He Came Upon a Midnight: Christmas hope for your mid-February

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I've never been one to limit my Christmas music to December.  As a musician, Christmas always comes in October anyway, and I don't see a reason to force it into the closet on December 26.

After all, I want Jesus to stay right by me the rest of the year, so why not His story? 

This particular holiday season was hectic for us beyond the usual programs and concerts, so I ended the year feeling like I really hadn't done the Christmas carols thing this year.  Not that I was going to do anything about it, mind you, but I did notice.

Some of my piano students agree with me about Christmas music all year; others don't.  The ones who agree get to keep their Christmas music out as long as they'd like--which is why I ended up with one student practicing Christmas through January, and why I started another one on Christmas music in February, for the reading skills, of course.

Is that what led to opening up some Christmas music and playing it during my supper preparations this evening?

Whatever made me do it, those piano sounds turned me teary-eyed pretty quickly.  

It came upon a midnight clear, 
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold:
"Peace on the earth, good will to men, 
From heaven's all-gracious King;"
The world in solemn stillness lay,
To hear the angels sing.

My heart once more had no words, no words for the dear ones I know who right now suffer fear, worry, anxiety, sickness.  

Still through the cloven skies they come,
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o'er its Babel sounds
The blessed angels sing. 

And once more, my prayer, my hopes for them ascended high, pleading that these same angels would come and brighten the path for my dear ones.  

And ye, beneath life's crushing load, 
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow--
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
O rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing. 

Once more through a hymn words of faith crept into my mind, offering their hope not just to me, but to my dear ones, too.

After all, Jesus still offers rest beside the weary road, even if it's February instead of December.

Prayer Partners

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The other day on the phone when my mom told me about two ladies who stood up in church to talk about how they've been prayer partners for twenty-two years, I did a little mental math and made my report right then and there.

That friend of mine?  The one who stopped me after the first chapel meeting of the school year her freshman year in college to ask where the choir met because she thought I looked like I would know and of course I did know so we walked there together?

We've been prayer partners for nine years and counting.

Almost a decade.  Not that we call it being prayer partners, exactly, but I suppose that's what we are.  

It all started another day during another chapel meeting, when the speaker talked about two girls who prayed together over one issue every day for a long time, and saw God work wonders in their situation.

The girl next to me said, "What would you think of doing that?"  I said, "I think that's a great idea."   We chose a time to meet every day, we chose a topic to pray about, and by the end of the quarter we decided to keep it up and chose a new topic for the next quarter.  And the next quarter.  And by then it was habit.

A decision made in a moment, sustained over nine years.

I can't begin to describe all the life changes we've both been through in the last nine years.  We don't pray together every day anymore, but it's rare for us to have a conversation WITHOUT ending it in prayer.  

Most of the time, we pray together on the phone.  We're fortunate, though, that part way through our college and early adult lives her parents and my parents moved to the same city, so we see each other as we pass through for vacations and holidays.  

Then we get to pray in person, too, like a few weeks ago after our walk through rose gardens and woodsy trails in a little restaurant booth where the blaring music covered up our supplications so no one could hear, except God.


Looking back over the last nine years, I've been so overwhelmingly blessed by having someone to pray with--and let's face it, having one person to pray with made me more confident and comfortable asking other friends to pray with me, which has also yielded rich results in my life--that I hope you'll think about who you can find to pray with. 

Maybe every day, maybe every week, maybe just whenever it happens.  There aren't really any rules for this kind of thing, except that you're willing to do it.

I don't believe for a second that our little moment in week of prayer all those years ago was an accident.  I also don't believe it's always as easy as turning to the person next to you in chapel to find a prayer partner.  But it's worth the effort.

All the Way with Jesus

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{Today I played Blessing by Laura Story while two sisters sang at 

their brother's funeral.  Play the music while you read, if you wish.}

I sat at the table on a regular Friday afternoon eating a taco.  My husband answered his phone, and before he could hang up to tell me the news, the tears came.

I took another taco-bite, hardly tasting anything.  Everything had happened so fast.

We've lived here less than a year, and when we came, we really didn't know anyone--except that a close friend said she knew someone here, and put me in touch with a family she thought we'd enjoy getting to know.  

They invited us over that first Sabbath, the one we would have spent in a hotel room if it hadn't been for them, and before we knew it we were fast friends.  Quickly and firmly bonded, all in an afternoon's Sabbath rest.

