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Goodbye, Home

“The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.” Numbers 6:24-26

Dear Resident,

For the past 13 years, this house has been our home. We moved to Pennsylvania from Wisconsin when our children were tweens, filling the home with music, laughter, and memories. Additionally, between the in-home childcare I have done, and opening our home to visitors from out of state, this house has always been full. We have celebrated Christmases with 9 Annual Hot Chocolate Parties with homemade peppermint marshmallows. We also hosted many small bonfires where hot dogs were roasted, and children played “Ghost in the Graveyard.” We played many games of Canasta, Risk, and Monopoly. Our children crossed into adulthood here with the usual milestones: first jobs, driver’s licenses, graduating both high school and college, and even getting married. The last four years, new sounds have been heard when our grandchildren would come and visit, exploring our home, playing with the Yak (our furry white ottoman), and peeking out the windows looking for squirrels and bunnies.

We want to share with you a few things about your yard, some things we have planted and some that were here before us. The Jane Magnolia tree adjacent to the driveway was picked out in honor of my dear mother-in-law, who passed away in 2018 from breast cancer. It blooms in spring, but we have also seen a few blooms in the fall. The White Oak tree outside of the living room window is not dying, despite the brown leathery leaves still clinging to the branches in winter. This oak holds onto its leaves in winter as a form of protection. The Flowering Crabapple tree next to the oak is starting to fill out nicely. The maple tree off the patio was much smaller when we moved in. It has grown, and many children have found it delightful to climb among its branches.

The side of the house is full of blooming plants when spring and summer sweep in. The pink peony will bloom first, dripping with flowers. If you pick them in the morning, you are less likely to deal with ants. The white peony blooms next and is just as delightful. The hydrangea next to it hasn’t done as well. If you have a greener thumb than us, maybe you can coax it to flourish. Next to it are the climbing rose bushes that in some years are full of abundant blossoms. If all the leaves disappear in a day, it just means some deer have visited it in the evening. You can find some sprays to prevent them from munching on the rose bush leaves. On either side of the rose bushes are two purple rhododendrons. They bloom in spring and have beautiful purple flowers. Unfortunately, an evasive species, called the Tree of Heaven, is growing behind the bushes. We continuously cut it down, but it is persistent.

The ring outside the octagon window was here before we came. The azalea blooms in spring, looking like the bush is on fire with its vibrant blooms. We have also planted a rhubarb plant in the ring, it had a rough year last year, and hopefully this year it will be more productive, if you like rhubarb. Finally, in the past, we have planted Cosmos and Poppies in the ring.  They have repeatedly gone to seed, so you may see a few pop up in the summer, bringing some extra joy to the summer heat. Finally, we planted some lavender last spring. We are not sure if it will survive, but you may see it blooming as well. Next to the ring is a privet bush that grows very large but can be trimmed back if you desire.

Finally, the backyard has been one of our favorite places.  We see many birds in the spring: and some have even tried to create a nest in the various trees in the yard, and once even in our grill in the spring. Our children gifted us the lilac bush planted between the two yards, and it blooms in spring, filling the patio with its fragrance. There is another azalea bush beside it as well. We also have two thornless blackberry bushes on the rise in the back yard. If you want berries, you will have to get a net to cover them before the birds and squirrels get them. Also, beware of the slugs when you have a lot of rain. They cling to the drainpipe and leave trails across the patio. There is also another privet bush between the maple tree and the blackberry bushes.

The front of the house is flooded with sunshine, so whatever you plant there must be watered often. I have found zinnias do the best in the front of the house. We also put out potted mums in early October, they are more likely to survive from that point on with the sun.

We share this with you because we want you to know what to expect this spring. We hope the plants add to making this house feel like your home. We also believe that whether you own or rent, a home is created with love and community. We are sure you will decorate this place with your own style and create many memories. You may even decide you don’t like rhubarb and rip it out, and we are okay with that. We leave knowing that this house has served us well. If these walls could talk, they would tell you that it has been a home well-loved and well-cared for. We hope this place blesses your life for however long you live here. We know it has blessed our lives, and we leave a little bit of our hearts behind with it. This neighborhood is great, and you will enjoy the serenity and getting to know your new neighbors.

Welcome to this home: your home!

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Lessons From Dickens

Day 20: Lessons From Dickens

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” John 14:27

“Marley was dead” is the opening sentence in to one of the most beloved Christmas stories of all time.  Charles Dickens quickly penned the novella, “A Christmas Carol”, in six weeks, hoping to inspire England to celebrate Christmas with more charity, and to improve his own financial situation.  It is reported that as Scrooge was traveling London with ghosts on paper, Dickens himself was wandering the streets of London for inspiration.  In 1843, the people of London were divided into two different worlds.  The first world was filled with bounty, lavish homes and furnishings, and idle entertainment.  The second world, containing most of the population of London, was marked by a lack of food and clothing, children working twelve-hour days in factories, poor houses, and debtor’s prisons.  Dickens hoped that his little ghost story would “help open the hearts of the prosperous and powerful towards the poor and powerless.”  In his sixty-six-page manuscript, Scrooge’s encounters with ghosts lead to his redemption with the declaration, “I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.”  Not only did Scrooge redeem his life, Dicken’s “A Christmas Carol” helped reform much of London, inspiring changes not only in laws but also in hearts.

