“And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you.”

When I was five years old, I attempted to fly like Superman.  I have no recollection of ever watching Superman or reading the comic, but, somehow, I knew he could fly.  My Aunt Debbie, who I idolized as a child, jumped from the fifth step down to the landing in my grandparent’s farmhouse.  So, when she jumped, I just had to do what she did.  I remember her trying to convince me that it was a bad idea, reminding me that my grandparents had just gotten new carpet in the living room.  I didn’t heed her advice, told her I was going to fly like Superman, and jumped.  The next thing I remember was blood everywhere and my grandmother rushing me to the doctor’s office.   The resulting five stitches ended not only my attempts to fly, but any future attempts at risky behavior.

That incident may seem minor, but I realized the impact of it on my identity years later.  I have defined myself as “clumsy” at worst, or “not graceful” at best.  This identity was reinforced by my failure to complete a back somersault in gym class, breaking a few bones over the course of my life, and never mastering roller skating.  Furthermore, it has impacted choices I have made in my life.  I sometimes wonder, what if I had succeeded in that attempt to “fly”?  Would I have been more apt to try different activities, not fearful of getting hurt?  Would I have had been graceful enough to figure out how to roller skate?

We all have stories in our childhood that impact our lives, both positively and negatively.  Often, these stories shape our identity, self-confidence, and sense of security.  They often determine the things we care about, what drives our passions, what triggers anger and depression, and how we handle conflict.  Although these stories often have similar themes, how they impact us is not a mathematical equation that can be calculated.  Even within the same family, although people can live the same story, how the story affected each individual family member is as different as the fingerprints that identify us.

About six years ago, a young teenager was asking me about my childhood.  He specifically asked what made my childhood wonderful.  I was a bit startled and unable to formulate a response.  While I do have some good memories, I would not describe my overall childhood experience as wonderful.  A lot of the good memories were marred due to the secrets I was forced to keep.  I stumbled and said to the young man, “Honestly, I don’t have a lot of good memories, my childhood was not so great.”  My fifteen-year old daughter, who was sitting next to me, was a bit surprised and said, “Mom, you never told me that!”

 My daughter was right, I did not tell her anything about the negative parts of my childhood.  To protect my children from information that was too much for them to handle, I had come up with a general statement about my childhood that was truthful, but vague.  It was the right decision at that point.  Yet, the question about my childhood forced me to pray and reconsider this decision made years earlier.  I asked myself some hard questions.  What is my story?  Why share my story with my children?  What purpose would it serve in their lives?  Why bring up ugly, painful memories?  Why rehash ancient history?

I have always been rather vocal about my opinions.  In the last few years, I have gained some self-control by choosing not to share every opinion or thought that runs through my head.  Yet, there are a few subjects that still fire me up!  One of those subjects is related to history.  Like a cartoon character with steam coming out of her ears, I cringe when I hear, “I hate history and find it boring.”  I instantly want to get on my soapbox and extol the virtues of learning history.  Now, I recognize not everyone has been as privileged as me to have Mr. Bemis, Mr. St. Pierre and Dr. Bader as teachers who made history come alive through stories.  I know that, for some people, history has always been just a list of battles, dates, and rulers.  Yet, I feel passionate that history is not just ancient information, dusty and worn out.  History is an epic story filled with adventure, intrigue, plot twists, plagues, and romance.  Furthermore, I believe we can apply the lessons of history to our lives today.  We can learn from Neville Chamberlain that appeasement does not work and leads to harm.  We can learn from Abraham Lincoln to surround ourselves with people who have different opinions to help make us more effective leaders.  We can learn from Martin Luther King Jr. of the importance of taking a stand for equality.

Philosopher, George Santayana, once said, “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”  I have often used this quote when I discuss the importance of history with others. I think an adaptation of this quote can be applied to our own individual stories.  It might not make the latest edition of Bartlett’s Quotations, but I believe that “those who are not aware of the stories that shape them are not likely to move towards wholeness with God.”  We need to be aware of our stories and recognize how they shape us.  We need to be aware where our lives are broken, allowing God to do a work of restoration in those broken places, moving us toward wholeness.  We then need to share with others the restoration work God is doing by sharing our stories.

So, in thinking about remembering my own “history” with my children, I thought it could illuminate the work God has done in my life, and in turn, in their life.  One evening, I sat down with them and shared my story.  I told them about the physical and emotional abuse that ensued in my home.  I spoke about the fourteen years of sexual abuse that I was forced by my stepfather to keep hidden.  I didn’t burden them with the gritty details, instead sticking to generalities.  But I did detail the restoration God did in my life starting with reporting my abuse to the police.   I shared with them about the three visitors I had in the hospital that impacted my life.  I described the incredible peace I felt when God filled me with His Spirit.  I shared how God redefined my distorted image of a father by observing their father, my husband, love his children unconditionally.  I shared how, over time, God has taken the broken parts of me, and lovingly repaired the damage, creating a masterpiece.  Although my story started off tragically, I closed by pointing my children to a God who is my Redeemer!!!

Both of my children were glad I had shared my story with them.  It helped fill in some blanks that they did not understand.  Furthermore, it gave them a greater understanding of who I was and what I had become with God’s hand on my life.  Finally, it serves as a reminder to them that there is always hope.  God can take any brokenness that they might experience and bring about restoration.

