A Changed World

~Published in the Charleston Gazette, Sunday, January 27, 2013~

 

 

 

 

A family member phoned last night, rather late, and said he was coming by to drop off some things. My first impulse was to unlock the door and continue reading my engrossing book, but on second thought, I decided that wasn’t a good idea.  

What if a stranger decided to walk in? 

Oh, how times have changed! When I was growing up, we never would have worried about such a thing. We didn’t even lock our doors. In the summertime, at night, we used the little latch on the screen door and left the big door open all night. We had to. It was hot and we had no air conditioning. Besides, there was nothing to fear. We lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone else and we took care of each other. 

Imagine leaving your doors unlocked now. Mine are usually locked – even in the daytime. My children have their own keys. I wish we didn’t live in such an untrustworthy world. 

As a child, I walked quite a distance to school, sometimes alone. In those days, no one ever thought of a child from an ordinary family, like mine, being kidnapped or harmed in any way. In a small town, like the one I lived in, everyone looked out for all of the children – not just their own. It was a much safer world then. 

My friend and I used to spend Saturday afternoons at the movies eating popcorn, watching a movie, sometimes more than once, and interacting with other friends from school, who spent their Saturdays the same. It was great; something to look forward to every week. We'll never forget those Saturdays of our youth! 

Nowadays, mothers deliver their children to and from school and accompany them everywhere they go. There are some who still ride school buses, but when they step off the bus in the evening, their mothers wait nearby to take them home.  

Some of my most enjoyable times occurred on the way home from school in the afternoon. I shudder at the thought of all the fun I would have missed if my mother had picked me up! 

There was a soda fountain in our town reminiscent of the one on “Happy Days.” As we sauntered home from school, my friends and I stopped there most evenings for a coke, a milkshake, an ice cream soda, or just plain enjoyment. Lots of good things happened there. While the jukebox played my favorite songs, I sometimes met a new friend or engaged in a flirtation with a boy from school. And when I was in high school, many Saturday night dates were made sitting at the old soda fountain sipping a coke.  A few times, I was asked to write my phone number on a napkin for someone who may want to use it later. 

Yes, it’s a changed world. 

I suppose my parents thought the same thing when I was growing up. If there’s anything we can count on, it’s change. But no matter how things fluctuate, the era we grew up in – to each of us – will always be the best!

 

Just Do Your Best

~Appeared in The Charleston Gazette, Sunday, January 6, 2013~

As we move into a new year, we see before us a clean slate - an opportunity to right the wrongs of the past year – and the majority of us vow to make the most of our new beginning.

Upon reflection, some of us may feel that it’s vitally important to discover the real meaning of our existence, especially those who are older. Typically, until now, we’ve simply been too busy living to think about such things. But now that our children are on their own, our lives have slowed from a mad dash to a stroll, and we find that we have more time to reflect on life’s purpose and wonder if we’ve done anything worthwhile, or if it was all for naught.

We still have hopes and dreams but sometimes doubts creep in, causing us to question the validity of our ambitions.

When this happens, we must look beyond any so-called limitations such as age, resources or timing and remember that our dreams are God inspired.

And He has blessed us with the talent to create and accomplish whatever we set our minds and hearts to achieve.

Deep within each of us is a center of peace—a quiet strength that gives us the power and energy to pursue our dreams. We each have unique abilities and strengths. One person may create a striking work of art; another, an exceptional computer program; another, a melodious piece of music, and yet another, a cordial home that others take pleasure in visiting. Our work is an expression of who we are as we use our mind, physical capabilities and actions to create something of value in the world.

Still, possessing a talent goes much deeper.

The ability to make others feel special, to help someone, to show compassion: these are talents, too, and are available to us at every stage of our life – not just when we’re young. But since our society doesn't hand out praise or monetary rewards for gifts of character, we think because we don't possess some obvious ability like singing or playing a musical instrument, we don't have talent. Instead of looking at the gifts we have and using them to the best of our ability, we get caught up in comparisons and disqualify ourselves because we weren’t blessed with the same talents God gave someone else.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, "If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of Heaven and Earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’"

We must never let our perceived inadequacies be a handicap. Give them to God and they will become His opportunity to demonstrate His power operating through us. He would never have a chance to help us if we were always self-sufficient and capable of meeting every challenge.