They'd all three welcomed us--father, mother, son.  Daughters gone to college started to hear about us as we spent more Sabbath afternoons talking and walking as well as late Saturday nights with their family playing games.  We laughed often and much, the three of them and the two of us, together.

With summer vacation came that dreaded relapse no one thought would rear its ugly head.  Relapse worked fast, and hardly three weeks later, a vibrant nineteen-year-old went to sleep in Jesus.

Daughters came home as often as they could during those tough weeks.  They knew it would be hard, but they wanted to sing for their brother's funeral.  Oh, those precious girls!  I wanted to make everything better, but all I could really do was say, "Oh, friend, I'd be so honored to play the piano for you."

There's no class in college or graduate school that really prepares you to play the piano at funerals.

Of course you learn all along that you can't really think about much outside your piece while you're performing, and you learn to focus on reading the notes if they're in front of you, or at least thinking about them in several different ways if they're not.  You learn to tune out distractions, and you learn to follow the singer.

So in that sense, you're prepared.  You've been learning in every lesson and every class how to get through a piece at a funeral, but when it comes down to it?  

There are no words.

The two sisters dared something incredible, singing faith and acceptance and blessing with their brother lying cold right in front of them.  You don't dare let them down by falling apart at the piano.  No, you must dare with them, with faith that Jesus is coming again soon, that He might actually work some kind of blessing out of all this pain. 

You take your familiar seat at the piano, the same one where a young man once sat to play this very song for his sisters to sing.  Back then, he'd just been diagnosed with leukemia.  Today, they sing without him, but for him, or really for Jesus, trying to hold on even now.

You determine to play from your heart, but not so intensely that you break down and can't play anymore.  You start, they sing at all the right times, you all three get through somehow, you walk  back to your seat in a crowded church sanctuary, the tears come.

And Jesus is never so precious than on a day like today.  

During the days right before his death, he kept saying, "All the way with Jesus."  That's how we're all planning to go forward from here, all the way with our Savior.  We don't know any other way, really.  

We'll remind each other often.  We've laughed together, and now we've cried together.  It's only fitting for us to link arms and walk together on the pilgrim pathway leading all the way home.

Isaiah 41: A Promise for the Hard Road Ahead

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Yesterday afternoon, my husband and I were privileged to spend a few short hours in our local children's hospital's PICU unit, where a friend of ours awaited his back-to-round-one chemo treatment.  In a few short days, he had transitioned from the amazingly awesome R word (Remission) to the ugly R word anyone with a life-threatening illness dreads to hear:  Relapse.

I felt blessed to be there, partly because this family opened up to us and became fast friends right away when we arrived in South Texas knowing no one.  I wanted in some small way to return the priceless support they gave us in our own transition.  

And partly because I was amazed at the resilience of a hurting family whose daughters dropped everything to come spend a few days with their brother, whose voices could be heard in laughter as well as in pain while we all spent an afternoon together like usual, except for the venue and the new R word.

They inspire me.

And my heart breaks for the difficult road ahead of them.  I don't have words.

Yet even now, God has words.  They come to my mind with a fresh hope, a fresh invitation to cling to those things that sustain better than physical nourishment, the promises of our God who never changes and never leaves us to face these valleys alone.

Will you join me in praying for this family whose son faces the dark days of his leukemia battle all over again?

Friends of All Ages

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When I first got to college, I grudgingly wandered over to the welcome back bash.  Introverted, but forcing myself into the circle of booths and cacophony of ridiculously loud music, I passed by all the clubs and stopped at only one booth:  Adopt a Grandparent.

I put my name down, perhaps because I knew the girl behind the booth in academy and didn't know how to say no, and perhaps because I've always liked grandparents, whether they're mine or not.

The following weekend, when the time came for the Adopt a Grandparent club's organizational meeting (the one where I would be dropped off at a grandparent's house and left there for an hour or so, never having met them before), I had decided not to go.  But that list?  Where I had written my name?

I had also written my dorm room phone number.  {We didn't have cell phones in college in those days, you know.}

She called.  And so it seemed I couldn't get out of it.  Of course, once I was in their living room, the one with all the books and paintings and rocks and minerals and people who loved me right away, eating home-made cookies and listening to stories of their lives, I was right at home.

I visited them several times a month for the next nine years.

I suppose I was there to bless them, and maybe I did, but I can't begin to put words to the ways THEY blessed my life.  There's just something about people who have lived well for a long time that tethers me, reminds me what's important.