Like Scrooge, just maybe, I needed to redeem my Christmas in 2020.  This Advent season, I am using the quietness of Christmas in the middle of a pandemic as a reset for me.  I am not rushing around shopping, or busy with Christmas programs and activities.  Instead, I am spending that time leaning into Advent, exploring it through a few devotionals, rereading portions of scripture, and listening to Advent poetry.  For the first time, Terry and I are reading “A Christmas Carol” aloud together, engrossed in Dickens’ imagery with phrases like, “You may be an undigested bit of beef.”  I feel calmer and more peaceful than I ever have, even though my oven coil broke yesterday morning in the middle of cookie baking.  Even my research for my Advent blog posts has awakened a deeper curiosity about the big picture of Jesus’ birth and the redemption it brings for mankind.  Although I am looking forward to celebrating Christmas 2021 without a pandemic, like Scrooge, “I will not shut out the lessons” I have learned this Advent season!

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Atmosphere

“So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31

A few days ago, I woke with the sun peeking through my curtains. Clad in my pajamas, I headed downstairs to see that frost had blanketed the lawn, while the cool crisp air from outside had seeped into my home. Shivering, I adjusted the heat, covered up with one of my cozy throws, and opened my Bible. The heat kicked in, and the rising sun lit the room with a warm glow. But something didn’t quite feel right, and I knew instantly what was wrong. The icy fingers of the silence snatched away any warmth supplied by the throws, the sun, or the heat. I knew it was time to start filling the home with joyous Christmas music, and I knew just where to start. I asked Alexa to play “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” by The Piano Guys. Instantly, the mellow notes of the cello filled the room with hope, soon followed by the tinkling notes of the piano, giving the hope wings.  The atmosphere changed as peace and joy flooded my home and my soul.

It has been two weeks since the cacophony of the election ads, accusations from both sides, and shouts of despair have quieted. The polls have closed, and with that, ended one of our nation’s most tumultuous elections. Some who read these words spent the next day rejoicing, while others were in despair. I have had a lot of thoughts about this election, and how as a Christian I personally felt called to vote. I know my views were in direct opposition to many of my friends and surprised some on the other side. I have no intention of justifying my reasons or trying to persuade others of the wisdom of my decision. I can say that I thoughtfully prayed, listened carefully to some people I respect on the issues, and cast my vote, confident of making the right choice for my faith.

The biggest takeaway from the election is not about who was right and who was wrong. No one on either side can say in truth that God favored the winner and frowned upon the loser. They only thing we can definitively say is that God is in control. It’s also not important for me to lay out my own personal interpretation of why one candidate won and the other lost. I will leave that analysis to Tim Alberta, David French, and Sarah Steward Holland and Beth Silvers from Pant Suit Politics, a new independent podcast I have discovered. The real takeaway is this: how do I, as a Christian, move forward in our nation, sharing the peace, joy, and hope that I feel in Christ? How can I create an atmosphere that others of different beliefs can feel and maybe experience?

God prioritizes creating the right atmosphere. Eden was full of different fruits, plants, and animals, creating a beautifully diverse world. Later, God set up his tabernacle appealing to all our senses. He charged designers to carefully craft intricately carved gold furnishings. He had curtains carefully woven so that visually they told a story. Candles burned eternally, creating a place of reverence and light. He used special ingredients for the incense whose scent would distinctly remind visitors that this was the place where God dwelled. The sound of prayers offered up to God were heard throughout the tabernacle. Even the sense of taste was used in the tabernacle, when the priests ate the shewbread every Sabbath, reminding us that we need to come to God regularly for our daily needs.

Beyond the tabernacle, the New Testament exemplifies Jesus using His senses to minister to other’s needs. He saw the disreputable tax collector, Zacchaeus, hiding in a tree, and invited Himself over to Zacchaeus’ home. Virtue flowed out of Jesus when the hemorrhaging woman grasped His robe. His hands molded dirt with spit and placed this poultice on the eyes of a blind person to bring sight. He heard His disciples’ cries during an epic storm, responding to their fears by defying all scientific principles, calming the storm with His command. He ignored the scent of Lazarus’s decaying body, bringing life back to His friend.

As a Christian, I am called to be a witness for Christ by being a peacemaker, speaking truth with love, and glorifying God in everything I do. I can model myself after Jesus by engaging my senses to minister to those around me. Like Jesus, I can keep my eyes open for those who are marginalized and invite them over dinner. Showing hospitality opens doors for conversations with others who may not think or believe the way I do. I can pay attention to those who are in desperate situations and reaching out for help by acknowledging their identity in Christ. Jesus called the hemorrhaging woman His daughter, inviting her into relationship with Him. When I recognize everyone as being created in the image of God, respect should flow from me to them with my conversation and social medial posts. I can use my hands to minister to those who are in need by making meals, writing cards, or cleaning someone’s home when needed. When people feel stressed by what’s going on in the world, I can offer peace by remaining calm and listening to their concerns. Finally, when the stench of controversy and divisiveness floods social media and dinner tables, I can quietly turn the conversations back toward life by addressing the hard issues, and by acknowledging what Jesus cared about most: making broken people whole.

