Letters from my Sisters

“Would anyone like more coffee?” Our gracious host for the evening asked as we sat around the dining room, quite contented from our meal. After a bowl of home cooked soup and a sampling of each of the scrumptious casseroles and salads, a steaming hot cup of coffee seemed to be the only thing left to do before our devotion began.

Later, with a kitchen chair under my arm, I followed the rest of the ladies to the cozy fire lit family room. A soft verse of “Jesus Is Lord” seemed to soothe away the stresses and worries of the day as we settled in. Our speaker for the evening, had prepared a lesson centered on the importance of Christian relationships among women.

After her heartfelt lesson, she stood up and began to hand out pieces of paper, face down, to a few of us women. With a puzzled look, we took them, and one by one, we turned them over to read to the other ladies as she asked us to do. The first letter was from a lady in our congregation, who had suffered the loss of a child. She wrote about her experience and the sadness that often fills her heart. At the end, however, her letter was about inspiration and about the love she feels from her Christian sisters. That love, along with the knowledge that she’ll someday be reunited with her son, comforts her.

Written by another lady in our circle, was a letter about the loss of her husband a few years back. She talked about the support and sustenance that her sisters gave her. There was a letter from my Mother thanking her dear friend for lovingly lifting her spirits when she went through a frightening medical scare last year. Yet another lady told of how the love and support of her church family helped her place things into a whole new perspective, while struggling with difficulties inside her family. We listened intently to emotional outpourings of gratitude and thankfulness these women felt because of their church family and more importantly, their Christian sisters. For a moment, the emotion of each experience was almost as real as it was when it first happened. A few sniffles could be heard underneath the reading of each letter.

As we circled the room, we came upon the last letter of the evening. The tear that I’d been trying to stifle rolled down my cheek when I saw who had written the letter; it was our host for the ladies fellowship. In her home throughout the evening, I had seen walls filled with pictures and other remembrances of her husband, whom she recently lost. I knew this letter was going to get me.

She began by recounting all the times that people brought by food, sent warm wishes, made phone calls, and came by just to visit. Just as everyone’s eyes filled up with tears, the person reading the letter stopped and said…

“And then there was the time, last summer, when I fell off the chair, while hanging wallpaper, and broke my arm. People helped me around the house and brought many hot meals over. And for that I just want to say thanks to all of the women…well…except for one…the one who pushed me out of the chair.”

The expression on her best friend’s face, who was there hanging wallpaper with her, was priceless. In the midst of tears, our group of ladies broke out in much-needed laughter. I couldn’t help but think about how, so often, that describes our experiences in life. Just when we feel that we’re reaching our emotional limit with the sorrows in life, God rescues us with a bit of good ol’ laughter…and so often through our sisters.

Sweet is the voice of a sister in the season of sorrow. ~Benjamin Disraeli

Lady and the Champ

Written in 2007. (Oh how things have changed even since then.)

Our first house… it was haven of glorious, mature, Maple trees. We were just outside of Nashville, but when you drove down our street, you felt as though you had entered the Smokey Mountains of East Tennessee. In the middle of the day, all you could hear out on the front porch was the rustling of leaves and… the occasional barking of one of the neighborhood dogs. There were several, but two little hound dogs, named Lady and Champ, stole my heart the day we moved in. They were like a couple that’d been married for years. Never would you see one without the other trailing closely behind. Even though they belonged to our next-door neighbors, Ronnie and Patty, they spent many cold winter nights curled up together in our basement on a warm blanket. We considered them part of our family and you would’ve thought they had been for years the way they’d come running when they saw us pulling into the drive. At our feet, Champ would drop to the ground and roll his plump self over to generously offer himself to anyone who might want to scratch a sweet auburn-haired beagle’s tummy. They never missed a chance for affection and they never missed a cookout. When we moved, I cried. I had to leave those beautiful trees and I had to leave Lady and Champ asleep on the front porch with no idea that we weren’t coming back.

We’ve been in our new house now for over three years now. Just the other day, Mike walked in and said, “Ronnie and Patty moved. Did you know that?”

“No I didn’t.” I replied. When I thought about what he had said I envisioned the house being empty. If Ronnie and Patty had moved, then that meant that Lady and Champ were gone too. Suddenly I felt so sad. They were gone. I would never see those little hound dogs again. My heart sunk.

I thought so much about them that day. As afternoon came around, Shane came bounding down the stairs and asked if we could go outside and play. When we did, I looked around at all the trees that we’ve planted and how, just this year, they were really beginning to blossom. I waved at my neighbor across the yard, who has become a dear, dear friend of ours. And out of nowhere came Cowboy, the rambunctious, but gentle German Shepherd from next door, with whom Shane has become the best of buddies.

As I stood in my yard watching my son play, I realized something very important. I left my last home with the comfort that I could always go back and visit the things I missed most. I had every intention to go back often and see Lady and Champ. When I learned that they were gone, I felt the loss of that comfort…then realized…I hadn’t had it for a long time. Everything that we knew about home had changed, not necessarily a change for the better or for the worse; it just changed. Three years had gone by and not once, had I found the time to go back. Though leaving my two little buddies was sad, it proved to have been a part of God’s plan for our lives. Lady and Champ will always hold a special place in my heart. I know they’re romping around a new place somewhere else with someone else to love them.

Sometimes God chooses to change our paths in much more profound ways than this. Sometimes in order to do that, our life has to come a screeching halt so that we don’t miss our turn. With every change, however, He provides new insights, new goals, new visions, and a new found strength to let go of our past. He teaches us, through joy and sometimes through pain, to trust in Him and to know that His plan is His perfect way of bringing us, ultimately, back to Him.

Surprise

“We’ll see you here at 6:15.” I heard my husband say before he hung up the phone. We had traveled back from a business trip earlier that afternoon and had been home only a couple of hours. Speaking through a yawn I raised up from my nap to ask who he was talking to.

“Jeff. We’re going to dinner with he and Michelle.” Still a bit groggy, I slid out of bed after glancing at the late hour on the clock. It seemed strange that he wanted to go out for dinner after having driven for several hours, but I didn’t question him. I did ask, however, if he had made reservations and when he told me that he hadn’t, I decided to call ahead and make some for us. When the hostess answered the phone, I gave her my last name.
“Are you with the large party tonight?” she asked.
“No, there will just be four of us in our party.” I answered without hesitation.