During the last year and a half of college, I wound up in a little country church on a whim one Sabbath and found myself there almost every weekend for the next five years.  

Of all the things that delighted me there, the wide age range of my church family was near the top of my list.  I loved being able to tell people that I had friends all the way from three years old (the youngest ones in the Sabbath school class where I played the piano) to above 90.

That one older than 90, she's still such a special lady (99 now, I think).  This teapot used to be hers, and I think of her often, the newlywed for the first time at 90, who loved to sing hymns and laugh and make sure our church facility stayed coordinated and classy and well-maintained. 


She's well educated, from an era where many women were not.  She held herself and those around her to a high standard of values.  In her, I found someone who could resonate with my own desire for excellence of character in all things.

I joked sometimes that I was born old, but if that meant being like these friends of mine who were still learning all the time and who had vibrant lives in every way imaginable, I was glad enough to be "old".  

Or was it that they were still young?

A few years and a few states have gone by since my life and friendships were so richly infused with the span of ages, but here in our new location the span is beginning to widen again.

Yesterday, I sat on the couch reading a good book.  Something inside it made me think of my new sweet friend across the street, who is several decades my senior.  She and her daughter are just the kind of people who can sit down in the living room and really get to know a person, and the thought of them made me get up from the couch and walk across the street.  We visited pleasantly for too short a time.

My eyes widen and my ears perk up when I hear her say how long she has lived in this valley we now call home.  I know she will have a lot to tell me about this new climate of mine, the local history, what kind of bugs come out when, and how to grow those purple-leaved flowers I've seen in her yard.

She insists I pick lemons from her tree whenever I want, and I timidly take her up on the offer before I walk home again, heart happy for the new friendships and one huge lemon more than filling each hand.

Humanity's Web

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 ~Today's photos are from a recent walk near our home.  When I took this photo, I thought there were four turtles in it.  When I looked more closely, I found a fifth turtle.  Do you see him?~

I came home exhausted that afternoon.  Completely drained.  In a sort of shock perhaps only introverts understand.  After lunch, I sat down on the couch, and called a friend.  I was pretty sure she would understand.

"I just spent a lot of time [in my chosen volunteer activity].  It was crazy.  And I'm curled up on the couch calling you because I felt like I needed some introvert time before I can manage to do anything useful."

"Calling me counts as introverted time?"

We both laughed.  Well, yes, it did count.  Because introverts don't just need alone time, they also need deep, meaningful conversation time.

So we talked, about everything.  Or nearly everything.  Maybe we talked that day about how our  days were going.  What things were growing (or not growing) in the gardens and greenhouse.  Decorating the house.  Extravagance in spending.  Miserly spending.  Where the line might be between those two kinds of spending.  How we might spend our time if we ever ended up in solitary confinement for our faith.  Whether there is such a thing (morally speaking) as playing too many board games.  And could there be such a thing as wasted time in a prison cell?

Somewhere after realizing we had been on the phone for something like more than an hour (I hadn't even stirred off the couch), we might have prayed together, like we often do, for the big challenges and trials we both face in our lives.

Because everybody faces those things.

~Is it a ladybug if it doesn't have spots?~

In fact, some days, I look around at what goes on in my own life and in the lives of my friends, and I'm daunted by how hard the devil works to discourage, dishearten, and distract.  Yet on those same days, I've been as many times blessed as daunted by looking around at how Jesus turns what first appear to be curses into some of our most precious blessings.

I usually don't notice that without a little help to refocus, though, because it's far too easy for me to talk about all the troubles I face, dwelling on all the worst possible outcomes.  I'm pretty good at working myself into a tattered ball of worry.

Is that normal?  Sometimes I think I'm the only one who does that, and I even hope I am the only one, because I'd hate for you to experience that misery, too!

I've been learning something about how to handle my worry, though, and I can't even count how many times that one thing has rescued me from a lonely darkness that threatens to steal the joy right out from the bottom of my heart.

Want to know what it is?  I've given you a hint already.

~Bananas in the neighborhood~

Choose your friends wisely.  Then don't be afraid to call them when you need to talk.

Yep.  It's really that simple.  I have a substantial collection of friends and family I can count on to draw me wisely back to a place of courage, who will pray with me, who will repeat God's promises to me, who will hear me out, who will remind me to look even for the tiniest bright spots (because bright spots come like little lights from the Father of lights, from the Lord of love).

