A Special Christmas Memory

Perhaps getting out some boxes of Christmas decorations old and new with an EIU student I have only known for a year led to so much story telling on my part as we unpacked various items.  He seemed surprised that I had made the crocheted stockings for Jim and me.  I must say they are impressive representations of a blue baseball shoe (tongue and white laces included) and a black Mary Jane shoe, both about two feet long.  Other shoe styles were available with accompanying patterns, but these two seemed to be the most appropriate for Kay and Jim.  Another old item is the Christmas tree skirt with pinwheel-like sections of various Christmas colors and patterns.  I had made two, the other for my parents which now hangs out under daughter Bonnie’s tree.

However, my favorite decorations and the accompanying details from that first Christmas as  newlyweds reveal more about us than I realized at the time.  Let me set the stage.  Both our families had celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve although Jim’s family would go to midnight mass and then exchange gifts.  My Presbyterian church had a candlelight service but we did not attend as a family.  So, on this first special Christmas, we had been to both our parents’ houses; now, back at our home, one of four apartments in a two story, old flat, we had our own time for gift-giving, 1972.

Not surprisingly, I am now short on the smaller details.  But each of us had bought a nativity set for the other, and we couldn’t have found two more diverse representations of the scene of Jesus’s birth. One is the standard manger set about 12” x 12”, a wooden enclosure with painted figures glued to the floor—until Henry crawled up close and popped an intriguing wise man off his spot.  Nothing that a little glue couldn’t fix.  The other set has no manger, just wooden animals and totally movable figures that look like plain carved pieces of varying shades of light and dark wood.  Baby Jesus is less that 2” long, separate from the little base he rests on.  Sadly but not surprisingly, I have no idea who gave which one to the other, but the traditional one always sets right under the tree facing out into the room.  The other has taken up various residences, this year along the top of our piano with a lighted star on a little metal stick right in the middle added just last year—perfect.

Now, some 47 years later, I see these gifts representing the importance of faith in our lives and as part of what Christmas is really supposed to focus on.  This would seem obvious, but there are many virtually Christ- less observations of the holiday.    Our Catholic/Protestant upbringings became blended and matured to a more Jesus- centered faith; the changes and growth were not always easily achieved, stretching us farther as we sought a more Biblical faith experience.  However, Jesus still takes center stage, just as He did on that first Christmas night and our first Christmas together.

Christian life: a Call to Generosity

This October,  the month many Protestant churches encourage members to be generous givers and in November, turn in pledge cards for the coming year, is the first time I have been asked to offer one of these four little testimonies about giving in my own life.  So, I have been reflecting on and remembering examples and attitudes on this very important part of living out the Christian life.

A favorite “Jim story,” and there are many, happened about a year before he died.  We had inherited almost $80,000 from his mother’s estate.  The first morning this bonus money was technically ours, Jim, armed with a 3x5 card and pencil in hand,  approached me as we were finishing breakfast.  He wanted to make some plans about giving away some of these funds.  I had no big plans on spending or giving some of this money, but I asked him, “Can we just savor the experience of having a nice ‘chunk of change’ (as my banker brother would call it) in our possession for a few days?”  He agreed although he was always ready to give various things away; he was one of the least materialistic people I have ever known.  No doubt Mother Theresa would rank higher, but I only know of her.  That doesn’t count.

Often I gave Jim books for gifts: all things St. Louis, history, baseball, Christianity, etc.  In a book about John Wesley, although he found the biography a bit tedious overall, he gleaned an interesting aspect of this Anglican priest’s personal life.  As a student at Oxford in the 1700s, he lived on 28 pounds a year.  As his earnings increased eventually to 120 pounds annually, he continued to live on 28 pounds and found ways to joyfully share his remaining income.  That is definitely impressive and a high bar we have never come close to achieving in our own giving.   Interestingly, Wesley was concerned about his third rule on giving in his day.  His three rules were to earn all you can, save all you can, give all you can—not a widespread philosophy today, for sure.

Jesus emphasized loving God and loving others, serving them and considering their interests before our own.  Paul wrote in Romans 12 about offering ourselves as living sacrifices, even calling this part of our spiritual worship.  Clearly, the biblical concept of giving touches our lives in so many more ways than what we do with our money.  