This doesn’t mitigate my concerns for the next four years. I have concerns that some potential cabinet candidates with checkered pasts relating to sexual misconduct and assault will silence victims and empower perpetrators by giving them legitimacy. I believe in strong borders but am concerned about the consequences mass deportation would have on those who are desperately trying to have a better life. Labeling immigrants, legal or not, as “not humans” or “Hannibal Lectors” denies the fact that all people are created in the image of God. I believe in the sanctity of life, but it goes far beyond a baby in the womb. I do not believe the incoming administration will offer support to single mothers by extending childcare credits or offering decent health insurance. And my list continues. But staying in a constant state of worry doesn’t move the dial forward toward solutions on any of the issues. Instead, I need to do my part whenever and wherever I can. I also can work toward being a peacemaker in my own circles.

Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Menus have been planned; turkeys will soon start their journey toward juicy, brown goodness; and pumpkin pie dreams fill my grandchildren’s heads. Often, our tables are full of people we love, but who think or believe differently than we do. I will sit at many tables during this holiday season where people think differently than I do. I am sure some of the conversations around the table will cross political lines. For me, I am going to try to create an atmosphere around these tables that represents Jesus, sharing the hope, peace, and joy I feel. These will always remain no matter who is president.

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Roller Coaster Launch

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to weep, and a time to laugh;a time to mourn, and a time to dance:” Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

My husband used to be a roller coaster enthusiast. He loved the thrills, stomach-lurching drops, and the speed of racing down the track. He beamed when he reminisced about trips to Six Flags Great America, a Chicago area amusement park. We even chose to spend one day there during our honeymoon. When our children finally reached the necessary height to ride the coasters, he gleefully explained the various rides they would encounter at the park. He may have even drawn a diagram for my son who loved the details.

We arrived early at the park on a bright, sunny summer day. The children skipped along with their father, excited to experience the thrills. We decided to start with a small coaster, to break them in gently. This one had no loops, just a few drops, and lots of twisty curves. While we waited in line, both our kids were chatty, excited to share their dad’s enthusiasm.

However, as we entered the cars, I saw a flash of uneasiness on my cautious son’s face. I tried to encourage him, and as we sat next to each other on the ride, I could see that he was not enjoying the twists or speed. When we got off, Terry’s animated face asked both children what they thought, expecting hurrahs and shouts of “Let’s keep going!” Ethan reluctantly shared his true feelings, desperately not wanting to disappoint his father. Terry understood Ethan’s trepidation and affirmed his concerns. So, he grabbed the hand of Maggie, our constant thrill seeker since toddlerhood, and went on to another coaster. But much to his dismay, he realized halfway through the ride, Maggie’s screams were not joyful, instead full of fear. The rest of day was spent watching shows and eating amusement park food.

It has been a while since I have come to the keyboard to write. The past month and half, my book launches consumed my energy and time. I experienced a roller coaster of emotions, some completely unrelated to the release of the book. It felt like my own twisted version of reality TV was flashing before my eyes.

About a month and half before the book launched, I found a lump in my breast. The first available appointment was the morning of my book release. I tried to ignore the lump, truly believing it was nothing significant. But every evening, I verified that it was still there, and wondered: Was this the beginning of my ending? Instead of having a cup of coffee lazily starting my day as I confirmed on social media that people were buying my book, I was squeezed and flattened to take the necessary images. Fortunately, after the examination, the radiologist informed me that nothing was wrong.

Two weeks prior to that, I found out that one of my sisters from my biological father had died unexpectedly. In Reclaimed & Restored, I share how I discovered in the last few years that I have more siblings. My only contact with her had been a few Facebook messages in the last year with the hope of meeting someday. I had a hard time processing her death: how do you mourn what should have been? The only bright side is that a few friends of hers reached out to me and shared that she was joyful and full of hospitality. I also connected with a cousin who shared the only pictures of my grandmother, Jessica Whitefeather, I have ever seen. I inherited her high cheekbones and her love for gingham.

I love my non-profit job, and I have been overwhelmed with the generosity of individuals, businesses, and churches during this holiday season. I regularly get new information from others on how they want to give, organize drives, and feed our clients. The time spent following up on these opportunities is all-consuming. Thus, Microsoft Excel has moved into the “friend zone” because it helps me keep track of all the generosity.

Additionally, we ordered author copies of my book for the book launch. Three days before the actual launch, Amazon had not updated my shipping information. Borderline late for a meeting, I sat in my car trying to figure out with a customer service representative where my books were. They hesitantly guaranteed that the books would arrive on time. I chose not to put my faith in them, but in God, trusting that these books would arrive. And they did, one day after my phone call. I opened the box and tears flowed with gratitude and awe! I was an author; Amazon verified it.

Grandma Jessica Whitefeather

This roller coaster of activity and emotion caught up with my body a few days before the launch. Having RA, I started what is referred to as a flare. All my joints were swollen and painful. I experienced stiffness after sitting, and pain when I moved. RA fatigue kicked in, making me exceptionally tired. And on top of that, because of my compromised immune system, I couldn’t shake the cold I had. I am looking forward to following up with the rheumatologist in December, when I will be back on the much-needed medicine. But until then, I will continue to struggle.