He has a way of turning our lives in directions we didn't even know existed. And He often works through us to accomplish His goals. By surrendering to Him, we can see amazing things in ourselves and go well beyond the potential anyone thought we had.

Just do your best and God will do the rest.

Happy New Year!

The Meaning of Christmas

~Appeared in the Charleston Gazette, December 23, 2012~

The Meaning of Christmas

Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place,

which the Lord has made known to us. ~Luke 2:15

A man we hired to do some work in our home said to me, “I hate Christmas! I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

Stunned, I couldn’t let the remark pass without a response.

“We must remember the meaning of Christmas,” I said.

“Don’t start that religious stuff with me,” he answered rather curtly,

I felt insulted, embarrassed and hurt!  I was inclined to tell him to leave, or that I’d appreciate it if he’d show more respect for me since he was  in my home.  But, although it had taken me many years, I had finally learned to think before speaking.  After all, if I became angry, wouldn’t that give the impression that I wasn’t living my religious beliefs? 

So, thankfully, I managed to smile and remain calm.  In the end, he regretted his actions and apologized.

But after the man left, I thought about his attitude and his statement: “I hate Christmas!” And I felt sorry for him.  If he really feels that way, he’s missing so much.

How could anyone possibly experience Christmas without at least a degree of joy in his heart?

Without appreciation for the lovely Christmas carols playing continuously?

Without feeling like a child at the sight of colorful, sparkling decorations—brightly-lit trees shining from neighborhood windows, wreaths on doors?

Without a sense of love and charity?

Christmastime is a joyous season of goodwill and generosity—a time when the giving spirit is flowing freely. Everywhere, we see examples of people reaching out with kindness and love. We see compassion in their thoughts, words, actions and attitudes. We see expressions of generosity and thoughtfulness. Many are praising and encouraging others, or praying for those in need and sharing their own blessings.

Wherever you go, people greet you with happy smiles and the words, “Merry Christmas,” or “Happy Holidays.”

The delightful aroma of spicy baked goods fills the air as mothers bake cookies, fruit cakes and other delights for their families and for sharing with neighbors and friends.

The ways in which charitable deeds flow are endless. Those who express loving generosity, not only bless others, but also themselves.

Long ago, three wise men followed a star and were led to Bethlehem. There they found the baby Jesus and were filled with joy. Reverently, they offered gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Today, people the world over exchange gifts on Christmas, but the greatest gift doesn’t come wrapped in a package.  It is the unconditional love of God.  This is the gift that Jesus Christ lived and taught. Love is the gift that brings life to both the giver and receiver.

As we celebrate the birth of Jesus, we give thanks for His life, example and teachings and we acknowledge our birthright as children of the Most High.

I pray that everyone will open his or her heart to love Christmas and celebrate it by humbly giving and gratefully receiving the peace and love of God.

And on this day of rebirth and new beginnings, may we find in our hearts a willingness to do our part in making Christmas not just one special day in the year but a way of living life.

Merry Christmas!

My Hands Are Blessed

~Published in the Charleston Gazette - Sunday, November 25, 2012~

Do you believe in miracles?

A young mother I know was convinced that miracles are possible when she gave birth to a son and was told by doctors that his chances of survival were slim. She wrote a moving account of the experience. With her permission, I share Jolita Raine’s story:

On July 1st, four years ago, my son was born in Cincinnati. I don’t remember much about that morning because of the complications I was having with Mirror Syndrome. That’s when the mother’s symptoms mirror those of her newborn child. He had a condition known as hydrops, a life-threatening problem of severe edema in a fetus or newborn.

I desperately wanted to see my son, but I only got to see him in the Pod as they wheeled him out. The doctor came to see me and gave me an update his condition, which was not good. He said they didn’t expect him to make it through the night. He also said I could have him baptized if I wanted and that, later, they’d wrap him up and let us say our “good-byes.”

That was it! That’s all they had planned – just to wait until he died.

So I had my son baptized. And I prayed to God. “There is nothing we can do here, Lord,” I said, tears streaming down my cheeks, “He is completely in Your hands.”

