Life, Death & Garden Gloves

A few weeks ago I took an unplanned trip from my home in Michigan to my parent’s home in Wisconsin.

I didn’t tell my parent’s that I was coming to see them. I knew they were both sick, and my dad, who had been struggling with Parkinson’s disease for many years, had taken several falls over the last several weeks.

My plan was simple: show up, get them both back to good health, then hit the road back to Michigan.

The Word of God reminds us about something super important in the book of James: “Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:13-14)

My middle daughter, Danielle, who happens to be a nurse, visited her best buddy in Minneapolis and offered to extend her trip to go with me to her grandparents to see if she could help.

I had no idea at the time how much help Danielle would provide. 

We arrived at my parent's house at noon on Monday, just as my mom received the news from her doctor that she was positive for COVID. She was hacking up a lung and had been sick for almost a week. The next day Danielle and I were able to take my dad to the doctor, where he also tested positive for COVID. We realized that his lack of appetite for the last several weeks was due to COVID and not Parkinson’s. 

Danielle & I helping with my parents    

At first, I was relieved. I thought if we could find anything at all that appealed to Dad to eat or drink, his strength would return, and he would be good. By this point, he was so weak that it was difficult helping him around the house. And he was so restless from the pain that it was difficult for him to stay in one place for very long.

By Thursday, when I arrived at my parents to see if Dad was any stronger, my heart sank. I took one look at him in his recliner and knew he would not get well—not this time. 

Friday morning we had a meeting with hospice at my parents to get Dad some help before the weekend. His falls were adding up, and my mom was too weak to help him even with my younger brother’s assistance. Before heading to my parents, I stopped at Menard’s and purchased a pair of garden gloves. I figured after our hospice meeting; I would work in my parent’s yard. 

Denial.

I have always thought of springtime as a season of life, not death. I left after the hospice meeting and returned later that afternoon with the pharmacy’s medication; Dad had taken a nosedive. 

My heart skipped a few beats. I knew that Dad knew. My hands shook as I attempted to open the medicine I had just picked up. Pain medication that I didn’t think we would need for quite some time. 

I felt totally helpless and completely unprepared. The resilient man who had always figured a way out of an impossible situation knew. 

The siblings that lived far away were all on their way. All six kids would be together to help usher the man who had brought us into the world, out of the world.

I didn’t get back to my hotel until very late that night. I glanced at the passenger seat and saw my new pair of garden gloves, untouched. What a sudden turn the day had taken. How foolish was I to have thought I knew how the day would come together.

“What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”

Early Monday morning, March 29th, Dad took his final breath. 

The funeral director warned us that visitations were not well-attended due to COVID. However, for three hours, people waited in line to pay their respects to a quiet, humble man who never wanted to be the center of attention. His walk with God, his weekly Bible studies, the many people he prayed with who gave their lives to the Lord, the dozens of people he mentored over the years. In life, he was faithful and obedient. Death revealed his legacy and impact. 

Us 6 kids plus Mom in order of birth from left to right    

Last summer, I had a conversation with my dad regarding my garden. He loved gardening and was happy to see me loving it too. I shared with him that each morning I got excited when I looked at my garden and saw all the growth that had happened overnight. I wondered out loud if I would ever lose the excitement of working in my garden. Dad assured me that I wouldn’t, “The reason you love it is because we came from the dirt, and we will return to the dirt one day—it’s a part of who we are.” 

We all gathered around Dad’s casket at the cemetery to bury him on Good Friday. Knowing that Dad had fought the good fight and had finished his race was bittersweet for his family who was feeling the pain of his absence. If only the veil could have been ripped open a little for us to witness the beauty of seeing Dad in heaven, eating his fill at a banquet held in his honor, surrounded by everyone his life had touched in his 80 short years of life.

See You Soon, Dad.