Finally, the book launch weekends came with a roller coaster of emotions: delight, joy, and some anxiety. I was glad that both my children and their families were able to attend the book launch in Chambersburg. My sister, Cheryl, sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and I celebrated by doing shots of espresso with some of my closest friends, signing books, and reading two excerpts. I left the first book launch in awe of the generosity of an anonymous benefactor who paid my event space rental fee!

No words can adequately express my feelings about the book launch in Wisconsin. I was surrounded by friends and family from all different points in my life who came to celebrate with me. People traveled for hours to attend the launch. Most importantly, some of my heroes were there: my Aunt Debbie, Bob and Roxanne St. Pierre, Tina and Claudette Weiterman, and Michele Cassaday. These people played pivotal roles in my life, and you read about them in my book. There were a lot of big feelings that day, but mostly I sat in awe of what God has done and continues to do in my life.

The thrill or fear of a roller coaster only lasts a few minutes. After the ride, you unbuckle the harness, put your feet firmly back on the ground, and continue to live. I feel like the last few months have been a continuous roller coaster. Now, I am off the ride with my feet back on the ground. And I need to continue to live my ordinary but extraordinary life. I do this best when I process my experiences through writing my blog and my next book. There are a lot of things I plan to write about, including my feelings about the election and a big move we are making.

I will continue unashamedly encouraging readers to buy Reclaimed & Restored from Amazon. I believe that this little book can impact others. If you have already bought it, when you finish, please review it on Goodreads and Amazon. Thanks!

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Reclaimed & Restored

“Your faithfulness endures to all generations; you have established the earth, and it stands fast.” Psalm 119:90

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Today is the day! After a lifetime of experiences and almost 5 years of writing, Reclaimed & Restored is officially published. I am going to celebrate with family and friends for the next week at my two book launches. If you can’t make it, be sure to order a copy for yourself and a friend. God is so faithful, and I can’t wait to see how He uses this little book to help others.

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Dear Little Sherry

“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,” Psalm 127:3

Dear Little Sherry,

            I want to start off by saying I love you and I am so thankful that you were brave and survived, but I so wish things had been different for you.

            I wish you had had pretty dresses that you could twirl in. I wish you could have felt like a princess and beamed with delight that you were enough. I am sorry that you wore leggings and jeans that were ripped in between your legs because of your thighs rubbing together. I am sorry that you had to wear the army green jacket that made you feel ugly. I would give you more pink and yellow, colors that made you feel beautiful and cheerful, the child you were meant to be.

            I wish someone had taken the time to make breakfast for you. I wish they had poured your cold grape juice in a glass like you preferred and made you soft scrambled eggs or oatmeal. You deserved someone to make your favorite meal special.

            I wish you had laughed more and not been laughed at. I would sit with you and watch the funny cartoons like Bugs Bunny and listen to your giggle. I am sure your laughter would have filled the room with sunshine.

            I wish you had played more. I don’t remember when you stopped playing, but I know you have no memories of toys or using your imagination except to escape your abuse. I can imagine you playing for hours with things like Barbies or baby dolls. Maybe you would have built things with blocks or designed pictures with art supplies.

            I wish someone had written notes to you on your first day of school, letting you know they believed in you and that you would make friends. I wish someone had told you that you were a good big sister, and not held you accountable for all the things that went wrong.

            I wish you had been tucked in at night, with a special blanket and stuffed animal, and had a story read to you that made you dream. I wish someone would have asked you what your favorite thing was for the day, and you would tell them about a fun activity at school. I wish you had a safe place to go when you had nightmares, instead of trembling in your bed from the fear of something that no child should ever dream of, let alone experience.

            I wish someone had encouraged you to take more walks in nature and look for the beauty God had created. As an adult, you get excited when you see vibrant verdant moss covering a path or wild purple mushrooms growing next to a tree. I can only imagine the squeals of delight you would have made as a child seeing the explosive beauty of nature. I wish someone had taken you to the library after these walks so your insatiable curiosity could be satisfied instead of spending hours in front of the television.

            I wish you had someone safe to share your common childhood disappointments with, instead of stuffing them with food. When you were bullied on the bus, I wish you had been able to come home and tell someone, instead of coming home to endure more bullying. I wish when you realized you couldn’t sing on key or dance with rhythm, that someone had told you to sing and dance anyway. I wish they had played your favorite music and had a dance party with you at home.

            I wish someone had encouraged you to write, even if you struggled with your penmanship. I wish they would have realized how much you identified with Jo in Little Women and bought you a desk so you could create stories and newspapers. I wish they had bought you special journals so you could write down what you observed.

            I wish someone had shown you how to file your nails, fix your hair with a curling iron, and walk in high heels. I wish you had always had clean towels, top sheets, and fruity smelling lotion. I wish you hadn’t felt the responsibility of keeping the house clean by doing hours of laundry and dishes, only to find your attempts futile.

            I wish so much for you little Sherry, and I hope, as an adult, you find restoration for all the things that were taken from you.

                                                                                                Love, Sherry

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Prologue: Sunshine

“See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.” 1 John 3:1

It was a Saturday morning when God ushered a healing moment into my life. It didn’t happen with me crying at the altar, pouring my heart out to the Lord, although moments have happened there. It didn’t happen with me coming to a revelation while engaged in professional counseling, although at times it has happened there. It didn’t happen with me finding a scripture and dissecting it till it imprinted meaning on my life, although it has happened there, too. Instead, it happened on an ordinary morning where I was unexpectedly graced with the Lord’s gift of restoration.