They took me back to my room and, as I lay there waiting to say my good-byes, I talked to God again. “I may not understand it now, Lord, if you take my child, but someday I will. Just please don’t let him suffer.”

The minister who had baptized him came to see me and a nurse came to tell me my child was “still kicking.” We didn’t have to say good-bye just yet.

He made it through the first night. Then he made it through the second night. And many more. I visited him in the NICU. I will never forget the thumping noises of the oscillator or the beeping alarms of the monitors attached to him. I wasn’t allowed to hold him; I could only touch him. It was heartbreaking!

The doctors said there was no surgery to correct the hydrops. It was up to him to correct it himself.

When he began to improve daily, I started thinking of every day he was alive as a miracle! He eventually came off the oscillator and onto the nasal cannula. The time finally came, after he learned to eat a certain amount and was at a low oxygen level, that we were able to bring him home.

When the doctors and nurses sat down with us to explain what to expect, one doctor said, “He’ll run out of energy faster because his lungs and heart are not one hundred percent. That may cause delays in his daily life.” The thing I remember most is the doctor saying, “Keep doing what you’re doing.” My reply was, “We’re praying and we have a number of prayer groups praying for him as well.” He looked at me and repeated, “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

So, with appointments arranged for regular check-ups, and all the supplies we needed, including oxygen, we took our son home.

Coming home was a little scary! From time to time, I wished we were back in the safety of the hospital just in case something went wrong. Days and nights went by with monitors beeping while we constantly checked oxygen levels and monitored food intake. But within a few months, the doctor took him off the oxygen and after one more visit, he said he didn’t need to see him anymore. Sooner than anyone expected!

My son is now four years old. If you saw him you’d never know there was anything wrong with him. Besides the scars under his shirt from stents and drainage tubes, there are no signs of what he went through.

I look back now and remember that the doctors had no plan, but God did. I couldn’t hold my son at first, but God held him in His loving arms the whole time. No one at the hospital could cure him, but God could!

Some say that my son has a purpose. That purpose is clear to me. He is living proof that if you give your problems to God, He will take care of them. No matter what we have planned, it is His plan that we have to trust.

I don’t know how people cope with losing a child, or how they take care of children with special needs. I just pray that they look to God even when it seems that they are not in the comfort of His arms.

I would like to thank everyone who prayed for my son. And I’d especially like to thank my family: my husband, for the weekend trips to Cincinnati, my parents and sister for always being there when I needed them, my mother-in-law for babysitting and praying and my young daughter, Maranda. She didn’t always understand what was going on, but she brought a smile to my face when I needed it.

My son is on the go all the time – non-stop. I’m hoping I will never see him get worn out as doctors predicted. His middle name is Boot, which fits him perfectly since he is “still kicking” to this day.

When someone says, “You have your hands full!” I reply, “My hands are blessed!”

Thank you, God!

Making Joy Last

~Appeared in the Charleston Gazette - October 21, 2012~

Sometimes I get so caught up in the demands of everyday life that I miss the joy of spending time with my loved ones. But I can remedy that almost immediately by making time to interact with the people in my life. As we share the simplest daily activities like running errands together, watching a movie or taking a long walk, I am grateful for each gift of joy. Yet I know these joyful moments are fleeting.

How can one attain lasting joy?

If you really want the answer to this question, just observe a young child for a while. Children don’t even have to think about it. They get up each morning happy and excited about what will happen today. What’s more, most of them are enthusiastic about learning new things.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if adults were equally as excited about learning and experiencing new things? But the majority of us have become indifferent about the events life holds for us each day. We get up every morning and go through our daily routine without any real emotion – unless someone cuts us off in traffic, that is. Unlike children, we are fairly certain we won’t be learning anything new and exciting during our ordinary day, so we don’t expect it.

Perhaps that’s the key—learning to live with the expectation that something new and fascinating will happen each and every day. If only we could look at the world through childlike eyes and see things based on truth rather than appearances and remain open to life’s lessons as we gain a new level of understanding and awareness.