Later on, when we walked into the restaurant, I turned to Mike and explained that I had called ahead and gotten us a reservation. I was sure he would be greatly relieved since the parking lot was packed with cars. He just nodded to me and quickly turned to the hostess. She grinned back.

“Right this way, please.” She said as she motioned for us to follow. She led us down the hall to a room in the back of the restaurant. I could see through the glass that there were at least fifty people standing in the room. When she slowly opened the French doors, I looked in and saw, of all people, my Dad, standing inside the door.

“Daddy? What are you doing…

Immediately I saw that standing next to him was my friend from our first home. Behind her was my cousin and two of my co-workers; there were people with whom I spend holidays and people with whom I spend weekdays all standing together in that room. I felt as if I had entered a dream. 

"Surprise!" They yelled.

Everywhere I turned I saw face after face from my whole life. Mike guided me, dumbfounded, through the crowd. Friends from college were there with their children; they were sharing tables with friends from church as if they’d always known each other. It took the entire evening to make my way around the room and thank everyone who rearranged plans and made a special effort to make this a wonderful surprise birthday party. The only bad part about it was that it ended much too soon.

I’m thankful for that night. I was reminded of the blessing of family and of friendship, but there was something else that will stay with me forever. In the surrealism of the first few moments of the party, I kept thinking to myself, this must be it. This must be what it’s like to enter heaven, when everywhere we look there are loving, familiar faces smiling back at us. Every soul who has ever touched our life will be waiting there to welcome us. We will know one another like we never dreamed possible on earth. We’ll spend endless time reminiscing with those with whom we only briefly encountered while here on earth. We’ll finally get to sit and talk again with grandparents… and the grandparents of their grandparents. Oh what a surprise party it is going to be!

Those who live in the Lord never see each other the last time. German Proverb

His View

With the still-lingering taste of blueberry hot cakes and freshly brewed coffee served at the mountain lodge, we all headed over towards the trailhead for our day hike inside Glacier National Park. It was estimated that this ten-mile loop would take about eight hours to complete. Briefly calculating that, we made the assumption that the guide must make a lot of stops. With the splendor of the Montana Mountains, there would surely be lots to experience.

Surprisingly, we were met with a group of about twenty other people; more surprisingly, we were among the youngest there. Our mountain guide welcomed us and led us to the opening in the forest. The clicking of our daypack belts as we slid into them temporarily drowned out his safety instructions. How hard can his be? We were as green as the abyss of lush trees into which we entered. They welcomed us. The birdsong replaced the sounds of cars from the roadside. We heard fresh dew dripping off each maple and pine. There was a chill in the morning air, but it was nothing less than refreshing on this July day. The trail, although narrow, remained flat for about the first hour of our hike. Ah, what a relaxing day this is going to be.

While casually conversing with the other hikers, we began to see an opening in the forest. Golden wildflowers saturated by the hot sun covered an endless meadow just ahead. As we neared, the sky opened up and revealed to us…the mountain!

“Here’s the trailhead, folks.” We could feel our guide cut his eyes to us and grin. Without words, we each expressed our reservations among our small group. Then, my friend, with a delicate whisper, reminded the rest of us that we were the youngest in the group. How hard could it be?

Four…hot…sun baked hours into our hike, we had done nothing but slowly…sluggishly trudge upwards. The group, who had once walked with a cheerful cadence, was now vastly spread out. Those who once led the pack had slowed because of the thinness of the mountain air and were forced to take lots of breaks. My ankles began to fiercely ache from the twisting around rocks and roots. Hot sweat stung my eyes. By now, all of our conversation had stopped…well, all of it accept an occasional seethe as the more competitive hikers among my small group passed us with sarcastic observations of our athletic abilities. In the fifth, grueling hour, I started to question this so-called adventure. What could be so great at the top of this mountain that would possibly make all of this worthwhile? Why am I putting myself through this? At this point, I could turn around. The entire trip would be downhill. It would be so easy!

Lost deep in my thoughts of lounging on the cool cabin porch, I was startled by the footsteps of someone pushing past me on the left. It was an older man, possibly in his seventies, walking slowly, but steadily with the aid of his hand carved walking stick. I could almost feel God grinning at me. If this man could keep going, so could I. With the cadence of each step, I chanted a prayer…

“ Show me the top, God, show me the top. I can make it…I know I can. Just show me the top.”

He gave me a final burst of energy and then He answered my prayer. I could hear cheers in the distance. The hikers ahead of me were at the top of the mountain. The moment I moved above the final rise and saw the mountain peak was a moment I will never forget. Turning completely around on my wobbly knees, I could see for hundreds and hundreds of miles in every direction. I saw the deepest canyons and the bluest streams I’d ever seen. Above me there were endless billowy clouds enveloping me in the closest thing to heaven that I had ever experienced. Once again, I could feel God speaking to me. “I told ya it was worth it.” As I rested on a glacier, eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich from my pack, I prayed for these images to embed themselves in my brain so that later, I could return here, if only in my mind. I thanked God for the beauty of it all and even more so, for the journey to the wonderful glimpse of His view. I wanted to cry. I did. It felt so good.

A simple phrase rang through my head throughout the rest of my trip to the mountains of Montana. “God’s got a mountaintop waiting…and it is worth it all.”

Tis the Season

Gathered around a table full of abundance, we quietly fold our hands and give thanks… on the day set aside for just that…

…then off we go… the next a.m. …to hustle and bustle… hurry and scurry…shop till we drop…and prep till we pop… on the dawning of the Christmas season. Long-familiar jingles propel us through crowded streets and shopping malls, in search of the perfect token of love. Flour blankets our countertops like new-fallen snow as we assemble mounds of scrumptious confections for upcoming festivities. Paper wishes of good tidings pass in the night and fill our boxes of mail at the first post. Lush garlands and velvet bows adorn doorways through which we welcome visitors; there we give gifts of fireside cups of cocoa and hugs. These are the days when all practical sense and disciplines are snugly tucked away and we permit our hearts, with abandon, to give and love and give some more. What a blessing. God has His way of turning an otherwise very cold and bleak time of year into one of glimmery warmth.