My friends are so amazing that even when I call to try to encourage them, I often find myself bursting with joy and blessing from the way they handle themselves and cling to God's promises in the midst of their toughest times.  What could be sessions of self pity for one or both of us turn into seasons of loud praise to our God who has led us faithfully all along life's paths.

Only Jesus can work those kinds of transformations out of human friendships, sending us out again for enthusiastic service for Him.  I believe that's part of why He prayed for us to have the kind of unity He has with the Father.

~This is why, says Michael, we HAVE to grow papayas.~

Of course, I do believe we need to learn to stand for the right whether anyone else does so or not.  There are times in our lives when we may not have support in as much abundance as we would like.

I've learned two things from times like that in my own life:  first, Jesus never leaves nor forsakes, so I never really have to stand alone.  And second?  Knowing what it's like to desire encouragement is a great reference point in knowing how to offer effective support to another person.

"We are all woven together in the great web of humanity, and whatever we can do to benefit and uplift others will reflect in blessing upon ourselves."  White, Ellen G.  Mind, Character, and Personality, vol. 2, p. 431. 

Today's another one of those days when I'm looking around at life--my life as well as my friends' and family members' lives--again reminded about how seriously engaged we all are in the battle of God against Satan.  There's no escape from it--only the fighting through to the final victory on the Lord's side, or the final defeat on Satan's side.

I bet (except I don't bet, but you know what I mean) if you looked around, you'd see battles raging, too.  What shall we do to fight, and lift up the hands that hang down, and strengthen the feet weary from the paths of war?

How about pray like crazy?

And ask Jesus to remind us of some Bible promise to share that might bless a friend?

Maybe even tell someone you've prayed for them extra today?

Or open God's unfailing Word, putting your finger right on the page, believing our Father will do just what He said?

We might just be amazed at what the Almighty God does in our behalf even yet today.

{In fact...this idea just struck me...if you leave a comment?  Or send me an e-mail via the little box on the sidebar?  I'd be happy to pray for you.  Tell me the specifics, or don't.  Whatever you're comfortable with.  Just know that I'll count it blessing and privilege to pray.}

Cheer A Weary Traveler (A Habit for Day 31)

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I know when you're in the middle of trials, you feel like you're in the middle of a dense fog.  Believe me, I know.

But as you and I draw as close to Jesus as we can--and I hope you've realized afresh with me this month that He is always closer than we thought--we cannot help but begin anew to reflect the light of His presence.

It's a light too beautiful to keep to ourselves, and it only increases as we share it.

There's a simple educational plan Jesus uses with us as He walks us through our lives' hardest times, because it's hard to know exactly how to encourage someone else.  It's one of the good things God works together from the all things (even the ones that appear to be against us).

"Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God."  

2 Corinthians 1:3, 4

God never intended for us to go through our trials alone.  He also never intended us to stand aside, not knowing what to do or say when we see someone hurting.  He Himself draws near during our worst moments, and once we've experienced the soothing and refreshing only He can offer, He gives us the job of imitating Him to those around us.

Don't stand by at a loss for what to do or say.

Think about what Jesus did for you during your darkest hours, and then go do that (to whatever extent a human can, anyway).  It may be in the form of an encouraging card, text, phone call, or e-mail.  Maybe cookies with a quick note are your love language.  Sometimes all a person needs to remember is that they're not alone, that the kinds of trials they face are not unique to them, that someone understands.  Draw close to the one in need, speak the promises of God, tell how you yourself have been comforted, led, and delivered.

But a word of caution?

If you're a woman, and you see a man who is not your husband or a close family member going through "tribulation"?  Let another man do the comforting.  Stay completely out of it if you can; if not, be extremely cautious.  Stay emotionally distant.  Those men are what my friends and I like to call "guy projects".  Girls will have plenty to keep them busy if they stick to "girl projects".  

I'm not saying you can never speak to or encourage someone of the opposite gender.  Just don't get yourself emotionally entangled with someone you shouldn't (especially if their "desert" involves marital issues).  

But do look for appropriate opportunities to brighten the path of another pilgrim striving for that glorious city.  It's our final goal, after all, and it's one we don't want to miss.  We all need those rays of sunshine to brighten the straight and narrow path.

On the last day of our series in the desert, let's remember to gather hope and encouragement, not only for ourselves, but also for others wandering through barrenness.

It's just one more way we can be like Jesus--the Jesus who walks with us all the way, brings us water in the wilderness, and gives us a hope and a future.