Or perhaps it’s as a friend tells me, “I carry the joy of the Lord into everything I do,” she says. “Whatever I’m doing, I’m happy in it.”

“To moan and complain is useless,” she adds. “And gloomy thoughts chip away at the vitality of the soul.”

Living in an awareness of God, as my friend surely does, fills us with self-assurance. Knowing we’re never alone; knowing that our body is a temple filled with pure energy and healing life and trusting our faith in God, we move confidently forward in that faith. And we are joyful.

God wants us to be happy, and He makes it possible. However, it is impossible to experience real joy unless you have invited the King of Joy, Jesus, to come into your life.

There is no peace in the heart of the transgressor and no joy in his soul.

But when we are baptized into His Spirit, evil loses its power to destroy us, darkness is dispelled and the broken spirit healed. Joy soothes the soul and lifts the burden from the grieving heart. The Spirit rejoices within you.

This is the joy we were promised—the greatest joy that can come to the human heart—for it is the everlasting joy of God.

See You In The Morning

~Appeared in the Charleston Gazette - Sunday, April 25, 2010~ 

It was almost Christmas when my friend passed away. She had been seriously ill for a while, but we’re never ready to let go of someone we care about. She was loved by many. She had two grown children, three grandchildren and numerous friends – and a sense of humor like no other.

I first met Dot twenty- two years ago when her son proposed to my daughter. The date was set for New Year’s Eve. The parents of the groom hosted a wedding rehearsal dinner where our families met and got acquainted, aware that we would forever be connected through our children and future grandchildren.

Soon after the wedding, the young couple left for their new home in Michigan – a long way from our home in West Virginia. Our new son-in-law had recently been transferred there with the promise that he’d be relocated closer to home in a couple of years. My daughter had never been away from home except for short visits with friends. I hated the thought of her living that far away, but knew I had to let go no matter how much it hurt.

They left on Saturday and by Monday morning, I was missing her terribly. As I sat by the window looking out at the cold, gray January day – watching the snow fall and wiping tears from my eyes, the phone rang. It was her! It was so good to hear her sweet voice. I could tell she was shedding a few tears, too. She tried to be cheerful, but it was impossible to hide her homesickness from me.

Before we hung up, she suggested I phone her new mother-in-law. That proved to be a great idea. Shortly after we said, “Good-bye,” I dialed Dot’s number. I knew right away it wouldn’t be our last conversation. She was easy to talk to and laughter came easily and often during our long chat. We found that we had much in common. We discussed our families, movies, books, and even religion and politics… two subjects we’re warned never to broach with anyone unless we’ve known them at least a lifetime!

After that, we talked often. When our kids announced that we’d soon be grandmothers, we had even more to discuss. We both already enjoyed that title, but this would be the first time we shared a grandchild. Months later, when we received news of complications that may cause the baby to arrive ten weeks early, the two of us and my younger daughter headed for Michigan. Driving all night, we arrived at the hospital about seven a.m. worried and exhausted.

My daughter had not delivered the baby, but had undergone an appendectomy. After much testing, her doctors had decided that her appendix may be the problem, and hoped surgery wouldn’t induce labor. But we no sooner got to her house, planning to clean up and get some rest, when the doctor phoned to say that labor had begun. Concerned, we rushed back to the hospital. Our grandson was born at 2: am, weighing only 3 pounds, 3 ounces.

His chances of survival were uncertain at first. It was a tearful time, but when his dad touched the tiny hand and it closed tightly around his finger, we knew that God had no intention of taking this child! Not only did he survive the premature birth, but also surgery for a heart defect soon after. Three years later, his little sister was born, without complication. Everyone was elated.

Our son-in-law eventually got the transfer he’d been promised, putting them only three and a half hours away instead of eight. They visited every holiday, sharing the time with each of us. We came to know and love our grandchildren as we watched them grow. Sometimes, Dot traveled with my husband and me to visit them and we enjoyed our time together, never running out of conversation or laughter.

Then one bleak January evening, Dot was alone talking to a friend on the phone when she abruptly stopped talking, prompting her friend to check on her. Opening the door as far as possible with the chain lock on, she saw Dot lying on the floor, unconscious. She quickly called 911 and Dot was taken to the hospital where it was discovered that she had an aortic aneurysm. Surgery took hours and waiting was stressful for her family. News of Dot’s illness spread fast and dozens of friends stopped by to inquire and offer best wishes.