“What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” 

Stay the course…

Sheila

Then They Do

The holidays have a way of bringing out memories forgotten during the usual months of the year. We remember fondly (mostly!) traditions we have either started with our own families or carried over from our childhoods.

When our three daughters were very young, we began a new family tradition of purchasing a Christmas ornament for each girl representing something unique about them that had happened during the year. The plan was that one day we would hand over each daughter’s ornaments for her own Christmas tree.

Our daughters growing up and leaving home felt like something far away in a place called the future. I was too busy being a mom to contemplate the notion that our kids leaving home might happen.

While I was still knee-deep into parenting, country singer Trace Adkins came out with a song in 2003 entitled, “Then They Do.” 

He sang about how crazy it is some days as a parent and how sometimes we wish our children would grow up. 

And then they do.

I listened to the lyrics with a pang in my heart, contemplating a future without kids under our roof. (Not that the thought was a bad one, depending on the day!)

Yesterday our oldest daughter, her husband, and our granddaughter came over to go through our Christmas ornaments. She wanted to take her childhood ornaments to put on her own family’s Christmas tree. Later, our second daughter also arrived to collect her box of ornaments. 

Although I knew in my heart the time had come to hand off the collection of the lifetime of memories contained in each ornament — even as I write this, I feel a bit ambivalent. 

Throughout the years, our Christmas tree resembled an assortment of random, unmatching ornaments. To the untrained eye, our tree was far from perfect. To me, however, life slowed down with the placement of each memory on the tree. All the many phases, awkward experiences, sweet victories—stories remembered and re-told over the passing years.

Earlier this week, I had a real conversation with a lifetime friend. She shared moments of regret as a parent. Yep. The ornaments reflect the happy moments, the one-of-a-kind moments, and some moments I wish I would have held onto much tighter than I did. No matter how hard I tried to be a perfect mom—I failed over and over again. But some days, I got it right! 

Two out of three boxes of ornaments left our house yesterday in the arms of our now-married daughters. The third box will be going one day soon when our third baby girl is ready to take ownership of her ornaments. 

Until then, they will remain safe with me—the mom who prays for her daughter’s futures with hopes that every dream held within their hearts will come to pass. Hopefully, captured piece-by-piece, ornament by ornament over the coming years on their own ragamuffin Christmas trees.

Stay the course…

Sheila

How Does Your Garden Grow?

My husband and I planted a garden this summer - a huge garden. 

Our garden became my sanctuary from the world. 

Pulling weeds with sweat on my brow and dirt on my hands, I felt closer to my Maker than I had in a long time.

We worked with mutual excitement for the anticipated harvest, from preparing the soil to planting and watering the seeds.

Each morning my husband and I strolled to the garden, coffee in hand, marveling at every new sprout and each new blossom. Like a child on Christmas morning, the overnight surprises never got old.

Our garden tucked away from the world, began to feel like a place of promise, hope, and life.

In I Corinthians, we see where Paul, a missionary pioneer, brought the message of salvation to the church. He planted the seed of the gospel message in people’s hearts. Then Apollos built on Paul’s foundation—he watered the seed as he helped believers grow in their faith. Both men’s roles were different yet significant. The believers revealed their spiritual immaturity, thus causing division when some stated that they followed Paul, and others indicated that they followed Apollos. (I Corinthians 3:4)

Paul understood the real reason his labor produced a harvest.

Paul addresses the church and the problem head-on, “What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe--as the Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow.” (I Corinthians 3:5-7)

Planting Onions    

How do we grow our faith, reach our goals and dreams, or raise families who desire to live for Christ? I believe we work diligently to plant, nurture, and tend to our gardens.

But God makes them grow!

Harvesting Onions    

There is a tremendous personal cost when committing to planting, caring for, and harvesting a garden of any kind.

My husband was better in some parts of gardening than me. And I was better in other areas of gardening than him. The real joy was in partnering together for a shared goal: a harvest.