"Earthly pleasures vainly call me;

I would be like Jesus; 

Nothing worldly shall enthrall me;

I would be like Jesus.

Refrain

"Be like Jesus, this my song,

in the home, and in the throng;

Be like Jesus all day long!

I would be like Jesus.

"He has broken every fetter;

I would be like Jesus;

That my soul may serve Him better;

I would be like Jesus.

Refrain

"All the way from earth to glory

I would be like Jesus

Telling o'er and o'er the story

I would be like Jesus.

Refrain

"That in heaven He may meet me,

I would be like Jesus;

That His words, 'Well done' may greet me,

I would be like Jesus."

Refrain 

(Hymn I Would Be Like Jesus found in the Seventh-day Adventist Hymnal, number 311.)

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(Photo by Barbara Frohne) 

Finding Friends Worth Keeping (David and Jonathan, Day 10)

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We heard all about Saul, his troops, the way they wouldn't face the giant who defied their God.  We hear David's firm testimony, both to fearful Saul and proud Goliath.  But in the story of David and Goliath, the Bible gets just about to the end when there's a chapter break, cutting off from the victory stories the last blessing and perhaps most lasting gift of the event.

It's Jonathan.

We haven't heard anything about him through all the story of Goliath, yet when we read without stopping through the end of 1 Samuel 17 and into the beginning of 1 Samuel 18, the Bible's spotlight finally shines on Jonathan.

"And it came to pass, when he [David] had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul."  1 Samuel 18:1  Three times throughout the story, the Bible uses this same description of Jonathan's love for David--he loves him as his own soul.

You've heard about friends who would give you the shirt off their backs, so to speak, right?  Well, Jonathan may have been the first friend to actually do it.  He and David make a covenant of friendship, and his robe, sword, armor, and all go to David.  Emblems and equipment of the prince of the kingdom, given to the man who would eventually take the throne.

Jonathan remains loyal to David, even saving his life, and David honors Jonathan when he takes the throne by providing for Jonathan's descendants.  Jonathan's friendship is selfless in a special way, because he knows David will eventually take his place in line for the throne.

When they must say goodbye for the safety of David's life, both men--both who have been so strong in battle that we can hardly imagine anyone of their strength today--weep bitterly.

Finally, it's Jonathan who pulls himself together, reminding them both they have the Lord to trust, telling David to go in peace committing everything to God.

And don't you think that's what Jesus designed friends to be?  Strength for each other when life can't seem to get any more difficult, and joy for each other when life is at its brightest?  God's representatives to us when we need to remember He is near?

I think we could learn from the way Jonathan chose his friends.

He watched David take on Goliath in the name of the Lord, and overcome.  He saw in David a character of strong courage, and unshakable trust in God.  And since he had the same characteristics (when you get a chance, it's well worth spending some time reading all the Bible stories about Jonathan found in 1 Samuel), they made a good match.  

Jonathan didn't just choose to befriend David because his exploits in battle made him popular with the ladies (although that's exactly what happened).  He went for character.

I think we could also learn from the way Jonathan treated his friends.

He took every risk to his own life and future to be true to his friend.  He sacrificed.  He had at least one delicate and risky conversation with Saul, defending David even though he knew Saul wouldn't like it and might turn on him as well.

Jonathan didn't just support David when it was easy.  He stayed loyal, no matter what trials presented themselves.

Let's look at our friendships today.

Do we have friends in our circles who have solid character?  

I'm not going to tell you to dump any friends who aren't perfect, or who might need your support.  I am going to tell you that if most of your friends are not the kind of people you can turn to when you need support, you might want to branch out a little.  Watch quietly.  Look at character like Jonathan did.  Then love those solid friends as you love your own soul.

If you already have friends like that?  Remind them today how much they've blessed your life.  As I think over the many, many friends who have blessed my life, I am deeply and incredibly humbled.  Many of them don't even know the depth of joy and blessing they've given me, but their influence, their words, the memories I have of them have reached into my life and reminded me of what's important in ways they wouldn't have dreamed were possible.

If you have friends right now who need a friend like that?

Get creative.  Go be the blessing of Jesus to them in whatever way you can.  You never know but that your simple gestures of friendship might make all the difference.

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(Photo by Barbara Frohne) 

Being Content with Life

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Maybe it's silly, but this sight outside my sliding glass door, with those three delightfully bright colors, stands out to me as a reminder of being content with life.  Which I am.  Right now.  Today.