As a writer, I have the ability to self-edit as I write.  I might start with one story to illustrate a point and realize that the story doesn’t work, only to choose a better illustration.  When the reader sees the final product, they are unaware of how many times I have deleted a word, sentence or even a paragraph.  They only see the final product, the words I have penned.

The beginning of our story is often penned by others.  Our lives our shaped by events, people, and circumstances that we don’t have control over.  Unfortunately, we cannot hit backspace to delete the painful stories, erasing them from our memories.  We cannot create new characters that rescue us from the bad events penned by others, but we can rewrite our future stories.  We can allow God to speak into those painful places and restore what was lost.  We can allow God to rewrite our future, no longer allowing those beginning stories to define us negatively.

One of my favorite literary characters of all time is Jean Valjean of Victor Hugo’s “Les Misérables”.  It is a long book, but so worth the investment of time to read.  If the book is too daunting for you, I encourage you to listen to the dramatic adaptation from Focus on the Family Radio Theater.  Jean Valjean was born in France in poverty.  He was caught stealing bread for his starving sister and her children, sentenced to prison, and attempted to escape, resulting in a longer sentence.  When finally released, Valjean had to carry the stigma of being an ex-convict for the rest of his life.  Yet, a kind priest shows Valjean mercy which allows him to redefine himself for the rest of the book.  This is such a powerful depiction of God, who shows us mercy and offers to rewrite our story.  Just like Jean Valjean, we do not have to live with the stigma of our past.  Throughout the rest of the book, Jean Valjean wrestled with the effects of that stigma.  Yet, he did not let it define him, instead choosing to lead others to restoration from their own pasts.

In this post, I have shared a little about my story and the restoration work God has done.  I am still working on my book about this restoration that I hope to complete sometime in 2021.  A scripture that has inspired my book is found in Joel 2:25.  Joel prophesies to Israel that God “will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpillar, and the palmerworm”.  He goes on to say in verse 26, “And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise the name of the LORD, your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you”.  What is your story?  What events, people, or circumstances have shaped your life?  How has the stigma of your story affected your life and those you love?  What scenes or stories do you want to delete?  What areas do you need to allow God to restore so you can be satisfied and know that God has dealt wondrously in your life?  Spend some time thinking about this, write it down in a journal, share it with those you trust, and ask God to heal those places.  Remember, your story is important to you and to God!

“And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony;” Revelation 12:11

I have loved stories my whole life.  As a little girl, I read about Sam’s dislike of green eggs and ham and laughed at Curious George’s antics.  I pretended I was Laura, playing in the attic with my corn cob doll while Pa played his fiddle.  I searched desperately for a magic wardrobe so that I could enter Narnia and meet Aslan.  I looked for Charlotte in every spiderweb and wished I could float down a chocolate river with the Oompa-Loompas.  As a parent, I shared my love of stories with my children, making frequent trips to the library, returning with piles of books.  We giggled at Pooh’s simple brain, traveled around the world with Phileas Fogg, solved mysteries with Frank, Joe, and Nancy, and fought dragons with Bilbo Baggins.  As an adult, I still love stories, cheering with Emma when she finds her Mr. Knightly, hoping Jean Valjean is vindicated, chuckling at Don Quixote’s assumptions, and hoping Frodo finishes his quest.

The love of stories transcends all cultures, ages, and times, capturing the hearts of people everywhere.  Heroes and heroines fill our imaginations with hope and awaken in us the desire for adventure and significance.  Even cultures with no written language have oral traditions rich with stories.  What is even more amazing is how often similar themes of stories exist among different cultures.  For example, the story of Cinderella, as depicted by Disney, is based on the Western European version written by the Grimm brothers.  When my daughter was little, we discovered Native American, Korean, and Indian versions of the same story, written by different authors in different places and times.

Even the various authors of the Bible, inspired by God, wrote large portions of the Bible in the form of stories.  We learn about the plight of all humans in the Garden of Eden.  We see the rescue of a baby boy by an Egyptian princess, only to see him grow up to challenge Pharaoh.  We see the redemption of a faithful daughter-in-law.  We watch David start off as a shepherd playing a harp, grow into a young man who defeats a giant and later a king with a rebellious son.  As the Old Testament continues, kingdoms rise and fall with various rulers and prophets playing lead roles.  In the New Testament, three gospels recount the story of a simple carpenter and his teenage fiancé giving birth in a dirty stable to the Savior of the whole world, Jesus.  Miracles happen throughout Jesus’ ministry with the biggest miracle unfolding in his death and subsequent resurrection.  Shipwrecks, poisonous snakes, and jail breaks due to worship service are a few of the stories we read in the book of Acts, as different people are changed by the Holy Ghost, later becoming disciples of God.  The Bible ends with an exiled disciple’s vision of fantastical beasts, battles, and the end of the natural world.

We cannot forget that God had an overarching theme to the whole Bible, all the stories are part of a bigger picture, the story of God.  It tells about His creation, humanity’s fall, His redemption, and His restoration: the metanarrative of the whole Bible.  God cares about stories!  More importantly, He cares about the parts each of us play in His story.