Therapy and recovery were long and difficult but Dot was finally well enough to go home with her daughter. However, discovering that she felt uneasy leaving her mother alone while she worked, her daughter was forced to find a suitable Assisted Living Facility and move her mother into it. Dot was not happy about the move but had no choice. In time, other ailments plagued her – one right after the other until she ultimately landed in the hospital after a minor heart attack caused a fall and injuries. She never returned to the Assisted Living Home. Instead, she was transported to a Hospice House and died in early December.

Dot and I shared a great deal in those twenty-two years. There were tears of joy when our children married, anxious tears when we thought we might lose our premature grandson – jubilation when we didn’t – and celebration when his sister was born.

Dot came to see me in the hospital when I had a potentially serious illness. When I got home, she didn’t just send “a” get well card; she sent one every day for a week or more! She empathized when my mother died, and we each listened tirelessly when the other vented about things that will remain “our secrets” forever. We laughed, too – finding amusement in almost every situation.

I visited Dot a few days before she died. It was heartbreaking seeing her so frail. But her demeanor hadn’t changed. Ever the lady, she managed to smile, touch my hand and say, "Thank you for visiting."

I miss Dot, but there is one consolation: So real is the promise of the believer’s resurrection that the physical death of a Christian is called “sleep.” After Lazarus had died, Jesus told his disciples, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I go, that I may awaken him." (John 11:11)

Remembering Dot, I sometimes whisper, “Good night dear friend. See you in the morning!”

Are You Ready To Graduate?

~Appeared in the Charleston Gazette ~ Sunday, September 23, 2012~

Our granddaughter, a college student, recently lost one of her best friends in a car accident. The details of the accident were horrifying and unbelievable. She’s been very upset since it happened and her mother is concerned about her. I tried talking with my granddaughter, but she didn’t seem to hear me. I felt helpless.

A lifelong friend passed away after a short illness. I found out about it when my husband showed me his picture in the obituary. I was shocked and couldn’t understand why this good friend didn’t let me know he was ill. I would like to have had the opportunity to talk with him – to tell him things I never got around to saying. I felt cheated.

A member of our church family – and a friend – passed away a few weeks ago. He had Alzheimer’s. His wife brought him to church for as long as it was possible and we watched his gradual decline from Sunday to Sunday. He endured, first, the humiliation and then the pain that this cruel disease inflicts upon its victims! I felt angry.

I’ve been trying hard to squeeze a layer of meaning out of this natural phenomenon called death, but so far, all I’ve gathered is: It hurts. And it leaves scars that never heal.

In his book, A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis wrote: “For in grief nothing stays put. One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats.”

Death does hurt. Not necessarily the person who gives up his life, but the loved ones and friends who must let him go. We are flooded with a torrential outpouring of emotion each time death comes near us. And it does seem to keep repeating!

However, in actuality, it’s not about us, is it?

As Christians, we are taught to deal with these feelings. “Death is a part of life,” we are told. “And, for the departed, the best is yet to come.”

In a book by William W. Orr, The First Five Minutes after Death, Dr. Orr explains: “The essence of a Christian’s death is that of graduation. Life has been a school. Lessons have been learned. Examinations have been given, but all is now past. In the perfect will of God, the believer has attained the experience and knowledge of important truths. He will be promoted to life—the exceedingly abundant life. The full and complete arrangements to transfer his soul into celestial realms have been concluded. This is an important event! The other side is glorious indeed! At death, there is an open door into immeasurable blessing, which only the power of God could make possible.”

There are many causes of death. Some simply grow old and die. For them, there is usually plenty of warning. To others, death comes abruptly. They die as a result of accidents, heart attacks, strokes, rapid cancer and a variety of other diseases. Death comes to infants, youth, and those in the prime of life—people of all ages.

No one knows when his time will come. This is the reason we should be ready at all times. This is why God expects us to live each minute as if the transfer into His glory might occur the next moment.

As a matter of fact, it may!