“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.” --Norman Vincent Peale

But alas, as anxiously as we drug out the boxes filled with ornaments and wrapping, we just as anxiously, afterwards, hasten to clear the last cedar tree thistle from the floor; the New Year is drawing near. Yesterday, the season of boundless giving, hands the still-burning candle to today, the season of renewal and of soul cleansing.

“Every man should be born again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page. Take up one hole more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances; but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past.” ~Henry Ward Beecher

Just as God sees to it that every season carries its own beauty, so He has provided beauty in every season of our heart. My prayer for you is that there are no tears for the passing of a season; rather there is joy in the coming of new beginnings and a reminder that in Christ, there is no end.

I will renew my covenant with you, and you will know that I am the Lord.
Ezekiel 16

A Prayer for the Holidays

There is no story this week… just a prayer for the holidays.

I pray that God speaks to you through the man standing outside the grocery store ringing a bell. When you give your child change to place in the bucket and the man says, “God bless you both”… I pray that you take that to heart and know that He will.

I pray that if you’re stuck in holiday shopping traffic this year that you see it as an opportunity to sit quietly and reflect and perhaps say a prayer for the person in the car next to you. You never know… your heartfelt prayer may just be what comforts and sustains him throughout his first holiday without his Dad.

I pray, as we watch our children innocently tear into meticulously wrapped Christmas gifts, that we are reminded that we too are given gifts every day. Sometimes they come beautifully wrapped in fine paper and sometimes they come in something as plain as a paper sack. However God chooses to send our gifts, He delights in watching us tear into them with reckless innocence.

I pray that if this year, the holidays are saddened by the loss of someone you love, that God will quietly enter your home and gently wrap you in His arms. As dear friends and family send blessings to you through their prayers, I pray that your heart is filled with a peaceful reminder of the purest meaning of Christmas and the promise of our eternal life.

May God bless, comfort, and live in your hearts throughout the holidays.

Snowday

In middle Tennessee a really "good snow" is a rarity. Every few years, however, the stars seem to line up and we are blessed with a couple of magnificent snowfalls. One such winter fell in early 2003. Eager to enjoy our fleeting winter wonderland, we dug out our scarves and hats and headed up the ridge to where the rest of our family lives. By the suggestion of one of our family members, we decided to tour their snow-covered farm in style. We gathered some rope and tied two old sleds to the back of a farm-tractor. Several of us excitedly piled on top of the sleds, including my three-year-old niece, Savannah. This rosy-cheeked gal with blonde ringlets rolling out of her wool hat had seen snow before, of course, but nothing like this.

"Yahoo!" My Mom hollered as the first jolt of the tractor's acceleration nearly threw all of us off into snow. We glided up and down the hills of the farm laughing hysterically at each other trying desperately to keep our sleds flat on the ground. Savannah chimed right in with the rest of us, laughing and cheering for her Grandaddy to drive..."faster... faster".

Well as young children tend to do, Savannah quickly changed her mind about being in the snow. Knowing the fun she was having just minutes earlier, we coaxed her to take one more trip around the field. But her mind was made up and half-way around she began to cry. She said her feet were cold and the snow was beginning to sting her face. With her innocent request, we wound down our "snow day" and retired to the house for a fireside cup of cocoa topped with marshmallows. All of us have a sweet memory of our day in the snow.

Months later, on a hot July afternoon, I was riding in the car with Savannah and I asked her what her favorite season of the year is. She explained with sincere enthusiasm that wintertime was her "very most favorite season of the year".
"It is?" I said with surprise.
"Yes." she exclaimed. "...because then we get to go sledding at Poppa's and go really fast over the hills in the snow."

She never mentioned how cold she was that day. What she remembered was the excitement and the elation of her great winter adventure. In fact, she couldn't wait for winter to roll around so that she could take her younger brother sledding. Isn't life just amazing?! So many times our most memorable adventures are accompanied by cold feet and a little bit of stinging snow in our faces, but they are our best adventures, nonetheless. So, this morning, wrap up in Christ's love and all His promises like a great big wool scarf...then grab hold of the ropes and hold on. God has some wonderful adventures in store for all of us in this life that we wouldn't want to miss.

"The glory of God is a human being fully alive!"Rick Warren from "The Purpose-driven Life"

Christ and Christophers

“Do you wanna go to the playground?”

“Yea-a-a-a-h” It began as his stock answer to my questions but inside his two-year-old drawl, my question began to sink in. “Swing… slide?” He asked.

“Yep.” We walked into the enclosed city playground, a wonderland of wood and metal, with bars to climb, secret passages to explore, and swings in which to fly high as a bird. Shane ran straight to the first slide he came to and jumped on. Seeing that there was a little boy at the top waiting to go down, I snatched Shane up and redirected him towards the back of the slide.

“I’ll help him up.” Said the boy at the top. “He can go down in front of me.” With that he jumped off the ladder and waited for Shane’s slow and unsteady climb up to the top. They descended the slide, one after the other, over and over until they were both nearly dizzy. With the boy’s suggestion, they bounded over to the swinging bridge where he jumped up and down on one end making Shane spring across, belly laughing all the while.
“His name is Shane. What’s your name?” I asked as I guided Shane across.

“Christopher… and that’s my Dad.” He said in one breath. I looked over to acknowledge the person he was speaking of and to say hello. When I did, my eyes locked with a middle-aged man sitting on the park bench. He stared back at me but did not offer a response. He was dirty with torn clothes and he looked tired and weary. Quickly, I turned back to Christopher and resumed our conversation.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 4. My birthday’s next week.” He replied.

“Oh really, well happy birthday. Will you have a big party?”

“I don’t know… maybe. Nobody will come. Nobody came last year.” He turned his head from me and looked at his Father. Not knowing how to react, I changed the subject and the boys kept playing. Everything that Christopher did, Shane would attempt to imitate. He laughed hysterically when Christopher ran and dove headfirst onto a swing and went sailing through the air. The two short years that separated them was a lifetime in Shane’s eyes. He watched his every move.

As they rounded the corner to head down the slide again, we heard his father’s voice, “Come on son… we gotta go.” Christopher jumped down from the ladder, ran towards the man, and never looked back. I watched as the young boy followed closely behind his father across the long parking lot towards their car. I wondered what kind of “grown-up” worries that little guy must have.