My husband, Terry, had had a busy week at work and at church. I can’t recall the exact details of what was going on. It could have been late nights due to overtime, or maybe he was working on putting some music together for choir, but whatever the reasons, my 4-year-old blond-haired, blue-eyed daughter, Maggie, had felt slightly neglected by her father. She had been playing quietly on the floor when her dad stepped into the room. She pleaded with her soft, sweet voice saying, “Daddy, can you please sit down by me?” He quickly plopped on the floor next to this child that we called our sunshine. She sat across from him and said, “Daddy, I’ve missed you. Can you please just hold my hands?” Terry gently took his large man hands and held the dainty hands of our daughter for a few moments, just gazing with love and wonderment in his eyes. He then quietly whispered the words “I love you,” and she beamed with joy, her mouth smiling widely, causing her eyes to crinkle.

Maggie and Terry on her wedding day!

At that exact moment, I felt God’s peace flood my soul. In Philippians 4:7 (ESV), scripture describes this as “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding.” I felt God whispering to me that this is an example of the beautiful relationship He intended all daughters to have with their fathers. It is the relationship He, as my Heavenly Father, intended for me, His daughter, to have with Him. He continued to whisper that He was going to use my daughter’s relationship with her father to demonstrate to me what He intended. My daughter’s healthy relationship with her father would provide restoration for my troubled and ugly childhood. No, it would not erase my memories of what had happened. No, it would not make everything better. No, it would not answer all the why’s in my life. But He would take the brokenness in my life and continue the work of restoring me. He would show me how much He had loved me even when I was being abused and neglected by the man I called my father. He would show me the beauty of restoration.

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Restoration: The Post That Led to My Book

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6 ESV

Note to Reader: This blog was previously posted in June 2020 as a test to see if I could put my story out to the world. You will learn in my upcoming memoir, how I reacted to my first post.

Last Sunday marked another year; another year I did not buy a Father’s Day card for my father. In fact, I don’t recall ever buying a card for either my biological father, or my stepfather. It is possible that in grade school I may have made a card, but I have no clear memory of doing so. I have purchased cards for my husband, celebrating the wonderful, nurturing father he has been to our children. I have also bought cards for my grandfather, my father-in-law and my uncle, who acted as positive male role models in my life. Yet, I will never make a warm sappy post highlighting that I am still a “Daddy’s girl” on Instagram. I will never share a picture of my father walking me down the aisle on my wedding day, instead it was my uncle who fulfilled that role. The harsh reality is that I don’t have a father to celebrate or honor!

For you to understand my situation, I will share a brief history of my family. My biological father signed away his parental rights when I was a baby. I did meet him once and subsequently decided the relationship was not worth an investment. I was raised by my stepfather, an alcoholic who sexually abused me. He was later arrested and convicted of sexual assault. It’s easy to understand why I don’t buy a Father’s Day card for either of them.

I could close my blog right now, and I am sure comments of sympathy and empathy would ensue. I might even get questions about the details, or about the importance of expressing forgiveness. But not spending $5.99 for a Hallmark sentiment on Father’s Day is just a prologue to the main story. It doesn’t tell the story of a woman in her late forties who cherished and treasured every picture her friends shared on Father’s Day with their own amazing dads. It doesn’t tell about the woman who loves to plan a full day celebrating her husband on Father’s Day. It doesn’t show the restoration that has taken place.

Restoration is defined as the action of returning something to a former condition. I love old furniture, but unlike antique purists such as my father-in-law, I don’t love to restore furniture. Instead, I love to paint pieces a fun, new color and replace the old hardware. It fits my décor style and takes less time. And a good coat of paint can cover up a lot of damage. But true restoration takes time and effort. Often, you have strip away the old finish, sand the piece down, and carefully stain it to its former glory. My husband and I toured The Breakers, the old Vanderbilt mansion in Newport, Rhode Island. The curators of this mansion did an amazing job trying to find as many original period pieces as possible to furnish the house. The restoration of these pieces was carefully done and is priceless, demonstrating the amazing craftsmanship of the designer!

Picture Credit to Margaret Diller

Imagine with me that when I was born, I was a beautiful table, designed and carefully carved by God himself. My wood grain was stained carefully to let the beauty of the piece shine through. Yet, within a few short years of my life, this table was damaged beyond recognition by misuse and abuse. In some areas, the beautiful wood grain was marred with scratches that cut deeply into its surface. It no longer functioned as a table and most people would not have even bothered trying to sell it at their yard sale. Its battered surface and legs looked worthless and unsalvageable.

Thirty-one years ago, this table, my life, was on its way to the dump, all but crushed by the weight of worries and burdens I was never meant to carry. I had just shared with the police and social workers the details of my years of sexual abuse. My stepfather was immediately arrested, and I was experiencing post-traumatic shock. Yet, within a few months, I experienced the love of Jesus, an unconditional love that forever changed my life. Being filled with His spirit, I felt peace amidst the chaos, pain and brokenness.

