endure because of my selfishness. And I’ll do it before it’s too late!

My Inheritance

When my mother passed away, at 85 years old, I inherited her house… and her tiny Maltese dog, Jeffy, who was not housebroken. Lucky me! I had just lost a dog of my own and vowed I would never get another. But what could I do, having promised my mother in a weak moment that I would take care of Jeffy if she predeceased him?

Well... there was a Plan B. Since I couldn’t live in two houses at once, and it was going to take a lot of sweat and money to get hers into shape to sell, my son, Lee, who had always loved the old home place, said he’d move in and fix it up… letting Jeffy live out his years in the home he was used to. He said, “All I ask is that you take him for periodic grooming and veterinary appointments.” 

What could be better than that? 

The drawback: Lee had a cat. Miss Bits was a large tabby cat with a reputation for being mean… actually, down right dangerous! Furthermore, she had not been declawed and I was concerned for Jeffy’s safety.  

But there were no alternatives. My husband was not happy about the prospect of a dog that was not housebroken coming to live with us. So I decided to take Lee up on his offer with the understanding that, if it didn’t work out, I would make other arrangements for Jeffy. Lee and Miss Bits moved in with Jeffy.

It didn’t take Miss Bits long to learn that, besides not being very bright, Jeffy had another deficiency. He could not climb stairs. So when Jeffy, who thought he was king of the hill, tried to do his duty and chase Miss Bits—as any self-respecting dog would do—she’d merely let him pursue her for a while, and then go up to about the third step leading to the second floor, sit down and look back at him triumphantly. Jeffy, looking puzzled,  would sit there barking and panting until he got so tired that he’d give up and lie down to rest. This became an everyday game.

Lee had to go to work each morning but felt quite certain that, while he was gone, they got along fine, because he once came in unexpectedly and found them in the kitchen eating together. It seemed that the “evening chase” was just for his benefit. Happily for me, it seemed this arrangement was going to work out after all.

Fulfilling my part of the bargain, I took Jeffy for his first grooming. My mother had not been well for over a year and his appearance had been neglected. Maltese have long, thick hair that must be brushed daily to keep them from getting matted. Jeffy was very matted. The groomer took one look and said, “I think the best thing we can do for Jeffy is to cut his coat short—a puppy cut!”

“I don’t know,”  I said. “My mother never wanted him cut short.” 

The groomer smiled. “Since it’s summertime,”she said, “it’s a good time to do it. If you keep it in good shape as it grows, it’ll be all grown out again by cold weather.”

It was a good argument and I reluctantly agreed, knowing my mother would never have permitted it. When I picked him up, he was barely recognizable, but looked adorable with his short haircut. From the way he pranced around, it seemed he also felt much better. 

                                

Now there were just a couple more problems. Lee suspected that Jeffy had worms, as well as infected ears! A trip to the veterinarian was in order. I called the vet’s office and asked if I could bring a stool sample in, without the dog.  They said, "Yes." So Lee collected the sample and left it in a baggie for me to pick up. I also took an old, nearly empty tube of ear medication hoping they’d refill it for me.

The vet’s assistant took the sample to check, but she said, “As far as the ears are concerned, the doctor says that, because it’s been a while since he’s seen Jeffy, he’d rather not prescribe medication without seeing him.”

“Oh,” I said. “Guess you’d better make an appointment then.”

The only time she had any time soon was 4:10 that afternoon and it was now only 2:30. I said, “That would put me in major traffic going home later.” I lived about ten miles away and the evening traffic was dreadful.

 “But,” I added, “since I’m already here... I suppose I should stay until it’s all done?”  So I made the appointment and went back to Lee's to wait. 

To pass the time, I had a conversation with Jeffy, then Miss Bits, listened to music, and walked the floor while talking to my husband on the phone until almost four. When it was finally time to go, Jeffy flatly refused! I had no idea it would be such an ordeal getting him to go with me. I put him down on the porch to lock the door, and when I tried to pick him up, he lay down and scooted backward until he was under the porch railing. I thought he was going to fall off the porch, but no amount of coaxing would make him get up. 