As for our own practices in giving, Jim and I decided many years ago to make financial giving to our church but also to support other good causes that make appeals for financial support.  Besides supporting some of these causes, we have volunteered in different capacities over the years.  For about ten years, my mother, a friend and I provided definitely amateur Christian music at a skilled nursing facility. This was before senior residences offered so many activities for their residents.  For about three years, Jim and I served as pastoral care volunteers at a big health center in St. Louis.  We made cold calls—and some were really cold—to new patients, letting them know what was available to them for any pastoral needs.  We were allowed to offer to pray with them ourselves and despite the many rejections, there was always someone who wanted and appreciated our visiting and praying with him or her. 

Now with more time to fill and wanting to find purpose and meaning in it,  I have discovered and joined a Christian mentoring program available to “guests” at the Coles County Jail.  For a number of years, I have read about programs offered to inmates in prisons.  Shakespeare Saved My Life tells of an Indiana English professor who brought lessons in  Shakespeare to men in the maximum security prison in Terre Haute.  Wally Lamb published a collection of writings by incarcerated women he had mentored in writing called Couldn’t Keep it to Myself: Testimonies from our imprisoned Sisters.  There have also been some powerful television programs exploring real life endeavors to make justice more just, some exonerating wrongly convicted people and opening the door to freedom to them.

                The cook at the our county jail, who is the sister of our church secretary, suggested I consider working with detainees at the jail when she learned of my interests.  I had some writing endeavor in mind, but discovered that a Christian mentoring program, Wing Men, is already offering services and needing volunteers.  The weekly mentoring sessions connect volunteers with inmates through monitors like Skype.  The inmates see monitors indicating volunteers for Christian connections are available, and they choose to sit down and share.

                Last night was my second mentoring session mostly on my own after sitting in with a seasoned volunteer last week.  It is somewhat intimidating since when I punch my availability into my monitor, I don’t know who will show up on the screen.  Last night I had one very meaningful exchange with a bright young man who keeps blowing up his chances for a decent life by succumbing to the desire to get high—this by his own admission.  Although I have never used drugs, I did have a heck of a time giving up smoking cigarettes in my 20s, so I shared some on this.  I so hope the prayer we prayed will ignite something of God in him that will make a difference in his faith and actions from now on.

                So many needs in our world, even in our community.  May we all have God’s guidance and help to know what to give and where to give it.

Even More than we Ask or Think

            For a very long time, one of the Apostle Paul’s descriptions of God has held a special place in my heart.  In Ephesians 3:20, he encourages us when we come to God in prayer with these words: “Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all we ask or think (imagine) . . .”  So, just what does an exceedingly abundant answer to our earnest petitions look like?  May I introduce Jaime Marcos, a junior at Eastern Illinois University this year.

            When my husband and I moved to Charleston four years ago, it was very important to me to bring some of our flowers, especially the daylilies, from our home in St. Louis.   The duplex unit that happened to open up just before we were able to move is unique.  One of the first tenants moved here from a farm.  She did extensive landscaping around the back patio and to the side of it, something I have not seen on other units owned by the same couple in our neighborhood.  She even used interestingly shaped and colored rocks from her farm to serve as a border of a ten foot square area for three burning bushes and other plantings.  Except for the bushes, it had become barren in that spot by the time we arrived, thus providing the perfect spot for those precious flowers, some of which had grown in my parents back yard years ago.

            What has been a wonderful blessing here has also become a concern since my husband moved on to the place prepared for him two years ago.  I have prayed, at times with some impatience, for a student to help me do the things I can’t do in this God-given haven for my flowers.  Almost on a whim, last spring, as I passed by the check in table to exit the EIU Rec Center, I asked a nice young student if he would be interested in doing some yard work for me to earn some extra money.  And that was the beginning of God’s exceedingly abundant answer to my prayers. 

            Jaime has probably come more than ten times now.  Usually, I work along with him in the yard.  Being a person who likes to ask questions and get to know someone, I have become not only well acquainted with him but we have even become close friends. With a bit of amazement in my voice, I have described him to others, adding that he seems to actually like me.  Now I don’t suffer from a terrible self-esteem problem, but for this student to become almost like a kind grandson to me is definitely more than I was expecting.

            Working with flowers has been something new and interesting to Jaime as he has lived in apartments in Chicago all his life.  He came to Eastern on a track scholarship and is covering his own expenses very responsibly.  He makes good grades and is regarded highly by his coach and others.  For a college student, he is a mature young man and has a very cute, athletic girlfriend.  He greets me with a hug when he arrives and gives me one as he leaves.  An aunt gave him a car in recent months, so he even drives to my home and arrives on time.  I tease him about becoming his agent now that three of my neighbors have hired him to work for them, too.