This infilling of God’s spirit was the beginning of the restoration process. This involved therapy with counselors, but a lot of the process involved God using His word, His spirit, and His body of believers to restore me. Some of the process involved stripping me of the wounds of abuse, carefully sanding my distorted thoughts and views to bring out the beautiful grain. It included refinishing me with a new stain, restoring in me the trust and beauty found in a marriage, family and friends. It entailed ripping out damaged places such as coping mechanisms that led to food addiction and replacing them with new, sturdier hardware, including the satisfaction and fulfillment found only in God. This restoration didn’t happen overnight, and I can’t say that it is complete, yet. I can’t say that there aren’t some scars underneath the table that still need to be uncovered and healed. However, I can say that God has done an incredible work in my life, restoring me to what He had intended from the beginning. I am not the same table that I was when I was born. God, through his restoration process, has created a new masterpiece that reflects His amazing craftsmanship!

This is just a glimpse into a major project I am working on: writing a book about the restoration of a life. In this blog I have used the metaphor of restoring a piece of furniture for simplicity’s sake. In my book, I am relating my life to the restoration of a home, a deeper and more involved project than a simple table. My goal in the book is to walk you through my restoration process, unfolding how God has ministered to me in different areas of my life. This journey of restoration is my story, but I believe, whether it is childhood trauma, as in my case, or a failed marriage, an unexpected death, or any situation that causes us to be broken, we all have areas where we need God’s intervention to help bring us back to a place of restoration. In Jeremiah 30:17, the Lord prophesies, “For I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds.” According to the Matthew Henry commentary, most of Jeremiah’s prophecies fall in the area of reproof and threats. Yet, this chapter is one of two chapters that stand out as a source of comfort and hope. Despite the effects of sin, whether self-induced, or inflicted by others, God had a plan to restore His people to health and heal their wounds. This promise was not only for Israel, but for us, today, as well!

Father’s Day will arrive every year for the rest of my life, and there will always remain some “nevers” in my life, including never buying my father a Father’s Day card. But this is not a source of pain or contention for me, but rather a reminder of God’s grace and love. Like the Apostle Paul says in Philippians 1:6, “Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in “Sherry” will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” God has begun a good work in me, and I can’t wait to finish my book so that you can read about it!

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Impact That is Not Forgotten

“In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” Matthew 5:16 ESV

I don’t remember the exact details or even the words she said to me, but an older classmate in my small high school bullied me. She may have commented on my weight or called me a geek; I just knew she didn’t like me. I can still picture her feathered 80s hair, frosted jeans, and the denim jacket she wore. She often would sneer at me from across the hall, and this look warned me to avoid being in her space. When she gathered with her friends to smoke outside of the school, I walked around the building to another entrance. After she graduated, I forgot about her. But all that irrational fear came back when I saw her fourteen years later when I was at the beach with my family. I saw her across the crowd with that same feathered hair style from high school. Instantly, fear rose up in me, and I felt myself start to panic. I couldn’t believe that years later, I was still having this visceral reaction to a person whose name I couldn’t even recall. But I couldn’t deny it, the reaction was there. Just like in the past, I looked for ways to extradite myself and my family from being in her presence.

In reflecting back on this incident, I highly doubt she would have remembered me. Even if she had, she may not have even known that I was afraid of her. But it is amazing how negative experiences can imprint memories that are not forgotten by us or our nervous systems. On the flipside, I think it is more important to remember and thank those who have fostered positive experiences in our lives. Even more importantly, I think all of us should strive to make a positive impact on those around us.

This summer, within six weeks of each other, two men from the same family passed away.  Michael Wasmundt and Alex Bruce Dicker were brothers-in-law, loved Jesus, and deeply loved the same woman, Judy, who was Michael’s sister and Bruce’s wife. But their commonalities ended there. Michael suffered with some health issues, and because of these challenges, his world centered on the church his father pastored. For many years, he faithfully played worship music in his church, and on the side, played classical pieces of music as well. He told what we today would call “dad jokes,” often eliciting a chuckle or even sometimes a groan. Being more introverted, Michael expressed himself both in music and poetry. He lived a quiet life and died with his sister, Judy by his side.

Bruce, on the other hand, was larger than life. On the extrovert scale, Bruce tipped the scale moving me and other extroverts more to the center. He lived big, being a child evangelist with his wife Judy for many years. He was a natural entertainer, part of the illusionist and magician circles, owning his own business where he performed for corporate parties. His jokes and pranks were legendary. He later worked for the State Department in various countries. He loved to travel and developed friendships across the world. He played music also, once picking up my son’s guitar and playing some riffs from a classic rock song. He was fun to be around, and no one could ever say they had a dull moment with Bruce. He died from a blood clot almost six weeks after his brother-in-law while still working in Europe and waiting to retire at the end of the month.

Both men are featured in my upcoming memoir, Reclaimed & Restored, where I write about how they impacted my life. Michael, in his quiet way, felt led to pray for me every day after I attended his church as a Sunday school student. He kept me on his prayer list, even when I stopped coming to Sunday School. It wasn’t just a simple prayer, but one with intensity, asking God to protect me and help me feel the love of God. Michael had no way of knowing the sexual trauma I was experiencing during the time he prayed. I believe that those consistent and faithful prayers brought me into a relationship with the Lord after I reported the abuse. I am forever grateful to this man and his prayer life.