     

The work of the harvest involves a lot of different individuals with a variety of gifts and abilities. “For we are God’s fellow workers, you are God’s field, God’s building.” (I Corinthians 3:9)

Sometimes we get to be a part of something miraculous, glorious, spectacular. It will not be easy nor will it happen in a minute. We may never be noticed or applauded. However, the harvesting journey will be life-changing if we are willing to stay the course.

And we may see God’s glory in a place or a face that we least expect. 

Quite possibly on an ordinary morning, coffee in hand, as you stand in awe and wonder at the garden that God has grown.

Stay the course...

Sheila

Gritty Faith

There’s a question I had pondered for so long that I can’t remember when the question originated. 

“What is the purpose of the church?”

While trying to understand the church’s purpose, God has been showing me what faith looks like, whether within or without the church walls.

True faith is gritty. 

Please hear me out. 

I’m not saying you need to summit mountains, kill dinner, or have calloused, weathered hands to be a person with gritty faith (although this author appreciates calloused, weathered hands!).

The Word of God gives us numerous accounts of men and women who possess gritty faith. Gritty faith is not a character trait that might be evident to the eye at first glance.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, had gritty faith. God knew the depth of Mary’s faith. That’s why God chose Mary for one of the most meaningful life purposes imaginable—she knew her obedience would cost her dearly. By all appearances, Mary was “soft,” but she revealed her grits depth by being obedient to God’s will for her life.

And don’t forget Benaiah, one of King David’s brave fighters. In describing the grit of Benaiah, there is one sentence that says it all, “He also went down into a pit on a snowy day and killed a lion.” (2 Sam. 23:20(b)) I doubt Benaiah had time to think about whether or not he should go into the slippery, snowy pit to kill the lion. In a split-second decision, he wrenched the spear from the Egyptian’s hand and killed the lion with no regard for personal safety.

In the New Testament, in the City of Damascus, we meet a disciple named Ananias. The Lord called to him in a vision, “Ananias!” 

“Yes, Lord,” he answered. (Acts 9:10)

Then the Lord tells Ananias to go where Saul (the man known for persecuting Christians) is waiting on Straight Street, lay his hands on Saul and pray for Saul’s sight. 

Can you imagine the kind of faith required to obey such a command? Although Ananias questioned the Lord, and probably feared for his own life, he obeyed.

None of those mentioned above faced their situations within the walls of the church. 

So I am left to conclude that church must be the place we meet together as brothers and sisters in Christ. The church must be the place found in the eye of the storm—a momentary place of safety and protection. A place where we pause to catch our breath,  encourage one another, spur each other on, and love one another. Mostly, the church must be a place where we worship and adore God—together, as His family. Can you imagine the anticipation and excitement our Father must experience each time His family unites as His church?

“And he (Christ) is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy.” (Col. 1:18)

In this place called the church, we breathe life and hope, courage, and boldness into our fellow sojourners. When we leave the four walls, we go back into the storm, where our real life’s purposes are awaiting. 

No two purposes are the same. Our arenas have purposes that were designed by the same God of Mary, Benaiah, and Ananias. 

Our faith is the only thing we possess which we will take with us to eternity—it is the essence of who we are. 

I want my faith to be as gritty as Benaiah’s hands, yet as soft as the face of Mary.

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.” (Ephesians 3:20-21 NIV)

Stay the Course…

Sheila

The Truth About Talent

The other day my husband and I were reminiscing about the first house we purchased together in Arizona. We were 25 years old at the time. 

“Remember how nice we fixed up the yard before we sold it?” I commented.

“Yes, but we didn’t make any updates to the interior except paint,” he responded, then he added, “but that was before I knew how to do renovations.”

“That’s not true.” I said as I considered his comment, “the talent was in you when you were born, you just had not yet discovered your ability to do carpentry work!”