            Yes, this is what an exceedingly abundant answer to prayer looks like.  May it be an encouragement to us, as Paul intended his words to be, to raise our expectations in what the wonderful power of God can do.    

I'll Get Back to You

            Many times I have listened to Jim’s voice on our answering machine.  I always enjoy just listening to it, but a couple days ago, a part of the message grabbed my attention, surprising me and giving me a heartwarming feeling.  As usual, I was doing some morning stretching exercises on my bed before getting on with my day.  I try to place the landline  and cell phones on the bed, but I often forget the landline.  Even though the phone cradle is only a few feet from the bed, maneuvering from my exercise position to answer it is not easily or quickly accomplished and usually, the call is a recording.

            So, on this recent morning just before his July 9th birthday, when the phone rang, I decided to take my chances and let the machine pick it up.  When Jim’s greeting started to play, these words took a personal turn:  . . . leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.  The sentiment seemed so like Jim, acknowledging our temporary separation but wanting me to know, he’s working on a reunion as soon as possible.  Perhaps it sounds crazy to sense that morning that his words meant for callers were also meant for me, the woman who loved him so much for so long—a fact that always seemed to amaze him just a little.  

Happy Birthday, Jimmy!

Simpler times at the Shriners' 4th of July Circus

             Before the actual circus began, convertibles with waving children, some with obvious physical disabilities, would line up and ride around the old cinder track surrounding the area where the circus acts would soon begin.  Perhaps I noted the blessings of healthy bodies while observing these children who the Shriners raise money to build hospitals and provide health care for. These men in their characteristic maroon colored hats with long black tassels drove their miniature cars, darting side to side as they made their way around the track.   Clowns joined in and interacted with the crowd in the seating that began almost within touching distance of this interesting parade. It was such a close, simple and even moving beginning to a series of evenings around the 4^th of July every year.

            My father worked in the office of a steel company in downtown St. Louis, and many summers he got tickets for our family through his job, I believe, to attend this holiday tradition.  The evening was usually hot, but cotton candy and other treats outweighed a little discomfort.  After all, I was just a young child, probably in grade school.  Once the ringmaster ceremoniously began the show, I watched the various animal acts: dogs, horses, and tigers—oh, my!  Trapeze acts were some of my favorites, less anxiety producing than the tight rope walkers.  The flying Walendas with their pyramids of chairs, poles and other formations high off the ground performed with no safety netting below even 60 years ago and still do.  I can’t say I enjoyed watching them literally risk their lives unnecessarily in my opinion.  I can be impressed with athletic skills without the drama of possible fatalities.

            The circus would close with a bang, a fireworks display that seems primitive compared to today’s more technical and expensive productions.  I remember wooden slats forming large squares being lit up at one end of the track along with some higher fireworks displays.  Depending on the way the wind was blowing, ashes from the burning parts would fall on our faces.  In my child-like understanding, celebrating America seemed more deserved than my sadly dismayed adult observations of who we are becoming as a country today.  It is pleasant to think back on these evenings of merriment and celebration so many years ago.

Frescos in Christ

            During a spring trip in April, 2010, to North Carolina to welcome our first grandchild into the world, my husband and I drove to little towns in the mountains to see the renowned frescos at two Episcopal churches.  The first small, wooden church took us by surprise with its beautiful stained glass windows in addition to the expected frescos across the altar area.

            On the right side of the altar in the first church was a rectangular fresco of Mary with child.  On the other side was one of John the Baptist, sparsely clothed, creating somewhat of a wild man appearance.  This makes sense from the Biblical descriptions of Christ’s forerunner.  Both characters in the frescos were immediately recognizable.

            Not surprisingly, Jesus on the cross was the prominent figure in the middle area.  He and the other figures were painted in somewhat muted colors.  Jesus was nailed to the cross, but rising from the upper part of the cross just above Jesus’ head was an image of the resurrected Christ, his head, chest and arms appearing almost as if sketched in various shades of gray.  Seeing this combination of the crucifixion and Jesus rising from the dead just above was very striking and memorable.

            We then drove through some very dense fog—we were very determined—as we ventured higher into the mountains looking for the second church.  This, too, was a small, wooden, country church, green and white on the outside.  Sadly, there were no pretty windows but the fresco of the last supper inside filled the altar area with rich colors in the very recognizable depiction of this special meal.