Bruce also had some spiritual insight into my life as a new Christian. By all accounts, I was doing well, succeeding in college and still living out my faith. But I was a new Christian and although I loved Jesus, I didn’t really know Jesus. If I made time to read my Bible, I read it superficially and didn’t take time to study it. Bruce saw that my foundation was weak and orchestrated a Taco Bell meeting with a friend of his. There, both men talked with me about my beliefs and asked me to support them with the Bible. I was flabbergasted, because I couldn’t give one scripture to support what I believed. I left Taco Bell, feeling unsure of my faith. Bruce left Taco Bell, unsure if he had done the right thing. But he did! I went home that day, and spent some time in prayer, recommitting myself to God and determined to invest more time in building my relationship with God.

Both men, in their own unique ways given their personalities, made a lasting impact on my life. One’s prayers led me to faith; the other’s thoughtful intervention helped me become rooted in my faith. They did it because they saw a need and acted upon what they saw. They purposed to make an impact on a young girl’s life that changed her story. Since moving to Pennsylvania, I have seen both intermittently. My last phone call with Michael was two years ago, while he was recuperating in a nursing home. I thanked him for his impact on my life. My last visit with Bruce was almost three years ago, when we laughed as usual listening to Bruce’s stories.

Impact, as defined, states that the action of one object comes forcibly into contact with another. The word force here is interesting. Something or someone propels an action to connect one object with another object. We all know how ice can cause a car to slip and forcibly hit another car, causing damage. But can the application of force ever be good, making a positive impact?

Late last winter, Terry and I made Tartine Bakery’s famous morning buns. Chad Robertson and Elizabeth Prueitt developed this laminated dough recipe that is hailed by other bakers and pastry chefs as one of the best in the world. This dough took three days to make, involving multiple steps and techniques. Terry spent a lot of time and used a lot of muscles rolling out chilled dough and a frozen butter block together, folding it into an envelope and re-rolling it. This technique produced the layers of buttery, flakey croissant texture that crackled after the morning buns were done. His exertion with the rolling pin impacted the dough for good. He was only successful by patiently waiting for the dough to be ready and working quickly.  If at any point, he let the dough get to room temperature, the butter would melt into the dough, losing the beautiful layers we were looking for.

My book is full of people who made an impact on my life. These impacts were not casual encounters, but intentional moments where individuals set aside their lives to impact a young person. I look back and think of all the people who stepped into my life at critical moments, and I am forever grateful. They sacrificed, they exerted positive pressure when needed, and they helped shape me into the person I am today. Some were teachers, others were school counselors, and one was a sixteen-year-old girl who brought a teddy bear to me in the hospital. Each of them is a part of my story.

Michael and Bruce will never be able to read what I wrote about them. But I did manage to find time to express my gratitude while they were still alive. Reclaimed & Restored is a memoir of my life recovering from sexual trauma. I hope it inspires other survivors to see a path towards healing and wholeness. This is the big level of impact I hope my book makes. But on a more subtle level, I hope my book inspires all those who are expressing kindness, insight, and prayers towards people who seem to be struggling, to continue their efforts. This impact can make a lasting positive impression on someone’s life.

Finally, if you are someone who prays, keep Judy Dicker in your thoughts and prayers. Losing anyone you love is hard, but losing two of the people you are the closest to in so short a time is unimaginable.

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Pickleball and Crunch Cone

“And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in its streets.” Zechariah 8:5

My husband loves spreadsheets, nerds out over tornadoes and wall clouds, and can tell you the chord progression of a song without having played it. With all his attention to detail, you might be surprised to know this doesn’t carry over into games of strategy. Before we were married, we played 42, a dominoes game, with a group of friends. Played with a partner, it requires strategy without audible cues. After switching partners across the evening, one of our friends pointed out that Terry was the common factor in losing the game. This observation, while meant to be funny, embarrassed my husband.

Terry being the losing combination changed a few Saturdays ago. We finally got to play pickleball and it was a blast. My husband was grinning from ear to ear and said, “This is the most fun I’ve had all summer!” With a group of friends and their children, we tailgated brunch and played pickleball for two hours. After playing a few games, we found the common factor in winning: Terry!  He caught on to the game quickly and played with finesse. His best partner was twelve-year-old Alex, who is a natural at any sport.

The combination of kids and summer exudes adventure and utter delight. They slurp snow cones with no worries as the blue raspberry syrup runs down their chins and stains their fingers and clothes. In the evenings, fireflies enchant them to dance amongst these miniature stars. They giggle as they run through sprinklers, not bothering to wipe the water from their faces. They curl up in a hammock, lost in a library book, forgetting to eat lunch. Dandelions become magical fairy dust when they blow the seeds across the yard. Games like kick-the-can, ghost-in-the-graveyard, and ball tag become adventures as children from all over the neighborhood join in. Then they fall asleep, after a long day of doing everything and nothing at the same time.

As adults, we lose that sense of wonder and utter delight we felt throughout childhood summers. We complain about the oppressive heat, the weeds in our yards, and our never-ending to-do lists. We worry about eating too many calories and the fact that we haven’t read a book for fun in years. We go to bed exhausted, having accomplished a lot, but really doing nothing that sparks any joy in our lives.

I get it. We carry more burdens than my four-year-old grandson who giggled insanely while jumping through his dinosaur sprinkler. We dread the blue raspberry stains on the new shirt we just bought our kids along with the snow cone sugar rush that will prevent them from sleeping at bedtime. We must prepare meals, wash laundry, and clean bathrooms. We need adequate rest to be functional at work the next day, but all too often wake up just as exhausted as we were the night before.