Over the course of four years, I read biographies of each of our presidents.  These were men who shaped policy and the direction in America.  It was an incredible scope of American history seen through the stories of these men’s lives.  But more than just American history, these were the stories of the events that shaped them as men.  For example, Teddy Roosevelt was devastated when he lost his first wife and mother in the same day.  He disappeared from the political landscape for a few years.  Yet during this time of escape in the Badlands, he rekindled his love of the outdoors, along with a renewed sense of purpose, eventually leading him to the presidency.  As a young man, Harry Truman, worked for his Jewish neighbors while they practiced their Sabbath.  This later influenced his decision to recognize Israel as an independent nation.  These stories, and many more, changed my own perspective on the presidency.  It helped me to see them as ordinary men, like you and I, who had extraordinary opportunities to do great things.

Like these men, we all have stories, stories that have power in our lives.  These stories shape and mold us into the people we are.  They define our passions, determine our strengths, push our fear buttons, trigger our anger, and sometimes hold us captive.  In the past few years, my husband and I have spent some time understanding our own individual stories and each other’s.  Sometimes, this work was hard, exposing character flaws and leaving us feeling vulnerable.  Yet, this understanding has led to healing and wholeness that we needed individually and in our marriage.  Furthermore, it has helped me overcome destructive habits and patterns in my life.  In Revelations 12:11, the Bible states, “And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.”  Knowing my story helps me overcome!!!

Over the next three posts, I am going to explore the power of stories through the following topics:

I. The importance of knowing your story, as well as how it impacts you and your relationships with others

II. The importance of acknowledging that others have a story.  This acknowledgement frees us from judgmental attitudes and increases our empathy towards others.  I hope to explore the importance of creating communities that are safe for people to share their stories

III. The importance of relating your story in the context of God’s story.  Our lives are so much larger than the few years we live on this earth.  We have the power to impact others by reflecting Christ in our lives

The following quote from Christian therapist and author, Dan Allender, sums up what I hope to convey in these upcoming posts.  In his book, “To Be Told: Know Your Story, Shape Your Future”, Allender says, “So take seriously the story that God has given you to live.  It’s time to read your own life, because your story is the one that could set us all ablaze.”

Yes, “reading your own life” can be hard work, akin to reading Leo Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” and deciphering the many Russian character names.  Yes, it can leave you feeling vulnerable, like Louis Zamperini did in the Japanese POW camp in “Unbroken.”  But it can also result in finding a treasure beyond imagination like Mary did in the “The Secret Garden” or Oliver did in “Oliver Twist.”

“Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.” Ephesians 3:20

Fall has arrived, arraying the trees with reds, yellows, and oranges, while fields turn golden as harvest is nearing completion.  My favorite farmer’s markets are filled with pumpkins, squash, and apples.  Ingredients for soups and chili fill my pantry shelves.  My heart echoes the same sentiments of Anne in L. M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables, “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”

Although I appreciate all the seasons, autumn is my absolute favorite.  I have fond memories of going to Waldo Apple Orchard as a child and eating a caramel apple.  I love hiking, hearing the crunch as I step joyously through the leaves.  I love wearing warm, cozy clothing and sipping mulled apple cider.  It stands to reason that I also love to decorate my home for fall.

My fall decorating started off very humbly.  Having a limited budget, I started with a homemade leaf garland.  My husband and I cut out hundreds of leaves in different fall shades of construction paper.  We then misted them with water, crumpled them and let them dry.  After attaching them to twine, the leaf garlands graced our home.  For years, this was our only fall decoration.

Then I discovered Hobby Lobby.  As I had more disposable income, slowly I started adding to my fall decorations.  This included a more elaborate leaf garland, some fall signs and even a few critters.  I continued to make some of my own decorations, including a thankful tree and a short acorn garland to hang above my kitchen sink.  My fall décor collection now fills two large storage crates.  Every year, shortly after Labor Day, my home transitions into autumn while “Punky Pumpkin” by Rosemary Clooney plays.  When its all done, I sigh deeply, ready to embrace the cooler weather and my fall traditions.

For the past few years, I have attempted, unsuccessfully, to decorate my front porch.  To be honest, my “porch” is not really a porch at all but just a small slab of cement in front of my door, lacking any curb appeal.  In summer, I typically have a few flowerpots greeting guests as they enter my home.  As the weather cools, I place a few pumpkins and mums on my front porch to create a fall ambience.   For some reason, my fall ambience seems to fall flat.  Being a bit spatially challenged, my pumpkins and gourds are either too small or too few and my mums are too low or wither quickly because I forget to water them.

This year, I decided to go big.  Instead of grocery store mums, I went out to a local Mennonite market and purchased two large pots of bright yellow and wine-colored mums.  I then went to my favorite farm stand for pumpkins.  It is such a great time to be alive, where we are no longer limited to only traditional orange pumpkins!  Now, they come in all shades, including white, green, gray and my favorite “warty pink”!  I gathered a few pumpkins and gourds and headed home.  As I started decorating the porch with my treasures, I realized something was still missing.  A week later, I made a second trip, purchasing more pumpkins along with a small hay bale.  As I loaded them in the car, I realized I might have gone a tad bit overboard.  In jest, I sent my husband a text saying, “Remember how much you love me.”  After unloading the stash and rearranging my porch, I realized I needed one more small orange pumpkin to make it complete.  So, I made one more trip, grabbing the last pumpkin (or two), to complete my porch display.