            At both churches, we pushed a button at the entrance to hear a recorded commentary on the churches and the making of the frescos.  To me, the information was surprisingly interesting, including each church’s history in the area.  Also, the making of a fresco was described in detail.  The distinctive feature about a painting of this kind is in how the actual masterpiece is created.  An artist works on the wall’s plaster while it is still wet and fresh, creating the artwork as something intrinsic with the wall, not just on its surface.  The wall and the painting then are inseparable, woven into each other’s actual substance.

            Is this merging of substances in the creation of a fresco not an illustration of what our lives are to be like as members of the body of Christ?  Our belief in Christ and the living out of the faith God gives to us are not to be externally applied to parts of our lives, such as church attendance, study, prayer, etc.

            Instead, His holy substance, His life is to be soaked into every aspect of who we are and how we live.  Jesus spoke of Himself as what should be the permeating substance of our very beings.  “I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). 

                Sharing little Henry’s début in the world that spring was beyond special and joyous.  A sweet addition was the side trip to the churches and the illustration of Christian life that the frescoes brought to my mind.  May we all as Christians feast on this life-giving substance of Christ and strive to be living frescos, wet and yielding to the brush strokes of God’s Holy Spirit.

                 

                 

                       

        

For Henry

Thursday, May 2, 2019

For Henry

           Nine years ago today high in the Appalachian Mountains in North Carolina, Henry William Schultz made his long-anticipated entrance, the first grandchild in both Bonnie and Bill’s families.  I had been with Bill and Bonnie during those last hours of labor, but when a C-section seemed to be necessary, Daddy Bill only remained at her side.  Later, Bill came out to tell the waiting families of Henry’s healthy arrival, but we were eager to see the little guy.

          Boone had a nice but small hospital, no baby factory like some health centers in St. Louis, Missouri, where we lived at the time.  So, when Grandpa Jim left the waiting area to find a restroom, the sneaky man had walked around some hospital halls and came across the newborn nursery with one little baby.  He returned from his mission and we all followed him back to set our eyes on Henry.  How I would love to have a picture of our motley crew peering through the nursery window.  Before long, Bill walked into the nursery with a hospital gown on and reached out to hold the little hand of his precious son.  Such joy for all although Bonnie’s might have been a bit muted with the C-section and dazed mind by the wonder of it all.

          A few months earlier, Jim and I had made a decision for him to end his job working with adults with disabilities before early summer so we could have a month long adventure in North Carolina when Henry would be born.  Henry’s parents lived in an unusual community built on the side of a mountain—literarily.  About two thirds of the various styles of homes were used as rental properties as well as vacation homes for the owners.  We rented a small, unusually shaped house right along the stream that ran along the highway leading to the development.  The rolling stream mildly thundered right outside our back door.  The new family were a little more than halfway up the wooded mountain along  a winding road.

          According to plan, we had arrived in Boone just a few days before Henry’s due date, hoping to visit some before life became radically different for the young couple. That Saturday, Bonnie went to the hospital close to her due date because her blood pressure was high.  The next morning, a Sunday, Jim and I went to her church, partly to let them know she was about to have the baby.  Congregants gathered outside the sanctuary before each service to get in a circle, begin to praise God and share prayer needs or joys.  A nice practice, we thought.  However, we probably left after that.

          During Bonnie’s hospital stay, Henry was center stage in the room we could all gather in.  Everyone wanted to hold baby Henry, who had a starring role from the beginning.  And when he came home, he was just up the wooded mountain from us. This made daily visits and shared meals possible, something we very much wanted to experience.  We even got to babysit the little man while his parents went out for lunch before we returned to St. Louis.

          Having this month together surrounded by the spring beauty in this region so different from anywhere we had lived was such a special time for all of us, I think. Henry probably was unaware of the blessing of such times: healthy pregnancy, healthy baby, enjoyed by grandparents and aunts and uncles who shared the joy in harmonious ways.  It was one of my favorite times as Bonnie’s mother, who wanted welcomed our help and we delighted in that chance. 

          Henry William has come a long way since that first day of life becoming a good athlete, good student and enjoying so many experiences.  His birthday was perhaps more celebrated that first day than any other.  I hope we will all remember how fortunate we were to celebrate that big day together—on the side of a big mountain in North Carolina. 