We don’t wake up one day and have a talent. We are all given talents by our Creator before we are born—they are a gift straight from the hand of God. So, talent is the inherent, natural ability of a person to do something. Whereas skill is something that you acquire after putting in a lot of hard work—it is learned.

We are told in the Word what we are to do with our God-given talents, “Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.” (I Peter 4:10)

Consider David, the shepherd. He received many talents, some of which he discovered while out in the field, tending his father’s sheep. David was not only a brave warrior, but he was also a great leader, and somewhere along the way, he recognized that he could also play the harp. (I Samuel 16:18)

The truth about talent is that discovering our real purpose starts with a prayer or a dream that turns into a deep desire and passion. Once we put action to talent, there is nothing that we cannot accomplish!

Nehemiah is one of my favorite examples of a person who knew how to put action to talent. When Nehemiah found out that the walls and gates of Jerusalem were in disrepair, he became so burdened with the news that he wept, mourned, fasted, and prayed before God, asking for favor in the eyes of the king to go and rebuild the walls. 

Nehemiah knew God could use his talents to get the job done. When faced with significant opposition, he did not give up or give in but instead prayed, “Now strengthen my hands.” (Nehemiah 6:9) Nehemiah stood firm, finishing the wall in just 52 days.

We all possess unique talents that set us apart from one another! When we bring our talents together, we become the true picture of the church—all glory and honor to God!

The truth about our talents is that when we function and serve together within them, we feel whole and complete! 

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” (James 1:17)

Stay the course…

Sheila

Farmhouses, Childhood & Homemade Slip 'N Slides

Just over a year ago, my husband and I purchased a 200-year-old farmhouse in Michigan. 

The man who had owned the old farmhouse lived to be nearly 100 years old. Two of his children, Sharon and Gary, and their spouses still live nearby. We’ve had the opportunity to get to know the “kids” and their spouses during the real estate transaction and throughout the last year, keeping them updated with pictures of the renovations happening to their childhood home. And they, in turn, share stories of their childhood, their parents, and the rich history of the “farm.”

Last week we invited both couples to our family cookout. Adam, our son-in-law, always adventurous and fun, brought all the makings for a homemade Slip ’n slide. A large, long piece of durable plastic, enough Dawn dish soap to last a lifetime, and a garden hose. We had a yard full of grown-ups standing around wondering who was going to make the first move.

Gary, nearly 70, had already become putty in the hands of our three-year-old granddaughter, Yetzy. She had him from the moment she arrived and saw him standing in the yard wearing a sun hat. “Mimi, why is there a cowboy here?” she asked, every word perfectly enunciated. And so Gary, no longer Gary, became “Cowboy” for the remainder of the evening. 

Instead of sitting with the “old” people, Cowboy disappeared with Yetzy to the “fun” side of the property where the Slip ’n slide was ready for whoever might be willing to give it a whirl. We were so excited to watch Yetzy create a childhood memory.

I walked around the corner to the fun side, prepared to watch Yetzy going down the long piece of slippery, soapy plastic when I saw Gary, I mean Cowboy, looking as though he had just stepped out of a washing machine before the rinse cycle kicked in. He was soaked and bubbly. His wife didn’t bat an eye. “Yep, I had a feeling this might happen,” she said, all the while reaching for her phone to capture her sudsy Cowboy. I wondered as I watched him “play” if he had forgotten his age and found himself caught in a childhood memory from all those years ago when the upper-middle “through” room had been his bedroom. Did he go back to a time when the old barn had been full of hay, and the ladder leading up to the mow symbolized an adventure of great mystery and hidden treasures? Had another cat given birth to her litter somewhere amongst the green bales of hay? Did he still feel the heat of the upper barn and the smell of fresh-cut grass?

At first I was surprised. I had not told Gary or Sharon that there would be a Slip ’n slide if they wanted to “play” while at the cookout. The thought had not crossed my mind. Did that mean that I had allowed myself to become “old” somewhere along the way? Did Cowboy forget that he didn’t have a change of clothes? 