Suddenly Shane came whishing down the slide, grinning ear-to-ear, eager to find his friend for one more trip. He soon realized that he was gone.

“Where Ci-to-per, mama?”

“He had to leave with his Daddy, honey.” I pointed towards the pair in the parking lot. I watched as Shane faintly, almost sadly, waved his sand-covered hand in the air towards his friend. He looked down at the sand and his bottom lip began to slightly protrude. This newfound friendship was special to Shane, but now he was gone. I found the look in his eyes strangely familiar, though this was the first time he’d ever experienced this. In his eyes, I saw myself and the times when someone has walked out of my life not fully knowing how special I thought that person was.

That afternoon, I said a prayer… that God would teach me to convey my true feelings and never let a Christopher leave my life without knowing what he means to me.

About two weeks after that day, ironically, at the playground, my brother and I said the words, “I love you”, for the very first time in our lives. My brother… Chris… and I have always had a tough time communicating. God works in mysterious ways.

Trailing Me

We had about an hour before the sun went down. That was just enough time for Shane and I to meet up with my Dad and hit the city greenway on our bikes. Strapped in tightly in his seat behind PaPa’s bicycle is the best place to be for an afternoon ride down the cool, wooded bike path. The popular greenway meanders through our small town and intersects city streets in three different places. Dad, Shane, and I rode nearly to the end but stopped short to head back home knowing that nightfall was coming fast.

As we approached an intersection, the oncoming car stopped. The man inside rolled down his window and motioned for our attention. He was winded and spoke with a bit of panic in his voice. He asked if we’d seen a woman and two young girls on the greenway, then he explained that his son had been taken to the hospital following an asthma attack and he was trying to find his wife and two daughters to let them know. With his detailed description, Dad and I realized that we had indeed passed them though we weren’t sure if we’d seen them before or after we turned around. We wanted to help, but we couldn’t tell the man, for sure, which direction they were heading. I assured the man that we’d keep an eye out for them and would let them know he was looking for them.

The moment we returned to the front entrance of the trail, we passed the woman and her daughters. Trying not to upset them, I slowly explained the situation to her. Knowing that by this time, her husband was on the other end of town, I decided to call my brother and ask him to come over and drive this lady and her two daughters to where her husband was. In the meantime, Dad volunteered to head back down the trail on his bike to look for the man in case they weren’t able to catch him. Dad knew this family needed help, so off he went. Shane and I waited behind knowing that Dad could ride much faster without us. Making good time was essential because by now it was nearly dark and there were no lights on the trail.

Twenty minutes passed, then forty. My brother returned after having successfully reunited the family, but there was no sign of Dad.
"Did you see Dad on the other side of the trail?" I asked my brother.
"No, I thought sure he’d be back here with you guys by now. He must still be looking for the man."
"Well we have to go find him. What if something’s happened to him in the dark? He should’ve been back by now." I said, beginning to feel very unnerved. I had told him that Shane and I would stay right there and wait for him, but I couldn’t wait. I put Shane in his car seat and my brother quickly tried finagling the bicycle into the back of my Jeep.
"It’s not gonna fit. The back wheel is hanging out."
"Don’t worry. I’ll sit in the back seat and hold onto it." I jumped in and we drove away as I held a death grip on the cold metal frame. As we approached the other end of town, my phone rang.

"Well, he’s here. Come on back home." Mom said.
When I walked in the door, Dad asked me with a grin, “Were you two the ones I saw pulling out of the parking lot with the bicycle hanging out the back?”

“Yep.” It turns out that after all that waiting, Dad was about thirty seconds behind us. And such is life.

Our bike trail adventure made me think of all the times in life that God’s perfect plan is trailing our plan by thirty seconds and if we would only stop and listen, we could hear the sound of his tires rolling up.




‘

Have it His Way

“What can I get for you this morning, darlin’?” She asked in her sweet southern drawl over the intercom.

“I’ll have an egg and cheese biscuit and a small cup of coffee, please.”

“All right, sweetheart, anything else… just pull around to the first window please, Hun.”

Every morning that I go to work, I stop off at the fast food restaurant just before hopping onto the interstate. And every morning, the lady at the window greets me; this greeting is not the kind that someone was asked to do by the manager because it’s in the employee guidelines. She greets me as if I was a member of her family who had just walked into her kitchen to sit down and have breakfast with her. The moment I see her, no matter how the morning started out, I catch her contagious smile. I feel happier and more eager to begin another day.

That particular morning as I sat and waited in line for my turn to move forward, I watched the hustle and hurry of this typical morning commute. Behind me, in line, there was a middle-aged man, in a suit and tie, frequently checking his wristwatch. Behind him, there was a Mom, pressing her luck, to get a quick cup of coffee and a kid’s meal, before dropping her child off at school and getting to work herself. There were sounds of sirens and cars and trucks zooming by, but in all of this, up ahead of me, the lady greeted a young man, on his way to work, with her warm smile and his steaming cup of coffee.

“How are you doing this beautiful morning?” she asked him.

I began to wonder just how many people, sitting in this line, morning after morning, have already been touched and possibly changed by her simple, yet unwavering kindness and her genuine, spirit-filled heart. It’s unlikely that her job will bring her wealth, fame, or prestige. I don’t believe that’s why she chose what she did. I believe that she knows that God has a special purpose for her. She’s allowing Him to reach His children through her, one “good morning” at a time.

It became clear to me, in that moment that she was placed at a stop along my journey, to remind me of the wonderful ways that God can use all of us to broaden the realm of Christianity. No matter where we find ourselves, we can rest assured that God came there before us. He had already decided that it would be the perfect place for us to fulfill His plan.

“I sure hope you have a wonderful day, okay honey.”
“Ma’am, I hope you do too.”

We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.
-- Winston Churchill

Trust Him

It was a cool day in August, an oddity to say the least. The temperature was only to reach about seventy-seven. I couldn’t wait to get outside. As I hurried through the house, straightening up, I raised a window in the living room just high enough to feel the air.I did this with hesitancy because I've always been taught not to; flies get in that way.I did it anyway. The morning was perfect; the humidity seemed to have vanished and in its place was a brilliantly clear sky with billowy clouds.