Made One in Christ

            A very rich, honest, and impressive telling of Jim’s Christian life through 1990 continues to bless me—and hopefully others—every time I listen to it.  Just recently I went to the his high school class website (https://prep66.weebly.com/test.html) on my phone and listened to his words, his voice telling a story that would be even more impressive with details from the other side--mine.  I was the first to venture into the new territory of the Holy Spirit, not because of any special holiness or desire for it; to the contrary, I was just a young woman, afraid and open to new possibilities after several months of an unidentified illness had kept me absent from my teaching job for more than two months. 

            I had a genuine faith in God; I believed in Jesus as His son, but I had not been introduced to a more experiential connection to this God, His words, and the baptism of the Holy Spirit--  Until  one day, when I made a call to another English teacher, who now was home taking care of her new baby. She encouraged me to read my Bible with the expectation of Jesus actually touching me with words that “spoke” to my needy heart.  This teacher even encouraged me to underline these words in the scriptures that encouraged me and gave me hope in God’s promises to answer prayer and actually provide help in our distresses. 

            My doctor finally determined I had been made ill by a parasitic illness, paratyphoid, which I might have picked up from a sick cat Jim and I had found in a parking lot and brought home, briefly.  Carefully (I thought), I had cleaned up the diarrhea from the night the cat spent with us, but apparently not carefully enough. Finally, after this diagnosis,  I started feeling better by taking an antibiotic, but I had lost almost 20 pounds and had been severely shaken.  Never before had I been so sick or left a doctor’s office so many times with an incorrect diagnosis.

            Despite my deep need for a new hope and faith that I would fully recover, I wasn’t “buying” into all I saw and heard when I attended my first charismatic prayer meeting.  It was orderly, but I needed to do some investigating on this baptism in the Holy Spirit and the gifts that then became available to believers by the quickening of this Spirit.  Besides studying the scriptures, I read a book called, They Speak in Other Tongues by John Sherill, a reporter on a skeptical exploration of these Holy Spirit folk.  However, he came to see these believers as real followers of Jesus having real experiences in the things of the Spirit Jesus and Paul spoke of.  I prayed about all this and after a few weeks, I sought the baptism in the Holy Spirit for myself, believing it to be the scriptural direction to receive power, a new dimension of power, for Jesus’s followers.  This indwelling Spirit would continue the ministry Jesus talks about in Mark 16 and John 14, etc.

            As Jim described in his testimony, he was very resistant to any of this new aspect of faith I had found.  He didn’t like the praise music, some of it written by Jesuit priests.  But God helped me trust Him to work in Jim’s heart and life just as He had in mine.  This, however, did not come quickly or easily.  In fact, the only strain that ever existed between us in our marriage was over these issues of faith.  Curious, but I was determined to share this new life in the Spirit with my husband, a Godly man but not one looking for anything new at this point.

            More stories, more works of God as we came to share a Spirit-filled faith life will be written about in days to come.  For now, let me just give God thanks and praise for His providential ordering of our steps and faithfulness to reveal Himself to those who truly seek Him.  Let me just pause for now and suggest several scriptures to examine in any effort to consider what is true about the Holy Spirit and how believers can experience this comforter, the one Jesus Himself will pour out on those who ask Him.

In Mathew 3, John the Baptist describes Jesus as the one who will baptize with His Spirit. John and his followers baptized for the forgiveness of sin, not Jesus.

In Luke 24:49, Jesus instructed his followers to stay in the city until they are “clothed with power from on high.”     

Acts 1:4,5; 2:1-41 give Jesus’s final words before ascending and describe that first

Pentecost.

A Memorable Beginning

February is a special month for me, even after it has come and gone.  For years, it marked the month of my humble entrance into the world.  Growing up, George Washington’s birthday was a holiday in Missouri, meaning the day after my birthday was always a holiday; this meant I could have a friend spend the night.  However, in 1971, the month became truly special on the 27^th day when Jim and I went on a blind date.  It was close to love at first sight, especially on his end.  Let me describe his appearance that night as we doubled dated with mutual friends at the University of Missouri, St. Louis, Homecoming dance held at the Chase Park Plaza Hotel downtown.