Trying to balance my open purse, keys, and a bottle of Dr. Pepper while attempting to pick him up, I dropped the Dr. Pepper, and things started falling out of my purse. Angry words spewed from my mouth and I was embarrassed when I realized we were entertaining several neighbors. I finally put everything down, recovered Jeffy,  then slowly picked it all back up and headed for the car.  Somehow, I got the door unlocked and got in while angrily shouting at Jeffy—“BAD DOG!" 

 He whined the whole twenty minutes we had to wait in the waiting room. A boxer growled at him, a cat hissed at him and a large blonde woman tried to make nice conversation with me. I didn't feel like it, and was glad when someone said, "Mrs. Toney?"  (My mother’s name was still on the records.) 

I didn't bother to explain that I wasn't Mrs. Toney. It was easier to just go with it. The doctor checked Jeffy’s ears to find that they were indeed badly infected. He put the first drops in while instructing me, “I want you to do this twice a day for ten days.” I nodded. “The worm test was negative,” he said. At last, something for which to be thankful! I thought.

Arriving at Lee’s, I was grateful to find him home. I took Jeffy  in, gave Lee a full report, the eardrops, and left, still hoping to beat the heavy traffic. But I didn’t. It was an exhausting trip… and to make matters worse, I felt guilty about losing my patience with the little dog. I promised myself I’d never do that again.

That was Jeffy’s last trip to the vet. On a Saturday morning, several weeks later, my phone rang. When I answered, Lee said shakily, “I have bad news.”

“What is it?” I said… unable to hide my dread.

“Jeffy died in his sleep last night.

 “Oh, no! What happened?”

 “Not sure,” Lee said. “Perhaps it was a seizure. He didn’t suffer; just one little cry, some shaking and he was gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “But don’t feel too bad. You gave him a good home.”

“Yes,” he said, “but it still hurts.”

Lee buried Jeffy in his back yard that afternoon. Although our hearts were aching, we consoled each other with reminders that our joint efforts had given this little orphaned doggie a pretty good life considering all the dreadful things that might have happened to him otherwise. 

Somewhere in Heaven, my mother is smiling.


This story also appears in my book, Somewhere in Heaven My Mother is Smiling.

  

It's A Joy To Have Friends

                                        Published by Charleston Gazette -

                              Sunday, July 11, 2010~

Recently, I was pleasantly surprised to hear from two friends that I haven’t seen or talked to for many years.  How nice it was to reconnect with them after such a long time!

I enjoyed a lengthy phone conversation with each of them. Having experienced similar changes over the years, we had a lot of catching up to do. Besides growing older ourselves, our children have grown up, married and blessed us with grandchildren – some of whom are now adults. Admitting our advanced ages, we compared ailments, meds, healthy diets, and physical fitness programs – finally agreeing that retirement is the best thing about getting older. And sadly, each of my friends related how devastating it had been losing her husband to an untimely death. 

After hanging up from the most recent chat, I sat thinking of the good times the two of us had shared years ago, the secrets we’d tucked away, and especially, the way we’d laughed. Every time we were together, we found something that made us giggle like school girls. Our friendship was like that – fun!

There were sad times, too – the occasional problem with one of our children, family illness, the death of a loved one – all of the things that are difficult to face any time, but doubly so without a friend by your side.  Thankfully, true friendship withstands both good and bad times.
 

So why do we lose touch?  When we like some people so much, why do we let years slip by with no contact?

As I pondered this, I thought about something I read a few years ago, written by a young lady from the UK named Jessica Smith.  It made a lasting impact on me. Some excerpts follow: 

Life is like a train ride.
We get on. We ride. We get off. We get back on and ride some more. When we are born and we first board the train, we meet people whom we think will be with us for the entire journey. Those people are our parents!

Sadly, this is far from the truth.
Our parents are with us for only as long as we absolutely need them. They too have journeys they must complete. We live on with the memories of their love, and guidance... their ever presence.

There are others who board the train who eventually become very important to us.  These people are our brothers, sisters, friends and acquaintances, whom we will learn to love, and cherish.

Some people on the train will leave an everlasting impression when they get off.  Others will get on and get off the train so quickly, they will scarcely leave a sign that they ever traveled with you.

Remember, at any moment during our journey, any one of our travel companions can have a weak moment and be in need of our help.  We, too, may need someone we can count on to be supportive and understanding.