Later on that afternoon, after my housework was done and Shane was contentedly playing in his playpen, I decided to walk out the back door and water the flowers. The fine mist from the hose fell on sunrays and created a glorious little rainbow right in front of me. I actually felt a chill as the tiny drops of water hit my arm. What a welcome surprise that day was.

I wrapped up the hose and started to head back in as I knew that Shane would soon notice that I wasn’t in the house. Trotting up the stairs, I reached for the doorknob on the back porch and quickly realized that the door was locked. I stepped off the porch, my knees weakening with every step, and walked towards another door, all the while thinking about the night before. Since my husband was out of town on business, I’d been extra careful to make sure that all of the doors at our home were locked. The only people close by with a key were my next-door neighbors; they, too, were out of town.

What was I going to do? All I could think about was my little boy being in the house, alone. A chill far colder than the one from the water raced up my spine as I hurried around the house looking for a door that I might have unknowingly unlocked. As I circled back around to the porch, I saw the sweetest sight… the window that I had opened earlier that morning. I had forgotten all about it.

“Thank you, Lord, for making me walk over and open that window this morning! Thank you.” Slowly I raised it and slipped in the house. He never knew I was gone.

After that morning, I’ve often thought of all the numerous times that I had unknowingly been lead by God to open my own window, even when it made no sense, that I might have a way out… or a way back in when I found myself in a bad situation.

Every time you trust God's wisdom and do whatever he says, even when you don't understand it, you deepen your friendship with God.
-- Rick Warren in "The Purpose Driven Life"

(from 2006)

A Little Faith

“I just feel kind of depressed today. I don’t really know why.” My husband said as we drove to church one Sunday morning.

“Well, I guess we just know a lot of people who are going through a lot of stuff right now.” I replied. For days it seemed that everyone we spoke with was dealing with a personal heartache, whether it was the loss of someone they loved or the threat of a serious illness. Even though the sun was shining brightly that morning, we both sat silently for the rest of the ride, staring out the window. Would we hear of even more sadness when we got to church?

After getting Shane settled in the nursery, I entered the auditorium and saw our song leader briefly explaining the arrangement of a song we were about to sing. Underneath his voice, thunder began rumbling outside the window. Trees began swaying swiftly in the wind on a backdrop of rain clouds that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. In a matter of minutes our sunny morning slipped to a dark but strangely comforting darkness as a summer storm rolled in.

The congregation began the first verse very slowly and softly… “Someday, someday, someday, some…day…” The tender voices of the women sweetly filled the air as they broke away in the second verse and sang…”Peace and joy and happiness… no more sorrow… some…day”. Resonate baritones confidently joined in, singing, “Gotta be ready when He calls my name… gotta be ready when He calls my name… someday… some…day”.

In that moment, as I listened to the words, I could almost physically feel my soul becoming lighter and lighter. Gazing at the rows around me, I could see one or two teary-eyed faces, also moved by the simple, yet profoundly spiritual lyrics. There was one face, however, that especially captured my attention…a baby girl, in her mother’s arms, facing me. Her name is Faith, perfectly named, because that is what she personifies every day of her life. I watched her through my own welled-up tears as she clapped her tiny hands and laughed all throughout the song. She was born with spina bifida. Faith’s parents were told that she would probably never be able to walk and do a lot of other things that other little girls will do. That morning, however, as I looked into her angelic little face, and watched her cheerfully waving at people around her, I saw something in her much more powerful than the ability to walk. In her I could see and feel the true meaning of the words that were singing.

I’ve heard the song many times, but that morning it rang louder and truer. No matter how broken we may feel in this world, we can know and enjoy “peace and joy and happiness”, because we all have the promise of “no more sorrow… some…day”. And there is no problem on this earth that will ever prove to be bigger than that promise.

“Our present troubles are quite small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us an immeasurably great glory that will last forever! 2 Corinthians 4:17

Baggage Claim

“Southwest! There it is. Pull in quick before someone else gets it!” I said. We were late…very late. After unwillingly throwing ourselves into the early morning surge of commuters, we arrived at the airport without a minute to spare. Before getting our boarding passes, we knew we had to turn in all eleven of our television production gear cases to baggage claim services. Hastily, with clammy palms, we slung our tickets and licenses onto the counter, hoping that the agent would hear our urgency. The slow, sluggish clicking on the keyboard let us know, however, that he did not share our distress. The tilt of his bifocals and the look in his eyes spoke to me saying…my morning coffee break is four minutes away whether you board this flight or not. We stood silently and watched. We feared any distraction from us would cost us precious seconds. I began to think that we were not going to make our flight.

“And… eleven. That’s it. Yo-o-o-u’re set.” Before he could finish his sentence, we were off the curb and back into the car. We still had to park the car, ride a shuttle bus back to the concourse, make it through security, find our gate, and get our boarding pass. Three rows down from the bus stop we slipped into what appeared to be the last parking space left in the airport. While dragging two computer bags, my purse, and my jacket, I prayed that a shuttle bus would come soon. What if we just missed it?

Just as I lowered the heaviest bag from my aching shoulder to take a breath, I heard the bus rounding the corner. Without hesitation, back on the shoulder the bag went; and up the steps we trudged, mentally focusing on not tumbling backwards underneath all of our bags. We made it. Our next step was checking in and getting through security. Would this be the day that they decide to search all of our bags? I shuttered. Don’t think about it. Just focus. We might still make it… we might.

After successfully making it through the security gate, we bounded to the nearest departure board and began to line up airlines with cities, cities with times, and times with gate numbers. Just as the slightest glimpse of hope began to creep into my mind, I came to our gate number…29. Out of 32 gates, our flight was leaving from gate 29!

“We’ve made it this far, we have to try,” my husband said half-heartedly. With my jacket draped over my rolling bag, I threw the other bag onto my shoulder, in an effort to relieve the blood-red indentions I had made in my hands. Every time we saw a clearing in the crowd, we’d dart ahead through the endless corridor…12…13…19…20. We were getting closer. We have a chance…might just make it now!