            Perhaps I should begin with his stylish appearance and nice, lean athletic build.  He was wearing probably the only dressy jacket he owned.  I am not sure how it was obtained; the color was interesting (I love this multi-purpose word).  It was definitely green, not light or dark, more unusual.  His pants went unnoticed possibly because of the intense effect of that green jacket.  His glasses were old and a bit unappealing, not at all enhancing his beautiful blue eyes and  long eyelashes,   

It is a good thing we were having a fine time since our friends who arranged the date were away from our table much of the night due to some spat over a redhead sitting with us.

Jim and I did dance—well, I guess one might call it dancing.  He was not very good at staying on a beat, and neither of us were experienced swingers on or off the dance floor.  Try to envision this with the green coat I have mentioned.  Jim’s most impressive moment occurred when somehow he set fire to the big, tissue paper flower at the table’s center.  He proved his quick reaction time by extinguishing the mini blaze before it spread elsewhere or set off any alarms.

            That green jacket (I can still see it in my mind) and small fire did not interfere with our mutual attraction.  I might have gotten a kiss at the door.  More important was his expressed interest in seeing me again.  This was big.  At 22, there had not been a lot of “again” experiences for either of us, I think.  In sixteen months, we married and continued to celebrate that first February date the next 45 years.  I have discovered it is unusual for couples to observe the anniversary of their first date.  But then none of them wore or saw that interesting green jacket.

Opportunities for Kindness

Four letter words often have a negative connotation, but one four letter word gets far too little notice or use: the word “kind.”  Dictionary definitions include “the quality of being gentle, caring, and helpful.”  Curiously, as bad four letter words have their own little group, kind is in a far more appealing cluster with goodness, mercy, pity, love, grace, favor, compassion, tenderness, etc.  In the scriptures, the “love chapter” in 1 Corinthians 13 begins its description with “Love is patient; love is kind.”  Such simple words to impart such deep truths about real love.   A friend has an interesting saying on her emails:  “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting some battle.”  I try to remember that when someone misses “a kindness opportunity” when I am out and about.  For example, someone might jump ahead in a line or act unbecomingly.

Having just reached the ripe old age of 70, life has afforded me countless experiences of kindness and some stinging ones of purposeful unkindness.  Now that my husband, the main human source of kindness and caring for me, has moved on ahead to the place Jesus prepares for His children, I appreciate acts or words of kindness even more.  I think I am operating on a kindness deficit right now.  One experience when I was making my first plane trip from start to finish on my own to visit our son in Grand Rapids, Michigan, stands out in my mind as kind.  I have only flown a few times since my husband’s death, and I am usually off to a bit of a sad start just missing his company.  Some limitations in my movements add another challenge for me, beginning with going through security, taking off my shoes, getting things in those bins promptly, etc. 

 I was on the last leg of the two-flight journey  and a  bit exhausted when a tall, attractive young woman though casually clad and little make-up--imagine Faith Hill at 30-35—came from behind me as we were about to walk into the plane and asked if she could carry my backpack.  It was heavy with a laptop (I never used), and I was fumbling along using my cane and hanging on to my purse.  Truly, it was almost like an angelic rescue must be.  She took her seat a couple rows behind me and asked the flight attendant to let me know she would help me with the back pack again when we landed if I waited for her. 

For faster and farther walking, I have one of those walker things with a little seat and wheels.  I have held out calling it by its proper name since my husband brought it home from Walgreens a few years back when I was especially weak from a more severe flare of what seems to be something in addition to the neurological troubles that affect my walking.  I was not happy about using it just like I was not happy about using a cane at first, either.  But I digress, as the saying goes.  This walker is tagged and left like a stroller would be to be loaded separately when I fly, so I have to wait for it right outside the plane as people walk hurriedly by me.  Upon landing, the kind passenger brought out my backpack and stayed there with me until the walker arrived, too.  I had told her she didn’t have to wait (about 5-10 minutes), but she insisted on remaining by my side, telling me that if I were her mother, she would want someone to help her as she was helping me.  Over the wait, I asked her what brought her to Grand Rapids.  It was a business trip for Target stores, and my guess would be that she was an upper level employee of some kind—yet willing to offer humble service to an older lady she had never met before.

I am blessed even thinking back on this experience of kindness and compassion in glorious display although probably unnoticed by anyone around.  No ribbons, no fanfare, just quietly given goodness to a stranger.  But, don’t be fooled about this act of kindness’s real value.  As Jesus says, “whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Mat. 25:40).  Kindness opportunities acted on are valuable, indeed. 