When all was said and done, I somehow ended up with thirteen pumpkins and gourds on my small porch.  I won’t tell you how many fake pumpkins are inside my home or you might start to think I have a problem.  Now, I know the current philosophy is “less is more”.  There are books written about the concept of minimalism along with new vocabulary like “Konmari Method” and “Capsule wardrobe”, encouraging us to be mindful of how much stuff we have.  In fact, the opposite of minimalism is looked down upon.  We have reality shows depicting the shocking lives of hoarders!  Thrift, resale, and vintage stores abound, helping us to get rid of our excess “stuff”.  Even restaurant menus and food labels are embracing the concept of simplicity with emphasis on fewer but better ingredients.

Even as a Christian, we are encouraged to live in moderation.  Paul challenges Christians in Philippians 4:5 by saying, “Let your moderation be known unto all men.”  He also says in Galatians 5:23 that temperance is one of the fruits of the spirit.  Temperance is defined as self-control, and no one could argue that a hoarder is modeling that fruit of the spirit.  In 1 Timothy 6:6, God also encourages us to live in contentment by linking it to godliness, concluding that we will have great gain.  The scripture continues in verse seven with Paul’s words, “For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.”  This implies that we must be careful not to attach ourselves to “stuff”.  God clearly wants us to avoid materialism!

For the Christian, the contrast to materialism is living an abundant life. Jesus told a crowd of Pharisees in John 10:10, “…I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly”.  Paul reiterates Jesus’ words in Ephesians 3:20, “Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.”  Jesus came so that we can live an abundant life.  This life is not measured in possessions or status, but rather an abundance of love, peace, joy, and hope.  We can show unconditional love to others, not because we are self-righteous, but because God has shown us love.  We can have abundant peace in our relationships, not through the absence of conflict, but because we know that God will work it all out for our good.  We can have joy overflowing in all situations, not through a lack of sadness, but joy in knowing that God has it all under control.  We can have abundant hope in desperate situations, not by being eternal optimists, but because our hope is not in this world but in heaven to come.

My sweet mother-in-law had a dismal view of fall, she saw it as a season of dying.  She dreaded the cold Illinois winters, and saw the changing of leaves as the first indication that winter was on its way.  I always found her perspective a little sad and depressing.  From my perspective, fall is the opposite of dying.  It is the time to celebrate the abundance of our natural world though harvest and the plethora of colors on display. The fruit of the harvest spilling from the cornucopia, the horn of plenty, depicts the season so well!  Furthermore, fall climaxes with Thanksgiving when we acknowledge all of God’s blessings at a meal with family and friends.  I may have gone a little overboard with my pumpkins this year, but maybe, just maybe, it is a reminder to us all of God’s desire for us to live in abundance!

“Be not wise in thine own eyes: fear the Lord, and depart from evil.”

Proverbs 3:7

I love houseplants despite my thumb being a shade of not-quite green.  I do manage to keep flowers alive on my patio, although they are never quite as vibrant as those of my neighbors.  A few years ago, I started adding foliage as décor in my home, one by one, with reasonable success.  Instead of the traditional flower bouquet for Valentine’s Day, I received a big floor plant that I had been longing for, quickly naming it “Phoebe” (my daughter and I have a habit of naming birds, squirrels, ducks, plants, etc.)!  Feeling confident in my ability to care for it, I bought an English ivy.  I found a cheerful yellow pot on clearance, envisioning my ivy, properly named “George”, spilling over the sides.  I carefully transplanted it, set it near the window and watered it faithfully.  Over the next three months, “George” slowly withered and died a painful death, after dropping all its leaves, one by one.  I was so hopeful each time I watered it until the last few brittle leaves took the plunge.

Disheartened, I went to my favorite local greenhouse, searching for a new plant to fill my now empty pot.  Finding something I thought would work, I brought it to the counter, inquiring of the young clerk how big it would get and described the yellow pot in which I intended to put it.  Then I made the mistake of telling her about “George”.

She seemed genuinely baffled.  “You killed an ivy?  They are really easy to grow, in fact they grow on the sides of buildings.  Did you water it, and how much?”  When I told her my approximate measurement of water, she replied, “Are you sure, was it near a window?”  Again, I responded favorably, and then she said, “I have never heard of anyone killing an ivy!”  Sheepishly, I handed her the new plant I now wondered if she would allow me to purchase.  She admonished, “This plant needs a lot of TLC, I’m surprised they are still in the greenhouse, I thought the owner was going to remove them.  This plant really needs a lot of TLC!”  The implication was clear: she didn’t trust my skills or ability to care for this plant!  I muttered that I would be careful, listened to her advice, and walked out with the plant.

Although I felt a little demeaned by the clerk, her questions were legitimate.  Being a plant expert, she was trying to troubleshoot my problem.  Instead of letting her questions derail me, I listened carefully to her suggestions for caring for this new plant.  I even bought a different soil mix she recommended to ensure the plant’s growth.  After a few weeks, it is starting to perk up and flourish!

To be honest, a few years ago, I would have been annoyed with the clerk’s response and likely have ignored her advice.  At the time, I would have let my pride hinder me from further learning and growth.  In my twenties and early thirties, I actively sought information to improve my marriage, parenting skills, and knowledge in God.  I listened to radio programs and discussed principles with friends.  I recognized I was young and needed the wisdom of others to help me grow.  As I grew older, I eventually formed some core philosophies and principles and became locked into my beliefs.  And then I made a mistake: I sought out sources that only supported my way of thinking and agreed with my ideas.  Letting pride creep in, I ignored anything that might challenge my way of thinking.