I don't know how this being content thing comes about, exactly, yet I find myself experiencing the fresh air it brings to the heart these days.  And the funny thing?  I feel that way not only about today, but about the yesterdays, too.

Which is funny, because that last place we lived was the place of some of our most difficult times.  Ever.  So I hadn't really expected to look back at that yesterday with feelings of content.

Of course I stopped to think why and how that could be.

Maybe that Steps to Christ chapter on Rejoicing in the Lord when I didn't feel like rejoicing made the difference.  Or my decision to walk through the orchard every day, drinking in beauty in spite of what seemed so ugly around me.  Or having friends, family, people who were only slightly more than strangers to me, constantly pray for me and point me to Jesus when it was hard to point myself.  Maybe it's just another one of those gifts only Jesus can give.

I can't look back at any moment of pain without thinking of those treasures, and more.  And when I think of those treasures, those friends, those experiences?  They lead me down the thought paths to other truly joyful experiences in our last home--hiking with strangers become friends, picnics, campouts, home-made roasted strawberry ice cream, cold mornings on the mountain tops, sunrises, walks beside the river (even with friends from another of life's places), piano duets, bunnies in the lawn, to name a few--all the things that make up the happiest of days.

 We're getting settled in a new place, my husband and I.  As I explore my new kitchen cabinets and watch for new seeds to pop up in their soil, I think about how much I like this new place to live and how thankful I am that God led us here.  And simultaneously, I look back at the last house, the last place, and think how much I loved them, too--not longingly or bitterly, but pleasantly.  Simply glad I lived in that house for a while, and glad I can live in this one now.  I like them both, yet they're very different from each other.

There are friends I miss from all the places before, and there are twinges of sadness when I think of them doing things and sharing experiences without me there in person (but totally on that swing with you in heart for my very own seven turns, and in my heart I sit in your living room next to that wonderful harp while maybe you give me lessons? or in so many places where friends are but I am not, at least today).

These friends, though, still reach forward to me so often that it sometimes feels like they're right here.  Thank you, technology of phones and blogs and e-mails and texts, for helping me keep my collection of friends, instead of leaving them behind.  It's an experience of adding more friendships and blessings and wonderful things in life to all the ones I've experienced before.

Thus I find myself looking back, feeling enriched, not robbed, blessed beyond measure.

More Blessed to Give?

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You know the saying.  "It's more blessed to give than to receive."

Sometimes I've felt like I've received far more than I've given, or been able to give, especially when I've moved from one home to the next, one state to the next.  Time would fail me to count the ways and friends who have packed my dishes, cleaned my cupboards, fed me lunch, scrubbed my tub.

Thus it was with immense pleasure today that I was able to go help some friends pack up their kitchen.

It didn't feel like they were leaving me:  I'm just around for the summer, and while I'll miss seeing them when I'm I'm in my parents' town, but they are not leaving me behind.

So perhaps because I have so oft received, the chance to spend a few hours packing dishes and wiping out cupboards gave me a special delight this afternoon.  And if it's more blessed to give than receive, it's perhaps in the giving I experience all over again the memories of blessings other givers gave me when it was my kitchen that needed to be put in boxes.

Why You Should Start Playing Disc Golf

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1.  It's exercise in the open air, at your own pace.

You can run, you can walk, you can skip, you can hop.  All the while, you'll be out in the fresh air.  You'll use your arms, your legs, your feet, and your lungs.

2.  It's humbling.

Maybe the best of the best never hit a tree with a disc, but I'll hit a tree as often as I'll miss.  (And I've hardly seen a coarse from the east to the west that didn't weave and wind through the trees.)  Maybe the best of the best never throw with their might just to see the bright orange go too far to the right, but it happens to me every time.  Hitting trees and missing my mark may be just one more way to remind me I'm a bit short of perfect.

3.  It's good group fun, even when the players are at different skill levels.

Do I know you yet?  Maybe not, very well, and maybe we're both a tad shy, but whether we're new to the game or whether we're not we can meet at the coarse and all have some fun in the sun.  Or rain.  We don't even have to keep track of our scores.  It gives us a focus, a something to do with beginning and end, with pieces of conversation surrounding our play.

4.  If you play with someone better at the game, you just might improve by great strides in one day.

It may feel quite clumsy at hole number one, but with eyes and ears open, by hole number eighteen your disc will fly farther and straighter.  So while all the trees keep you humble, the growth in one game gives a boost to the confidence.  And we all need a boost now and then.