 

Even more from the Golden Tape

                Anything new or interesting to add to the “golden tape” story?  Yes, there is, thankfully, and I hope even some effects I know nothing about.  To date, I have mailed or hand delivered maybe 25-30 of the actual CDs.  However, another unanticipated ease of access to this recording has been added to the Prep South class website.  To say the website has been kind to Jim would be an understatement, but I know working on the 50th reunion certainly reconnected Jim to his class, and the reunion weekend more than lived up to the hours of planning and great team effort.

                It is curious to me that the site (prep66.weebly.com) now presents Jim in a very serious, for him, description of God’s work in his life up to about 1990 and also Jim at his comedic best adding a little amusement during the Saturday evening events of the reunion weekend, including a mass, dinner, and program.  And perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here.  So often, we let opportunities to share our faith lives in words or offers of prayer go by.  I know for sure I have held back when I could have spoken or prayed with someone. 

                Jim and I had some good “training” for sharing our faith when we volunteered in the pastoral care department at Missouri Baptist Hospital, a large health center in St. Louis.  We had actual workshops that were informative and helpful.  But we also had “on the job” training, sort of like student teaching.  Eventually, we figured out the list we were given each time we went were new admissions, not patients who requested a visit.  Talk about learning true humility.  Many times when I walked into a room, I immediately felt the rejection.  There were times such resistance gave me pause, thinking perhaps my attempts to engage them in some element of faith in their stay might be the last they would hear, a rather sobering thought.  But always, there would be at least one person who took us up on an offer to pray with them.  We had chosen Missouri Baptist because it was the only hospital that allowed volunteers to hand out literature AND offer to pray during a visit.

                Just this morning I listened to my copy of Jim’s testimony—probably my fifth time—to feel his faithful presence again.  I will have to watch his funny routine at the reunion again.  I always find some amusement in it, not sadness.  Many fine men, faithful men, are or were part of that class.  Continued friendship among them even now will only bless lives and provide good times together.

                So, again my thanks for adding this testimony to the website.  Here is the address that will bring it up:  https://prep66.weebly.com/test.html.  Stay tuned.

The "golden tape"--truly something good

          Quite unexpectedly, I “struck gold” right before Christmas.  No, I was not out in the hills somewhere mining for treasures.  In fact, I was looking for a cassette tape (yes, we kept some when we downsized significantly moving to Charleston) that I thought I still had.  In digging out those few cassettes, I came across the golden, but forgotten tape of Jim talking about his Christian life almost 30 years ago.  We were attending a nondenominational church at the time, and the deacons had been asked to share their testimonies with the church members.  Somehow, I had procured a tape, the item of gold, in my stash of ancient tapes.

          I saw this discovery as a gift, and the timing could not have been better.  Our son David and his family were coming here over the holidays, so my hope was the adults could listen to it one night after the kids were in bed.  The logistics didn’t work out for that, but David and I did find a time to  play it and hear the voice of someone so loved and missed..  Sharing it with our daughter here in Charleston would be much easier to work out.

          In the meantime, I wanted to get a copy of the tape on a CD, a more durable saving device than those old cassette tapes.  Beginning with a phone call to a computer store here in town, I ended up at the university library which had just the equipment I needed, and using it was free!  As I had mentioned the tape to a few friends—I was so excited to have found it, an excitement that I had not felt for anything since Jim’s death—I found people were interested in hearing Jim’s story.  Lou, a friend from his high school class, who had worked with him on the 50^th class reunion committee, wanted a copy and talked about sharing it with the committee who still gets together every few months.

          While talking with Lou on the phone, I saw possibilities for sharing Jim’s words well beyond our family.  One thing that I was sad about when he died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack, was that such a Godly man, something so needed, men and women alike, was no longer among us, serving in word and in deed.  But finding this recording and sharing it opens possibilities for his life to continue to further God’s efforts to reach out to people, to draw them closer to Jesus Christ and open hearts to a fuller experience of the Holy Spirit.  The old tape was like gold, indeed.

          To date, I have made about 20 copies and even calmed my eagerness to hurriedly get them out so I could put a little more polish into the “project.”  I bought some clear CD holders, largely to give them more protection in the mail.  Last Sunday, our church bulletin had a dove and the scripture, “baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit” on the front.  Fairly primitive in my knowledge of computer scanning, graphics, etc., I copied the bulletin graphic and listed this blog website on it as an easy—and free—means of sharing the “story of the tape.” 