Anyone who owns a front-loading washer knows the challenges of preventing mildew from growing on the rubber seal.  After every use, I must dry the seal and door carefully, leaving the door of the washer open for twenty-four hours.  I also clean the machine with a special product monthly.  I stay on top of these tasks because, if I slip up, mildew will not only form but grow, eventually ruining my washer and clothes.  Like mildew, once pride creeps in, it starts to grow.  It clouds your vision and keeps you from recognizing your weaknesses.  It leads to sin, and it can destroy relationships and hinder potential.  It permeates every area of your life!  Caleb Holmgren, my good friend’s 23-year-old son, said it best in his vernacular, “Pride sucks. It keeps me from admitting when I’m wrong, and hinders me from reaching out for help as well…”

My pride stopped me from growing.  I became judgmental of others’ shortcomings, elevating myself in my own mind.  Outwardly, I acted humble, but inwardly I thought my principles were not only the right way to live life, but the only way!  I stopped seeking wisdom for my marriage, parenting, and my life, in general.  I became stagnant and arrogant in my way of thinking.

Then a series of events happened that crushed my pride.  Problems arose in my marriage and I started to see flaws in how I had parented.  I was faced with the ugly truth; I had relied on my own knowledge instead of God’s.  I had chosen to direct my own path, instead of realistically evaluating my own lack of skill.  I basked in the glow of my so-called “perfect life”, ignoring signs indicating that something was wrong.  One morning, feeling completely broken, I felt God was revealing that pride was at the root of my sin.

Generally, I have seen two responses when pride is brought to light.  The first response is to remain prideful, either by persisting with an arrogant attitude, or living in shame.  This paralyzes you from dealing with the problems.  The second response is to be contrite, admit your sin, and take full responsibility for it.  On that morning, it was only by the grace of God that I chose the second response when faced with the revelation of my sin.  I swallowed my pride, examined my heart, spent some time in repentance, and made a lot of apologies to those I had wronged.

Pride is a common theme throughout the Bible.  It is a major character flaw in both antagonists and protagonists in the Bible, including Saul and Hezekiah.  In the New Testament, both James and Peter state, “God resisteth the proud.”  God also makes an interesting contrast related to pride.  In Proverbs 8:13, Solomon says, “The fear of the Lord is to hate evil: pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way and the froward mouth do I hate.”  Based on the way this verse is punctuated, one half of the things that God thinks are evil are related to pride.  Both pride and arrogance, although they are different words, are rooted in the same Hebrew word “ga’ah”, which means “to be exalted in triumph.”  The fear of the Lord is to hate exalting ourselves.

God not only revealed to Solomon what the fear of the Lord hated, but also what the fear of the Lord looked like in practice.  He remarks in Proverbs 9:10, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”  He continues in Proverbs 13:10, “Only by pride cometh contention: but with the well advised is wisdom.”  God contrasts exalting oneself and relying on your own opinions with being well-advised by others in the pursuit of wisdom.

It follows that one of the keys in developing wisdom is to be well-advised.  So, one of the steps I have taken to prevent the “mildew” of pride from spreading further in my life is to be well-advised.  First, I have made studying the Bible a priority.  God’s word can magnify my prideful attitudes and show me examples of how to remain in a posture of humility.  In addition to the Bible, I have spent the last two years reading some books that address marriage, parenting adult children, and growing as a woman of God.  I have also listened to podcasts, paid attention to sermons that have pricked my heart and have talked over some of my problems with people who could speak wisdom into my situation.  I have actively chosen to be well-advised!

One of the most popular passages every Christian memorizes is Proverbs 3:5-6, where it says, “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding.  In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”  Recently, I heard someone say that this was their life verse.  Verse seven, which is less quoted but just as important, continues, “Be not wise in thine own eyes: fear the LORD, and depart from evil.”  Again, God is contrasting wisdom with pride.  In writing this post, I have decided to make this plant in my yellow pot a prayerful reminder to me. This is my prayer:

God, I am so grateful that You revealed my prideful attitude and Your kindness led me to repentance.  Help me to continue to fear You by seeking Your wisdom.  Challenge me on a regular basis to grow in wisdom through Your Word, sermons, books, and podcasts.  Let the wisdom of the well-advised transform my way of thinking to align me with Your way of thinking.  God, as this plant flourishes and grows, let it always remind me to remain humble in Your eyes.  In Jesus’ name, Amen!

“My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” Psalm 48:1

I was not your typical sixteen-year-old, dying to start driver’s education and itching to get behind the wheel.  For some reason, I was extremely afraid to handle a large machine that could potentially kill me and those around me.  It could be that my step-father repeatedly told me that I would be a bad driver; it could be that I wasn’t even good at bumper cars, often ending up pinned by others; or it could be that I was just afraid.  Whatever the reason, I put off getting my learner’s permit until I was eighteen.

Then I had the ill-fated accident.  If it had happened today and someone managed to catch it on their phone camera, I am sure it would have gone viral.  I was backing up my mom’s beloved aquamarine Mitsubishi in our driveway when the crash of metal assaulted my ears.  I realized that I had just backed into my uncle’s brand-new car.  Visibly shaken, I pulled the car forward as my mom ran out of the house to see what had caused the commotion.  I jumped out of the car to inspect the damage, forgetting to put the car into park.  As the car inched towards the garage, my mom yelled at me to get back into the car and hit the brake.  Panicking, I slammed my foot on any pedal within reach.  Unfortunately, it was the accelerator.  The car crashed a second time within a few minutes, this time into the closed garage door!