5.  You'll see some beautiful scenery you won't want to miss.

In the course of my time in the game, I've played in four different states.  Not one disc golf course has been ugly.  Over the rivers and through the woods, comin' around the mountain when she comes, and somewhere over the rainbow, the eye always has a pleasant scene before it.  It's worth the play just to see the course.

Happy Anniversary

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We spent it packing, and beginning the process of putting nearly all our belongings in storage for the summer.

We spent it with friends, who have up their day to carry boxes and furniture and all kinds of heavy things.

We spent it with our friends' children, who wanted not so much to play as to help me put the kitchen in boxes.

We spent it with a musician, who took us to dinner and then to her yard full of blooms, who beautifully played a beautiful love song in our honor on her beautiful piano.

We spent it with the five fireflies who came out to blink just for me.

We spent it with each other, more glad than ever to be united for life.

Fresh Bread

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Usually, I make our bread.  And I meant to have an easy batch ready to throw in the oven this morning, but with all those empty boxes needing to be filled?  Yeah, it didn't happen.

I sent my husband down to our school cafeteria to pick up more boxes, and you know what he brought home? 

A fresh baked loaf of bread, from our friends the cooks. 

Our friends who have saved boxes for us for weeks on end now, who give hugs and prayers when we need them, and who provided (including the meal the bread enabled us to make in our half-packed home) three meals for us this week.

If you've ever moved before, you know how meaningful each meal provided by someone else can be during that last stretch.  We've had many of those this week. 

It almost feels like it should be a blog series, doesn't it?  These meals during moving week, those bittersweet moments of savoring friendships and saying goodbyes.  I remember them all so clearly, not only this week's collection, but also the ones cooked for us last summer when we left Michigan, and two years before that the meals prepared for us as we left Washington {state} behind.

We feel grateful that in our short months here in Virginia, many friends have slipped into our lives and hearts, and we have the tangible evidences of true friendship, of which the bread is but one example, surrounding us every day.

Something Better than Walking through the Orchard?

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Walking there with a friend.  One who is at least as enchanted with the flowers as I am, and who wants to come back when even more trees are blooming.

Thank you, Lord, for sending flowers and friends.

Pointing You to a Friend

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Hello, again, readers!

I just happily discovered that a dear friend is posting fun things from Guam on her blog.  I hope you have a chance to click over to visit her!

How to Write a Meaningful Thank-you Note

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Do you thrive on words of affirmation, like my mom and husband do?  Or do you have friends and family who would work for compliments no matter how small the paycheck?  Chances are, there are people in your life whose love language is words of affirmation, and your relationship with them would become more profound by a simple expression of your appreciation.

What about that acts-of-service person who has been doing simple but amazing things for you for a decade?  They might wonder if you notice their love in motion, or if their love-deeds are just another mundane thing in your day.

You might have a friend who sends the sweetest gifts at the right time, every time, the friend who never forgets, but sends you tangible love to remind you you're in her thoughts.

Or the friend who gives time to help you with canning, or packing for a move, or cutting wood for a cost-free warm winter home?

Maybe you’ve thanked them with words, out loud, but maybe it’s time for a written record of your gratitude.  

If you’re like me, you grew up in a home where your mother encouraged you to write thank-you notes for everything.  Maybe you also have a mother who writes the kind of thank-you notes that people keep for their whole lives, but who thinks her notes are kept not so much because they are amazing (I’m guessing they are), but also because not enough people write thank-you notes.

Whether the art of the thank-you note is new to you, or whether you just need some new ideas to freshen up your thank-you notes, here are my thoughts on how to make them meaningful.

 

What to say in a meaningful thank-you note

• Always be specific.  Don't make the recipient wonder if you sent the note to the right person.
• When you’re writing a thank-you for a gift, mention the gift specifically, and write a sentence or two about how you've used and enjoyed the gift.  Example:  I’ve enjoyed the flowers you sent so much.  I’ve been longing for spring, and these were just the spot of color I needed on a cold winter day.
• When you’re writing a thank-you note for money, tell the giver what you plan to do or what you’ve done with the money they gave.  Example:  Thank you for the check you sent.  I’m excited to put it toward the fabric I need to finish my quilt.  I can’t wait to send you a picture when it’s finished.
• Follow those principles for writing thank-you notes for acts of service.
• Mention something you love and appreciate about the person.  Example:  The way you're always ready to spend time on the people you love is such an inspiration to me, and you've inspired me to be more available to the people I love as well.
• Tell the person a few things that are happening in your life, especially if it’s a relative or friend you don’t connect with often.  Example:  Remember that rose garden we visited together last summer?  I just took my mom there, and she loved it just as much as you did.