          Here in Charleston, I just started a Disciple Fast Track Bible study on the letters of Paul at my neighbors’ church.  I am enjoying being back into study with real homework and participation among the “students” in the class. This week the study book talked about how Paul’s letters were written to various churches he had started with the intention of being read to gatherings of these Christians in different cities and countries.  Paul’s words were then spoken, just like Jim’s words on the CDs; I am praying they will “speak” to the hearts of those who listen.

          A few friends might get the CD package tomorrow, some whom I have not talked to about it.  A few names came to mind as I went through the stack of copies to mail beyond the people I had mentioned finding the tape to.  If any who get a copy want to make some more to share, please do.  God does promise to “work all things together for good for those who love God  . . . “ (Rom. 8:28).  This tape would have remained in an old collection of cassette tapes, unheard by others, if Jim still walked among us.  Now his genuine and honest sharing, his testimony that powerfully reveals how God works in our lives and nurtures growth in the things of God will be heard and hopefully nudge people to draw nearer to God and experience a fuller measure of the Holy Spirit.  This is truly good.       

Seeking a life "on the prairie" continues

              Some who know me will be surprised to learn that I picked someone up at the university’s fitness center just today.  Before your imaginations run wild, let me clarify.  For a few weeks, I have noticed a cute woman accompanying a regular exerciser who previously came in alone.  Sometimes, when I passed by them, I would hear them speaking in another language.  So, today as she was walking by my exercise post, I called to her and started a conversation. 

            Making a major life change about three and a half years ago, my husband Jim and I moved from St. Louis County where we had lived all our lives to the Illinois prairie, Charleston, Illinois, to be specific.  Our daughter and her husband had taken jobs at Eastern Illinois University about three years before that, relocating from North Carolina to be closer to us and back in the Midwest for Bonnie.  Henry, our first grandchild, was five then, and he seemed happy to be seeing more of us. 

            My hopes for my life had been to become a teacher, marry a man who loved me that I could love back (my simplistic prayer God so beautifully answered), and have children.  I never thought about having a career per se; staying home with young children was what I had planned to do.  My parents also needed my support and thoroughly enjoyed sharing time with our young family.  No matter what, my father was always glad to see us.  Over the years, I had become a bit of a partner for him when my mother’s mental health issues periodically became problematic. Even after I began teaching developmental English classes at a community college and then doing some writing, my basic identity was as a committed Christian family girl, by choice not necessity.

            Fast forward through life with grown children pursuing advanced graduate degrees, living in ten states between the two of them in just over five years—well, our hopes of remaining a St. Louis clan like so many of our friends had faded.  Adding to our feeling in a rut, I began to experience at times serious but somewhat illusive health problems, occasionally making me quite ill.  After prayerful consideration and other factors, my husband and I decided to depart St. Louis, the gateway to the West, and begin anew nearer to both children and their families.

            Making the move proved to be providential although breaking into a connected life in Charleston has had its challenges.  I could not be a part of high school friends or lifelong friends—some groupings one just can’t qualify for.  But we did bust out of that St. Louis rut.  My retired coach husband loved living so close to university athletics, riding his bike to track meets and baseball games; he just soaked in university life, and so did I in some ways.  We didn’t know being here would be the last two years of his life, but known or not, it was a gift.  He got to help coach our grandson’s baseball team two summers and became as close to working at a university, something he had wanted to do after retiring from teaching physical education and coaching, as he could have been.

            One might wonder, what does all of this history have to do with picking up the lady at the fitness center.  Upon Jim's sudden death, my life dramatically changed to one on my own—for the first time ever living alone—but this seemed the obvious change I could write about for a writing prompt on that subject.  But continuing to find connection and meaning in a new and very different place remains a priority and sometimes a challenge.  It is work to seek out fellowship and activity especially when efforts sometimes disappoint.  I fully understand Jesus listing “I was a stranger and you invited me in” in Mathew 25 when He describes who lives in true love and faith.

            Today my pick-up proved very satisfying on both ends.  Roxana is from El Salvador and joins her husband here over breaks and summers unless he heads back home.  She is diligently working on her English and was most excited when I offered to be a conversation friend.  She even wanted to skype and continue our talking after she returns to El Salvador in about two weeks.  She told me her husband wants her to use English with him, but she says their native language is more romantic.  Rather cute, I thought.  So I continue on, asking God’s strength and providential guidance to make this prairie life my own.  Just for the record, I never picked up anybody.  Not in my skill set.