As an empty nester, I don’t have kids to worry about, but somehow my life still gets busy. I don’t have to pick up after children, but I have filled my life with different sorts of responsibilities, including volunteering within my church. I am also working on editing my book, writing this blog, and researching for a future book, all while working part-time. At the end of the day, I find it easier to stream a show than to dive into a book for fun.

A few weeks ago, I was in Wisconsin for the wedding of my friends’ daughter who married a young man from my church in PA. My daughter had been anticipating this trip for weeks, having not been in Wisconsin since 2020. Her whole posture was that of a child in summer: she jumped out of the car when we arrived at the lake and ran to dip her toes in the sand. On her behalf, her husband set an early alarm for a trip to Piggly Wiggly for the best donuts. She visited some of our favorite local shops and exhibited utter glee over her visits to Culver’s, in her mind the best fast-food restaurant in the nation.

Usually, I compete with Maggie to see who has the highest level of excitement. In most cases, my stronger extrovert nature and my hometown love usually put me a few points in the lead. But this year, my level of excitement was lackluster. It reminded me of the hot wet oatmeal mush I ate when my sense of taste and smell was gone from the Covid-19 virus in 2021. The oatmeal had as much flavor as I had excitement for going to Wisconsin. I was looking forward to seeing my friends and family. I was looking forward to the wedding. I was looking forward to visiting some of my favorite places. But as much as I was looking forward to all of this, I just couldn’t conjure up my normal level of excitement.

Despite my love for all things Wisconsin, my lack of excitement had to do with the timing of the trip. My sweet granddaughter, Charlotte, was born at the beginning of June, and I spent two weeks with them soaking up baby snuggles and toddler antics. I came back home to start my new job and finalize plans for VBS. Meanwhile, I caught a virus and struggled for the next month with exhaustion, coughing, and a touch of laryngitis. Next, we spent a long weekend in Rhode Island to celebrate Joel’s 4th Dino Birthday, only to leave a week and a half later for Wisconsin. The idea of taking this trip while still struggling with exhaustion seemed hard.

This chaotic schedule was mostly outside of my control. I can’t control the birth of babies to align with my plans. I also couldn’t control the virus that added to my exhaustion. The new position that I accepted was too perfect to pass up. Celebrating with Joel on his birthday and with my friends on their daughter’s wedding day was important to me. The only thing I could control was the plans I made for VBS. Although I could have been slightly more organized in my plans, overall, my organization would have been fine sans a new job and sickness. It was a brief two and half months where things collided together in a chaotic swirl, leaving me exhausted.

I shared with Terry how exhausted I was and how much I was struggling with this trip. He, too, was exhausted, but tried to encourage me to think about how seeing my friends and family would energize me. He reminded me of the sound of the lake and some of my favorite restaurants. I still wasn’t feeling the vibe he was trying to send me until the vision of a Dairy Queen twist Crunch Cone danced into my head.

For all of you who live in the mid-Atlantic region, ice cream cones in the Midwest can be either dipped in a chocolate coating or sprinkled with a delectable mixture of crumbled peanut brittle and sprinkles called a Crunch Cone. As a child, I loved it even if a pile of sprinkles fell in my lap. It was one of the only toppings I liked on ice cream. I tried to like Blizzards when they became the craze but found the cold candy against the ice cream to be unpleasant. I soon went back to ordering the Crunch Cone. One of my disappointments about moving to Pennsylvania was that none of the Dairy Queens here sold this topping. When I tried to order it across the state, and even further down south in Maryland and Virginia, I would often be met with glazed eyes as if I had ordered something in an unknown language. But at the Dairy Queen in my hometown where I used to work, they still carried my favorite topping.

The vision of sprinkles and chopped peanut brittle on ice cream inspired me to move from malaise to excitement. It brought back a simple childhood delight, helping me to push through the waves of heaviness to what was important. I loved Wisconsin: the food, the memories, and most importantly, the friends and family who are dear to me. Yes, I was at the end of a chaotic season, and curling up in my bed vegging out while streaming TV shows sounded like a good idea. But that activity would not bring life to me, instead it would numb me, ultimately leaving me feeling empty.  Just like a child in summer, I sometimes need to embrace what really matters in life. For me, that meant embracing all that Wisconsin means to me.

I did not find rest in the traditional sense in Wisconsin. I spent a lot of time visiting our old haunts, staying up late, and spending time with friends and family. I laughed a lot, cried a little, and mostly soaked up as much time as I could with the people dearest to me. It was good and it was restful for my soul. I crawled into bed each night and slept soundly, doing nothing and everything at the same time.

Summer is slowly creeping to an end. The mornings are already starting to feel cooler and soon the September crickets will be playing their soulful music. A few years from now, I will have a vague recollection of how busy this summer was. Instead, I will remember seeing my beautiful granddaughter the day of her birth. I will remember waking up Eva and Joel and having breakfast with them. I will remember being in Wisconsin, laughing and creating new memories with my family and friends. I will remember Terry and Alex being the stars of the pickleball court. I may even remember going through the drive thru at Dairy Queen and ordering my Crunch Cone.