Fortunately, no one got hurt, but I was paranoid about driving afterwards.  A few friends offered to teach me, but I made only halfhearted attempts, afraid of having an accident again.  Despite this handicap, I attended college and moved to another state, relying on friends to “chauffeur” me.  Finally, my job required me to have a valid license, forcing me to overcome my fears.  So, a few weeks after getting married, my new husband took me out daily and patiently taught me how to drive.  Despite my trepidation, I learned to make left turns without tears, and within a few weeks, I passed my test and became a licensed driver at age twenty-four!

We all have fears that can paralyze us, keeping us from moving forward or discovering more about the world around us.  For six years, my fear of driving hindered my ability to be independent and made my world smaller.  I had no idea the sense of freedom I would feel once I held a license in my hand!

A year ago, I had to overcome another fear: the fear of failure.  The previous two years had been challenging with all sorts of transitions and new situations.  I had been praying that God would help me grow from these challenges.  After praying for a while, I felt led to share some of my challenges with others in a blog format.  I was not presuming to come to any life-altering conclusions or great spiritual insight.  Instead, I felt like God was asking me to be transparent and authentic, sharing some of the journey that I have been on.  So, I put fingers to keyboard, and started blogging!

It was scary publishing my first few posts.  Was my writing good enough?  Would anyone else read it?  How transparent should I be?  What if I failed?  I began to panic and thought about quitting.  Then I had an epiphany: if God is really in this, then I should let His Word define my success.  I found a few verses that allayed my fears and gave me a clear direction.

Psalm 45:1-2 acted as a plumb line for the direction of my blog.  Here the psalmist declares, “My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready writer. Thou art fairer than the children of men, grace is poured into thy lips: therefore God hath blessed thee for ever.”  When I found this passage, I set three guidelines for my writing.  First, like the psalmist, I need to let my words be a source of encouragement for others.  This was not a space to be venting my frustrations or ranting my views.  Instead, my words need to uplift others and give them hope.  Second, I need to “touch the king” by speaking of Jesus in every post.  Not only does Jesus need to be the center of my blog, but I want God literally directing my words.  Often, I have started with an idea of what I was trying to convey, only to start writing and see it move in a direction completely different from what I originally envisioned.  The final post turned out better than I had hoped for because the moving was appointed by the Lord.  Finally, I want the grace on my lips, or my pen in this case, to be a blessing to others.  I want my blog to minister to others and be a blessing.

The second verse that God used to help me define success was found in 1 Corinthians 3:6. Paul told the Corinthian church to be careful in trying to attribute success.  He reminded them, “I have planted, Apollos watered but God gave the increase.”  My role as a writer is sometimes to plant and sometimes to water, but the increase belongs to God.  I have had almost 1,000 views of my blog over the course of the year.  I am truly humbled and grateful that my blog has been read by others, but in the cyber world, that number would not be impressive.  Although I would like to increase my readership, the number of views doesn’t determine my success.  Success is a card in the mail letting me know that my writing has ministered to someone.  Success is a Facebook comment that my blog challenged someone.  Ultimately, this success belongs to God for He has allowed my words to bless others.

Today, I celebrate one year of “Graceful Transitions”!  Including today, I have posted thirty-eight blogs over the course of the past year.  I have covered many different topics including my health journey, loneliness, adoption, death, self-worth, and brokenness.  I have included some humorous stories, milestones in my life and even a few recipes.  I have done a book review, shared some favorite quotes and have mused about some scriptures.  At times it has been cathartic to write, and other times I felt a little nervous about sharing my failings and struggles in cyber space.  Every time I have hit the “Publish” button, I prayed that God would use my blog to speak to someone and point them back to Him!

I want to thank a few people who have been instrumental in this journey.  First, my amazingly talented daughter, Maggie, who has taken the credit-worthy photos for my blog.  Without her photography skills, my readers would have blurred images lacking creativity.  She also manages to take pictures of me without my eyes closed, which is an accomplishment in itself!  In addition, she was the first person to tell someone else that her mother was a writer.  That simple statement changed how I define myself.  Next, I want to thank my sister, Monica, who has shared most of my blogs on her Facebook page.  Because of her shares, I have gained a few additional readers which has encouraged me to keep writing.  Last, but not at all least, I want to publicly thank my incredible husband.  Not only was Terry instrumental in helping me overcome my fear of driving, he encouraged me to make the leap to writing.  Together, we decided that this season in my life was going to be devoted to writing and see where God takes me on that journey.  Furthermore, he takes the time to edit my weekly posts by not only correcting the obvious flaws, but also by giving me pointers on how to improve my writing.  He has also encouraged me to own my writing instead of timidly sharing my conclusions.  I could not have done any of this without his support and stellar editing skills!

I also want to thank you, my readers.  Some of you have faithfully read all my blogs, others have read only a few, and still others may have read only one.  Some of you I know, others I have met on social media, and some of you I have never met.  Whichever camp you fall into, thank you!  Thank you for taking the time to hear my heart!  Thank you for the comments you have shared!  Thank you for letting me be transparent with you!