Watching everyone play on the Slip ’n slide was one of the most beautiful moments I have witnessed in a very long time. 

I realize that last sentence sounds ridiculous. But as I stood there, for a second, I thought about all the challenges the previous year had brought, some problems that were still mid-challenge—and then I decided to live in the moment in front of me. And the moment made me laugh.

In a precarious, and uncertain world where many people are scared and fearful—everything terrible with the world was placed on pause. Like when you pause a movie to make popcorn or make a dash to the bathroom.

We read in the Gospel of Matthew how Jesus loves a gleeful, childlike heart and childlike faith when he responds to a question posed to him by His disciples:

 “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” 

He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: 

“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me.” (Matthew 18:1-5)

There is so much freedom in trusting our Father with all the cares and weight of the world. Trusting God is a choice we make throughout the moments of each day. 

God does not see us as young or old; He sees us as His children. We can crawl into his lap, rest our heads on His chest, and trust Him with childlike faith.

Eventually, Cowboy took his last tumble down the Slip ’n slide and realized his predicament. We stood ready with a towel and some of my husband’s extra clothes in hand. 

Cowboy didn’t apologize for his spontaneous decision to hang out with Yetzy on the fun side. His contagious enthusiasm brought out the child in everyone. The night was an experience of abundant food, new friends, laughter, and suds— and enough scrapes and bruises to ensure everyone would remember his or her Slip ’n slide adventure for at least the next three days.

And what did Cowboy have to say for himself as he climbed into his vehicle wearing a pair of my husband’s shorts which almost fit him? 

“I wasn’t about to let an opportunity like tonight pass me up,” he said with a smile. Then he drove away from his childhood home with new memories and a new best friend named Yetzy.

Stay the course…

Sheila

A Little Lower

I received an unexpected call from a good friend this week. We don’t connect often, but when we do it’s always good (which is what makes him a good friend!) and always leaves me with something to ponder.

In the seasons of life that we go through, it’s not always easy to recognize the gift of a season that is challenging. But when we can express the truth of the difficulty, knowing the listener is not judging but listening—we often learn something about ourselves.

When he asked if I have been writing, I hesitated. Do I admit that I haven’t put a word to paper in months? 

“Nope. I haven’t written for a long time. For some reason I have not been able to write. Maybe I’m in a season of listening and learning. Or maybe I’m just not hearing from God right now,” I admit.

At a time when everyone is ‘speaking his or her truth,’ I have been silent. 

“I would describe this season as a season of learning more about humility,” I add as a final thought.

“God keeps taking me lower, too,” my friend stated. “And when I wonder how much lower I must go, the answer is always “A little lower.”

John the Baptist says it best when he shares his testimony with his disciples concerning his position compared to that of Jesus:

“A man can receive only what is given him from heaven. You yourselves can testify that I said, ‘I am not the Christ but am sent ahead of him.’ The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom’s voice. That joy is mine, and it is now complete. He must become greater; I must become less.” (John 3:27-30 NIV)

Sometimes we must go a little lower— become less. Going lower can be disguised as feeling lonely and insignificant. “Lonely” enables us to be still and listen. “Insignificant” allows us to recognize that Christ is all, and is in all. (Col. 3:11)

Christ teaches us how we are to live our lives for Him. But sometimes we can hear Him better when we are in a low place. In the low position, the noise of the world fades, the clatter of trying to fit in or become something or someone diminishes. Nothing matters except hearing from God. And no words are needed or expected in return. In this secret place, God reminds us who we are and how we are to live. In the low seat, we become better listeners if we are unhurried.

God’s truth, not man’s truth, is revealed in the quiet of the low place. He becomes more significant, fills us with more of Him, and develops within us His nature, which we long for but cannot attain on our own.

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.” (Col. 3:12-15)

How much lower must we go to become more like Christ?

A little lower.

Stay the Course…

Sheila