“There’s the crew. They’re waving. They’re waiting on us.” Even though they were at the very end of the long corridor, we knew we were safe. We made it after all.
Panting, sweating, and by now, laughing, we reached the gate. I reached down to pull out my ticket…and…what…no…where’s my…my…purse? My purse was gone! The shuttle bus…the security gate…somewhere in the corridor…it could be anywhere! I stopped. Filling with tears, I closed my eyes as my bag fell to the floor.

“Ma’am…is this yours?” I looked up to see a middle-age man, just as out-of-breath as we, holding my purse high up in the air as he sprinted towards me. “You left this on the shuttle bus. Just wanted to make sure you got it back.”

Knowing that everyone on the plane was waiting on us, all I could do was express a simple “thank you” to the man. I never saw him again. I asked myself that day…would I have run all the way to the other end of an airport to help a complete stranger the way he did? If I had been in this situation, would I have claimed it as my responsibility or would I have dismissed it as someone else’s? I can only hope that someday I’ll be given the chance to answer “yes” to that question, just as he did.

“The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Galations 5:6

In His Time

Barely able to stand on all four legs, she would slip and slide through the kitchen following me wherever I went. The summer of my 13th year brought “Pris”, a six-week-old spaniel and poodle mix. Her coal-black fur was like silk and she had a tiny white spot on the tip of her chin, as if she’d just dribbled milk. Instantly we were best friends.

Nearly sixteen summers came and went. And although most of those years were filled with playfully chasing rabbits in the backyard and chasing kids in the house, her age had finally become very apparent. Among other ailments, Pris had lost her eyesight. Very slowly, she walked through the house so as not to run into anything too hard. It was very painful to see her change so quickly. With each visit home, she seemed to be a little worse. My heart was breaking.

“What she needs is a seeing-eye-dog”, my Dad joked one day, trying to lighten the feeling we all had.

A few weeks passed and Mom called me one afternoon. She sounded different and as we talked I heard strange little sounds in the background. There was a different dog barking. Mom began to tell me that they had found a tiny stray Yorkie. She had obviously been mistreated as she was malnourished and covered in fleas. She needed a home and a family to love her… all 2 lbs. of her.

Pris wasn’t thrilled to have this young, spry gal running circles around her. I’ll have to admit, I had a bit of resentment myself. This house and this family had belonged to Pris for sixteen years. They named her “Molly”, short for Molecule. I called her “Scrappy”.

It took several days, but one morning Dad walked in and they were curled up in the same doggie bed, back to back. We knew this was Molly’s new home. From that time on, in fact, we referred to them as sisters. Everywhere Pris went, Molly would be close behind.
 
Pris started her slow saunter through the kitchen towards her bowl of food one evening. She slipped from one side and then to the other as her arthritic legs had become quite unsteady. As always, Molly jumped to her feet and followed, waiting behind patiently. As Pris neared the cabinet door, Molly saw that she was about to run into it, so she ran around and barked her tiny little bark, and then she raised her nose high in the air and nudged Pris’s face away from the door just in time. She had gotten her “seeing eye dog”. The love that Molly had for Pris no doubt prolonged her life and made it sweeter.

In the days after Pris passed away, we noticed that Molly seemed to have lost her spark. She wasn’t eating well and had very little energy. Although Dad had vowed that Pris would be the last dog they would ever have, he was the one who decided to find Molly a friend. He mentioned it to a neighbor and within days, the friend told him of a young, rambunctious “Hein's 57” living down the road with an older couple who just wasn’t able to keep up with him. His name was Moses…named so because he’d been brought to them in a basket. We took one look at his “rough and tumble” little face and shortened it to “Moe”. Molly gave Moe her approval just as Pris had done for her. Within days, his high-spirited demeanor seemed to bring Molly back to life. Often they slept back to back. Although they look completely different in the face, their back half is almost identical. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

In watching how the lives of these three little dogs unfolded, God illustrated to our family yet another truth. At just the right time, Pris, Molly, and Moe found friendship with one another; that friendship sustained them and brought fruitfulness back to their life. If God will so beautifully orchestrate the lives of little creatures like this, imagine what He has in store for us.

When looking back over my life, I’ve lost count of the many, many times that God has brought a blessing of comfort and joy just in the nick of time…just in His perfect time.

Say a Prayer for Me

“Are you all from America?” asked the passerby. I sheepishly looked around for support from the other ten or so people behind me in line. This native, walking past the customs line in the airport, shook his head in annoyance. Obviously this familiar sight wasn’t a welcome one to him.

“Next!” the customs agent barked. Nervously I fumbled around gathering my bags and my heavy winter coat, consciously keeping an eye on my passport and work visa information, so as not to drop them. There was no room for error. Stay focused, I reminded myself.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” she asked. In a soft but firm voice I answered all of her questions, breathing slightly easier with each one that I was able to sufficiently answer. The stoic, expressionless woman then gathered up all of my paperwork, and without a word, stood and walked away. It appeared that I had passed the test and was going to be allowed to enter the country. While waiting for the final word, I couldn’t help but overhear the man standing next to me, separated only by a frosted glass petition.

“Sir, you don’t have the proper paperwork. I cannot allow you to enter the country without it,” his agent declared. The man’s voice began to tremble as he desperately tried to plead his case. Nothing he said seemed to faze the agent. The man was not at all arrogant. He held no pretense. He simply had come to this country to do some work as a computer programmer and was now faced with the possibility that he wouldn’t be allowed in. Explaining to the agent that he would most likely lose his job if he were not able to complete his assignment seemed useless.

I started to pray for him. I asked God to guide him through this situation and to somehow help him get past the obstacle he was facing. After having prayed all morning that my own trip be safe and without problems, I became vividly aware that this man, whom I had never seen before, and would most likely never see again, needed a sincere prayer to be offered on his behalf. As I was talking to God, I noticed a change in the voice of the agent. She seemed to be softening her tone a bit. Within a few minutes, she firmly explained that she would not allow the man in next time without proper documentation, but that this time she would. A sigh of relief washed over the man as he thanked her for helping him. And I thanked God for helping him.