I have no idea where “Graceful Transitions” is going in the future.  I have set some goals for the upcoming year. I want to continue to write posts weekly, trying to post fifty in this upcoming year.  I also want to continue to find my voice and refine my writing skills.  I also have plans for including more book reviews, potential lifestyle posts, and continued transparency about life transitions.  Along with writing my blog, I am also writing a book about restoration from childhood sexual abuse that I hope to publish by the end of 2021.  So, although I don’t know the future, I do know that, as long as God continues to give me the words, I will continue to be brave and write!

“Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of a friend springs from their heartfelt advice.” Proverbs 27:9

I discovered Anne Shirley of Green Gables in my late teens, first in the movies, and later in the books.  Prince Edward Island, puffed sleeves and raspberry cordial were part of my lexicon, along with the hidden desire to rename the Sheboygan Falls lagoon, “The Lake of Shining Waters”.  This quirky, adventurous, red-headed orphan, who romanticizes the trials in her life, desperately wants to fit in somewhere and longs for a bosom friend.  She finds this friend in a neighbor, Diana Barry, who Anne declares is her “kindred spirit.”

I think Anne’s plight resonates with so many of us because we all have a longing to feel connected with others, to have that “kindred spirit”.  This kindred spirit will not only know that we have a deep love for the color yellow, books and good coffee, but will also know that you don’t like fishing, are nervous around dogs, and have terrible handwriting.  More than that, this friend will know your heart, and despite the times you make mistakes or fall short, he or she will love, support and encourage you.

Recently, my husband shared some thoughts from a podcast about friendship that he had been listening to.  The speaker in the podcast shared that the typical lifespan of a friendship may only be three to five years.  She went on to say that a lifetime friendship that has spanned decades is a rarity and a special blessing.  This concept of transitory friendships has little to do with our shallowness as human beings, but rather with the seasons of our lives.  For example, while I was in college, I made some good friends.  These friends were the ones with whom I shared meals, inside jokes and college stresses for four years.  After college, we continued our friendships for a little while, but as our lives changed and went in different directions, the friendships faded.  Although I can keep up with their major life moments on social media, I would say these friendships have moved more into the category of acquaintances now.  Despite the shift, I am forever grateful for that season of friendship during college; they blessed my life, enriched me as a person, and left a mark that changed me.

In addition to my seasonal friendships, I have been blessed to have not just one, not two, but three friends who have reached lifetime status!  Two of the friendships have lasted for over 30 years and the third has spanned more than twenty-five years.  Despite not always living in the same place, we have shared major milestones together: college graduations, marriages, baby arrivals, home education, parenting journeys, children transitioning into adulthood, children getting married, and one of us becoming a grandmother.  Along with the milestones, we have shared some major losses: job transitions, moving, deaths of parents, health crises and marriage challenges.  No matter the milestones or losses, these friendships have remained a constant in my life that has provided me with balance, a listening ear, years of inside jokes, and decades of photos together, including some unfortunate fashion choices!

In today’s vernacular, some would call these three ladies “my squad”.  But I don’t want to reduce them to just a trendy hashtag because they are so much more than that.  They are not only my bosom friends and kindred spirits, but friends who have proven themselves to be some of my greatest treasures.  Upon reflection, I have learned some truths about friendship from these relationships.

1. First, lifetime friendships must be based on some fundamental principles not just a shared set of interests.  All these friendships have been based on our personal relationships with God.  It has kept our friendships centered by a set of common beliefs that shape and mold us.  It helps us to reach beyond our own personal capacity to give, but in a supernatural way, to pray and serve one another.  At different points in our lives, these ladies and I have prayed together at an altar.
2. Second, lifetime friendships need to be intentionally cultivated and maintained.  In the beginning, as in all relationships, we had some growing pains.  I know you may find it hard to believe (wink, wink), but I have not always been a good friend.  At times, I could be self-righteous and judgmental.  Yet, I have learned to ask for forgiveness, and I have worked to grow and change.  Offenses will come, even with the most wonderful friends.  Yet, I have learned to look at the hearts of my friends and be open to repairing the friendship.  Weeds will sprout up, but they do not have to choke the friendship. Once a friendship is established, I must maintain it by putting forth some effort.  Right now, only one of these friends lives within forty minutes of me, but for almost seven years, I was at least eight hundred miles away from each of them.  Despite the distance and the busyness of each other’s’ lives, we kept in regular contact.  We made a point of connecting, not just through texting, but through phone calls, letters, cards, and visits.  Social media was also a tool I used to keep updated on their lives.
3. Third, real friends help sanctify you.  All these women have helped me to become the women that I am today.  They have done this by not only sharing a common history, but also by not being afraid to speak truth into my life, each in her own unique voice.  Sometimes, God has used them to speak in gently, sometimes more directly, to point out a flaw in my thinking or character, and other times by just being an example of a Godly woman handling difficult situations in her own life.  From these women, I have learned to set healthy boundaries, to be more graceful, gentle, consistent, principled, and loving.

There are certain scents that instantly bring a feeling of pleasure to my life: the smell of coffee in the morning, chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven, and the smell of wood burning in a fireplace.  Solomon recognized the pleasure of scent when he wrote in Proverb 27:9, “Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of a friend springs from their heartfelt advice.”  Etsy creators and Hobby Lobby designers have summed up this proverb with these simple words, “Sweet friendships refresh the soul and awaken our hearts with joy.”  I am forever grateful for the lasting fragrance these three women have imprinted in my mind.  As surely as the smell of chocolate chip cookies tingles my taste buds, the friendships of these women refresh my soul and awaken my heart with joy!

“Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep” Romans 12:15

A few weeks ago, I threw my son’s airplane quilt into the garbage.  It signified the end of an era: the quilt was battered and frayed, worn out after covering my son for eight years while he slept.  I vividly remember searching eBay for the perfect quilt for Ethan, saving my pennies for just the right purchase.  Then, this quilt appeared in my feed, stitched airplanes framed in denim blue, exactly what I envisioned.  I placed my bid and waited not so patiently for me to win my purchase.  When the quilt arrived, Ethan picked out his favorite plane, then I placed the quilt on his bed for the next eight years.  As Ethan grew, I packed away the quilt, secretly hoping to repurpose it someday for his son!

That someday has arrived!  My first grandchild was born on July 16 at 5:00AM.  “Joel Daniel Collins has arrived!!!” was the text my son sent me early that morning.  My bleary-eyed husband beamed at the first pictures just as much as he had when he held his own children for the first time.  Soon, more pictures followed with more details.  Calls and texts were sent, and congratulations were given.  A week later, my husband and I traveled to meet this little man who had preoccupied our minds for the last eight months.  As we held him in our arms, we knew that our lives had been forever changed, just as they had when we held his daddy for the first time!

In anticipation of Joel’s arrival, his doting Aunt Maggie helped repurpose the soon to be discarded quilt.  She cut out one of the treasured stitched airplanes and framed it with the words, “Fly high little guy!”  This beautiful gift will hang in his room, along with the airplane shelf my husband has been building.  He also has great aunts on his mother’s side who have lovingly crocheted blankets for him, along with a crib that his dad and Rachel’s father carefully put together.  His drawers are filled with gifts of clothes, towels, and books from the shower that Rachel’s mom planned despite all the COVID-19 restrictions.  Rachel had carefully planned every detail of the nursery while anxiously anticipating his arrival.

This has been a stressful year for all of us across the world, with an illness we had never heard of, the increasing restrictions, learning how to function while social distancing, wearing masks, toilet paper shortages and social unrest.  Many of us have known people who have been sick with the virus, and some have lost loved ones.  Some of us have faced job challenges or have experienced severe deficits in our bank accounts.  Some have experienced major losses: weddings canceled, vacations put on hold, virtual graduations celebrated, or favorite summer traditions postponed.

Yet, one thing that has not been postponed is new life.  Joel made his way into this crazy world despite a pandemic, social unrest, and restrictions.  His first cry announced to his parents that he was here and that he needed them to care for him, providing him with shelter, food, and love!  Our “new normal” will just be normal for him.  He came with no expectations of what his world should look like.  He just came!

The day of Joel’s arrival, I sent out a picture to some of my dearest friends and family who rejoiced with me as I became a Mimi for the first time.  After gushing over the pictures, one of these dear friends, later sent me a message asking me to pray for her husband, who had been rushed to the hospital with severe back pain.  We both had been up all night, but for different reasons.  I was texting with my son’s mother-in-law, eagerly waiting for updates on Rachel and the baby.  My friend had been up all-night praying for her husband, waiting for updates from the hospital while consoling her young son who was worried about his dad.  Yet, despite her tiredness and concern, she still found time to congratulate me.

This friend is a beautiful example of how we should be treating one another, not just in a pandemic, but in every situation.  In Romans 12:15, Paul cautions believers, “Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.”  It is easy to get caught up in our own situations, whether they be moments to celebrate or moments to mourn.  We can become self-involved, focused on our own emotions, forgetting that someone around us might being experiencing the complete opposite.  I admit I have enjoyed some aspects of the pandemic.  My husband now works from home, eliminating his long commute, allowing me more time with him.  Yet, some of my friends have husbands who have been laid off, struggling to meet their monthly bills.  I must be careful that rejoicing over my blessings does not diminish my ability to weep with my friends in their struggles.

I think Paul’s advice reminds us that in any given moment, our friends are going through a wide variety of situations, and that we as loved ones, need to be mindful of others.  I have had a few friends go through infertility problems.  Despite trying to get pregnant for a few years, one of those friends made a conscious decision to support me in my pregnancy by being a major player in throwing my baby shower.  She chose to rejoice with me despite her own fertility struggles.  I have seen other friends who have also struggled with infertility choose not to attend someone else’s baby shower because it was too painful for them.  It would be easy to judge between those ladies and say that the one who took part in the shower was a “stronger Christian.”

But Paul does not say to us that we should only rejoice with those that deserve rejoicing, or only weep with those that deserve to be wept with.  He just says to respond with the same emotion that the person is displaying now.  Yes, it was selfless of my friend to throw me a shower, and yes it was selfless of my friend to congratulate with me on the arrival of Joel.  I am so thankful that both friends were able to rejoice with me in the moments.  But I can still weep for another friend who does not feel emotionally strong enough to celebrate a birth and weep for a friend’s whose husband is suffering severe back pain.

I do not know what the rest of 2020 holds for us.  I do not know if restrictions are going to increase or decrease.  But I do know, despite circumstances, that something wonderful can still be birthed in a moment of chaos.  “Joel Daniel Collins has arrived!!!” was a reminder to our family that, despite all the losses in 2020, there is new life!  And with this new life comes the promise of God’s faithfulness!