 

Thoughtful presentation

• Keep pretty paper (appropriate for masculine and feminine recipients) on hand, so you don’t delay your note by needing to go to the right store and find the right thing.
• Hand-written notes, sent through the mail, are becoming a rarity.  Your thank-you notes in your own handwriting will therefore send not only your thanks, but that the gift or act prompting the note was meaningful enough to you to invest the time in energy in writing a classy note.
• And do make sure you spell the recipient's name correctly!

Sometimes we have no idea what effort may have prompted a gift or action we're thankful for.

My mom tells the story of a time when a piano solo played for special music in church was especially a blessing to her.  She didn’t know the woman playing, but she happened to come sit down right in front of us when she was finished playing. 

This was her chance!  She found a bulletin insert with a blank side, wrote a note (in church, no less!), and passed it to the woman sitting in front of her.  It read something like this:

“Thank you for your beautiful music.  I heard your heart, and was blessed.”

Having read the note, the woman in front of us burst into tears and left the sanctuary.

We heard more of the story later.  The woman’s husband had derided her musical ability for many years.  He was away that weekend, and a friend had convinced her to play at church.  When she read the note, years of pain and hurt were partly washed away by a simple compliment.

Putting your thanks in writing may have a more profound effect on someone you love, or even a perfect stranger (like in the story above), than you realize.

We Took a Trip

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On our trip, we harvested our own garden.  Have you ever heard of taking a long trip to harvest your own garden?  I hadn't either.  But I was oh-so-thankful it was there to welcome me, with all its unexpected, giant herbs.

On our trip, we walked with friends.  It was Sabbath, after we had worshiped with friends.  It was glorious, it was soul-refreshing.

On our trip, we soaked in the rays of sun, leaning against a wall, petting a cat and a dog (one on either side). We prayed with friends, we talked with friends, we ate with friends, we read morning worship with friends.  Sometimes these friend-visits lasted late into the night, everyone remembering how far the distance between us, and longing for that even-farther trip to heaven, where we'll never part again.

Sometimes the Sun Comes Out Sooner than You Think

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 Sometimes after we get caught by storms, dropped off in the parking lot, changed into dry clothes, the sun comes out.  Right then.  And really, I'm not kidding.  It's beautiful, warm, hot, enticing.  But instead of going back out to the water, we go to the mansion next door.  And first notice God's little house, just across the way from the mansion built for groups of people to occupy at one time.

 We enjoy the water made beautiful by blue dye, and reflect that we like to drink only the clear water of life.  We can't wait to see that pure river of water of life proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.

 We read the sign, and find that the mansion really was more like a glorified dorm for religious adults, and then later a prison.  Or was that the other building down the hill?  Either way, it didn't seem quite so dreamy after that.  Like some of those things we think are really amazingly wonderful that turn out to be amazingly not-so-wonderful.

 Still, it was beautiful, and we were glad they planted flowers to grow next to the pond.

 And made a cute little gate that even when it was shut made us want to enter in.  And I wonder, since I like this little gate so much, how I will like the big, grand gates made of one pearl each instead of humble wrought iron.  Can you even imagine them?  Don't you want to see them?

 Wouldn't it be worth traveling a straight and narrow path, rather than this curvy, adorable one, just to see those pearly gates?

 Here on this earth, even mansions of luxury have places of humble use.  Places that look pleasant on the outside, with their cheerful red paint, but that probably really stink on the inside.  I hope my heart isn't like that.  But if it is, my prayer is "Fix me, Jesus."

 When you visit mansions, sometimes there's a moment that tells you how classy your mother really is, and how skilled is her eye for beauty.  This time, that was when I saw their potted flowers, planted just like my mother likes to plant hers.  With the spikey things in the middle.

 If I lived in a mansion, I might just choose a cozy little corner to call my own, like this nook at the top, overlooking the grounds.  And then I would just hope the rest of the mansion was filled with people I love.

 I'm glad they made the windows big.  Big enough to see outside, and to let in the light.  I pray my heart is also big and open enough to let in the light from the Word of God, which is the Lamp for my feet, and the Light to my path.

Something tells me these turkeys were just as happy living out in the grassy field as they would have been living in the mansion.  I hope I'm content where I'm placed, too, strengthened by Christ.