The biggest mystery of our journey is that we don’t know when our last stop will come. Neither do we know when our travel companions will make their last stop. Not even those sitting in the seat next to us.

We’re all on this train ride together. Above all, we should strive to make the ride as pleasant and memorable as we can, right up until we each make the final stop and leave the train for the last time.

The old friends that recently came back into my life are only a small sample of those that have traveled on the train with me, but these two, in particular, left an everlasting impression when they got off.  I’m glad they got back on – and delighted that they've been a part of my train ride!

This story also appears in my book, Somewhere in Heaven My Mother is Smiling~

A Summer Romance

In the summer of my sixteenth year, my best friend, Carol, and I spent most of our time together. We took long barefoot walks, went to Saturday matinees at the local movie theater, and had sleepovers – spending most of the night talking and giggling – but our favorite thing to do that summer was go to the roller rink. 

It was common at that time, for roller rinks to have side walls that were opened to the outside on warm evenings allowing passers-by to enjoy the sights and sounds inside. As lively organ music blared, my best friend and I whirled around and around the wooden floor holding hands. Sometimes, the lights would be turned down low and a kaleidoscope of colors would dance all around us while a soft melody played. They called this a “couples” selection and it was the last skate of the evening. Almost always, a boy would ask me to skate with him. Carol was asked, too. It was so exciting! 

One night, I noticed a good-looking boy standing on the outside looking in. He had curly brown hair, cut short, and twinkling eyes that smiled even when his lips didn’t. As he watched me skate, his broad grin exposed perfect white teeth. At first, I tried to ignore him, but soon felt self-conscious and burst into laughter. He laughed, too. Shortly, he came inside and swaggered around the floor that surrounded the skating area – still watching me. 

This boy was dressed in a most unusual fashion, even for that time. He wore pink pants, a pink and white checked shirt and white buck shoes. Carol took one look, poked me in the ribs and said, “Look, Maggie!”  I said, “I am looking.” She said, “Isn’t he cute?” Making a face, I said, “Can’t you pick ‘em better than that?”

I was not at all impressed with this boy and his peculiar clothes or his superior attitude, but Carol was taken with him!

However, when the last skate was finished and we sat down to take our skates off, he came over to me and started a conversation. “Hi,” he said. “Where do you live?” 

“96th St,” I said. “Where do you go to school?” he asked. 

“I go to Peyton High,” I answered. He looked surprised and said, “Well so do I. How come I’ve never seen you there?” 

“I just transferred from Bingham last year. I’ll be a senior this year.”

“Me, too,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Maggie,” I said. He smiled and said, “I’m Ken. I live on the West Side. I still don’t understand why I never saw you before in a whole school year.”

“Don’t know,” I said, picking up my skates and heading for the door… with Carol close behind. 

“Hey,” Ken said. “Can I call you?”

Before I could answer, he handed me a small piece of paper and said, “Just write your number on this.”

I don’t know why I did it, but I wrote my number on the paper and then complained to Carol all the way home that I shouldn’t have because he just wasn’t “my type.”

He called – the very next day. When he asked if I’d go to a movie with him on Saturday night, I said, “Yes.” What’s wrong with me? I thought. I don’t even like this guy. He thinks too much of himself. Hope he doesn’t wear that pink outfit again.

That was the first of many dates. And with each date, I found myself liking him more. School started and we had a great senior year! We went to football games, movies, and spent as much time together as possible. The holidays came and we enjoyed them together, too, doing all the fun things young folks do at that festive time of year. Spring soon arrived and so did Prom time. How special that night was! I in a beautiful long gown wearing the corsage he’d given me and he in a tux, sporting a red rosebud boutonniere on his white jacket. Those happy days passed much too quickly, although we didn’t realize it at the time. To us, it meant we were almost adults. Finally, the big day came and we had a lovely graduation. We cherish the wonderful memories of that last year of high school together!

Suddenly, it was summer again. My parents were planning my future; his parents were doing the same for him. Little did they know that we had other plans. One day in early September, while my parents were at work, we eloped.

That was many years ago and we’re still spending all our special times together - along with our children, and grandchildren.

Just think - it all started with a pair of pink pants, white buck shoes and a winning smile!


This story appears in my book, Somewhere in Heaven My Mother is Smiling