That morning reminded me of a special memory from years earlier. It was a time of great uncertainty with my career. Many people around me had lost their job, and I was faced with the likelihood that I would be next. One night, while at work, I began chatting with a person, whom I merely considered to be an acquaintance. We worked in completely different departments and rarely saw one another. As we talked about the situation at work, I nonchalantly said, “Well, say a prayer for me, I’ll probably be next.” I didn’t expect to get a response, at least nothing more than a simple, “Sure I’ll do that.” Instead, he looked up at me and softly said,

“I already did.”

I realized at that moment that even though my own faith had become weak, God was hearing prayers offered for me. I wasn’t alone.

I did lose my job, and now, nearly six years later, after having started my own business, I still thank God everyday that I did.

I would never say that my prayer caused the customs agent at the airport to change her mind about letting this man enter the country. I could never be so bold to think that I possess any power like that. I do know that we, as Christians, can pray with assurance, that God will surround another with comfort and love…love that will break through that person’s own weakened faith.

“The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Galations 5:6

Leap of Faith

“Look around and decide what you want to have, because I’m only taking a few things with me wherever I go,” my Grandmother announced to all us as we sat around the dinner table. As the family discussed her plans, I looked around at the house. Granddaddy had transformed the dining room, where we were sitting, from a garage back in the sixties. Throughout the years, scores of wonderful home cooked-meals crowned this dining table. Looking into the living room, I saw Granddaddy’s favorite chair; I imagined him reading the morning newspaper there like he did for so many years. Unlike our family, each room, with solid-wood pieces of history, had managed to resist the changes brought by time. Outside the window on that spring evening, I stared at my grandmother’s magnificent azaleas, still in bloom. I wondered if they could sense that their loving caretaker, who had called this place home for over sixty years, was about to change her life.

Tangible things… her majestic dogwoods in the front yard, her mother’s dishes, and this spacious home…had brought her years of joy. Now, after having raised and nurtured her family, having organized countless holiday celebrations, and having maintained this home meticulously… she looked forward to simplicity. The very things that had defined her life were now confining her. The home that had brought her security and stability for so long, presented vulnerability that she didn’t feel before Granddaddy passed away. She had spent her fair share of days weeding the garden, cleaning the floors, and sweeping the porch. It was time for her to find another piece of solid ground… in another place.

What wasn’t distributed among the family was sold. The house was sold. I wasn’t there the day she walked out the door for the very last time, but I can only imagine what must have been going through her mind. Sixty years of her life were inside those walls. She quietly tucked away her past and walked, with faith, to an unknown place. We moved her living room suite and one bed into her new one-room apartment.

Nowadays, my grandmother doesn’t cook. I’m delighted to say that we “do lunch” in the elegant dining room downstairs. Yes, she gave up her garden, but she enjoys the professionally arranged flowers on every floor of “Park Place”… on a table that she doesn’t have to dust. She doesn’t have the large porch on which to sit and drink morning and afternoon coffee; her days usually begin with morning aerobics classes and often wind down with a good game of bridge with her new friends. There are so many new friends that I have to concentrate on remembering all of their names, in fact.

Though she never showed it, I know that it was one of the hardest things she’s ever done. Even though I’m sure she has a day here and there where she still misses the old house, I think she’d tell you that it turned out to be the best thing she ever did. There was a renewed spirit and a new zest for life in her. She took her leap of faith. And again, she found solid ground…even if it is on the second floor of “Park Place.”

...but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not growweary, they will walk and not be faint.Isaiah 40:31,

Small Town Parade

As I stepped through the door of the funeral home, I was welcomed by sweet faces from the past, each with just a few new lines of experience, but just as sweet nonetheless. Emotion welled inside all of us as we talked and reminisced. The loss of one dear friend had bitter sweetly brought many lost friends back together on this day, to fulfill one purpose. We wanted to honor and celebrate a man who had been a precious and loved member of this little country town in Tennessee for many, many years. As I neared the casket and approached his wife, I silently prayed for the right words, if there were any, to say. When she stretched out her arms for a tearful hug, I said the first thing that came to my heart.

"I'll always remember him carrying all of us kids in the parade in that big white pickup truck of his...and how he always took care of us."

I just wanted her to know that he, and his undying hometown spirit, was part of a wonderful collection of memories for a lot of us who were lucky enough to grow up here. Coincidentally, on this chilly December day, just across town, people were gathering to take their place in line for the annual Christmas parade. I questioned the appropriateness of leaving the funeral home and heading over to a celebration. It was bothersome knowing that, at the funeral home, they would probably hear the bands playing. Part of me wanted to go someplace very quiet and solemn and spend the day just thinking about my friend. It seemed like the right thing to do. To do that, however, I would take away the chance for my young son to experience his very first Christmas parade and to "ooh and ahh" at all of the excitement. We arrived across town, (which only took a couple of minutes), just in time to claim an ideal spot on the side of the road.

Just as we got our blanket spread, we looked up and saw the county fire engine slowly cruising towards us. My son's eyes widened with surprise as the sirens blared and the men inside waved and tossed candy right to him. Spectators on both sides of the road, bundled up in scarves and hats, watched joyfully, as the Christmas season officially began for all of us. Beautifully decorated floats with winter queens and her courts glided past us. Funny clowns, with homemade vehicles zigzagged and honked bicycle horns as they passed each bright-eyed child. Following the church float, farmers drove vintage John Deere tractors past the newly renovated bank. I could see Dads explaining to their kids how things "used to be".

As the high school band marched passed, their bass drum's pounding, their arms swinging within inches of us, I felt chills as I vividly remembered my days of being a part of that parade. Our friend, whom we had lost, was the Dad of one of the football players for whom I cheered all through school. This husky, but gentle man, who loved the sport, would lift each one of us up into the back of his big white Chevy pickup, all decked out with glittery signs and streamers. We were so small that all the football players and cheerleaders fit with room to spare. I'll never forget the elation, partly from the chill of winter, but mostly from the incredible sense of pride, even at that early age, of being a part of the story of our town. 

My tiny son pointed at the youngest generation of Jr. Pro football players, as they approached us. I couldn't control my tears as I thought about all the years that had flown by. I was thankful that I remembered to wear my sunglasses. I hid behind them and cried as I relished all the precious memories that were flooding my mind.

The kids wished us a "Merry Christmas" and I answered back as best I could, while gathering up the candy that they sweetly tossed to my son. That moment I realized that during this Christmas season, God had given us a precious gift. The events of this day were no coincidence. Our memories of past years had come to life. This Christmas parade was the most appropriate, most fitting way to celebrate and honor our friend and all the friends who've come and gone throughout the years. They have all been a beautiful part of the rich story of this little "out of the way" country town in Tennessee, of which I am so proud. 

Snow from Above

“I wish we could just catch a glimpse of what’s going on in heaven right now. That would just make everything okay, you know?” my good friend said while standing in line with me. We made our way into a crowded room filled with fresh flowers and fresh tears as people gathered to say goodbye to a friend. He went home early Easter Sunday morning, one day following his 60th birthday.

The next morning rolled around and with it came cold, pouring rain. I questioned God’s plan. It seemed so incredibly sad that this already mournful day be darkened further by this dreary weather. I had hoped that the family would at least have sunshine to help comfort them during what was probably going to be the hardest moment of all. As the funeral service came to an end, however, so did the rain. Then, in God’s majestic and peaceful silence, it began to snow. For this small southern town, snow on any day is somewhat of a rarity; the day after Easter, it is unheard of. In my mind, I searched for symbolism and meaning for all that our friend went through. In our hearts, we know that he and all of the others who have gone before him are in a wonderful place. Even so, we long for our Heavenly Father to personally hand us unmistakable proof of that.

“I wish we could just catch a glimpse of what’s going on in heaven right now.”
My friend’s words stayed with me all throughout that day, as I watched the snow falling outside. Peacefully mesmerized by the silent flakes, I could almost feel God smiling when a soft realization came to me.

This may very well be our glimpse of heaven. The snow seemed symbolic of Billy’s new home…a place where nothing is impossible…a place where peace softly falls all around just like that pure snow. And he met our Heavenly Father, for the first time, on the grandest of all days… Easter Sunday. For us, this is the day we set aside to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. There is no doubt that Billy left our earthly holiday and entered a celebration to end all celebrations… and one that never ends.

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him."
1 Corinthians 2 (I think I love this Bible verse best!)

Stirring Up Emotions

“I’ll be praying for you.” I told my neighbor. As the words came out of my mouth, they seemed hollow. She had just shared with us that their son had received some really bad news, following a medical test. On any other warm spring afternoon such as this, we’d congregate in the yard, amid lawn mowers and garden gloves. Her heart was much too heavy today, however, to talk about what a glorious day it was. Undoubtedly, praying for their family would be the most important, most helpful thing I could do, but, still, I felt helpless. I did pray for them and I prayed that God would show me some way to express my love for them.

“I could at least bake them a pie… maybe a little comfort food would help.” I told my husband. After flipping through a few recipe books, I came to the cookbook that she, herself, had recently published. It was put together in memory of her Mother. In it, there was a recipe for a chocolate meringue pie that looked scrumptious.

After mixing together the flour and cocoa and sugar with the scalded milk in my pan, I placed it on the stove and began to stir it while it cooked. While waiting for the mixture to properly thicken, I began to thumb through the cookbook. There was “Granny Emma’s Banana Nut Bread” and “Grace’s Apple Butter Bars”. Just saying the words was delicious. As I read through, I found that amidst pages of homemade peach and apple pie recipes were precious memories of home, put on paper by my friend. She told about playing on her Granddad’s front porch and hearing her Grandmother’s giggles. After painstakingly researching her family’s genealogy, she shared priceless information about their history all the way back to the Civil War.

As I sat at the kitchen table, waiting for my pie to bake, I found myself engrossed in this book…

“Mary informed her mother, “I wouldn’t marry any man alive who wouldn’t buy me a cook stove!” The boarder overheard her and asked her if she would marry him if he would buy her one. Her answer, “Course I would.”

Later I found “Elizabeth’s Fruit Cake Cookies” recipe. Elizabeth was Mary’s daughter.
That afternoon, my son and I walked across the yard to deliver the pie to Miss Pam. Before, baking a pie felt insignificant. It felt meaningless in the grand scheme of all that was happening in my dear friend’s life. After experiencing her heartfelt account of all of her family memories, however, I realized that God had a hand in this. I really think He knew that tasting the sweetness of a chocolate meringue pie that’s been in her family for years, would bring her a few moments of much needed comfort. Perhaps, while eating it, she thought of her Mother. Perhaps her Mother was thinking of her.

“Guided by my heritage of a love of beauty and respect for strength- in search of my mother’s garden, I found my own.”
Alice Walker

Spared

“There is no cancer.”

The most unpleasant word had now become part of the sweetest sentence I had ever heard. The news poured sweetly from my Mom’s heart through her slightly shaking voice. She was almost afraid to say the words.

She had earlier been told that she had a malignancy in her breast. In fact, 10 days earlier that word made our world stop. And even though life was going right along without us, we all were taken to a place void of comfort. Dispiriting uncertainty made us question everything in life that once felt so secure.

As I drove away, after hearing the wonderful news, the words came over and over, incessantly, some to myself, some out loud, “ Thank you God. Thank you for sparing my Mom from this. Thank you for sparing my Mom. Thank you God!” I tasted a freedom like I had never known before. For the first time in two weeks, I took a deep breath, a long peaceful breath. All the sounds and smells of this otherwise ordinary day enraptured my soul with pure sweetness. Driving in and out of soft dapples of the autumn sun, I soaked in every wonderful minute of that day. For a few fleeting moments, I was disentangled and floating above every problem I had ever known of this world. For a time, that day, I was completely liberated from all worry and fear.

As days passed by and fell to weeks, we all began to settle back into the normalcy of our lives. It was a bit sad to feel the elation begin to fade. Although I was no less thankful that my Mom did not have cancer, I couldn’t help but think of all of those who have not received positive news like we did. One afternoon, as I struggled for some sort of understanding about God’s reason for such suffering, I came across an excerpt from Rebecca Bentley Gay, a 5-time breast cancer survivor. She wrote…

"You know the more I think about Heaven and how wonderful the feeling of
total and complete love all of the time must feel, it makes death just a
natural part of living and not so bad."

In reading those words, I felt my eternal vision becoming clearer. Every time we open up our Bibles, we are reminded that everyone who loves the Lord and accepts Him HAS BEEN SPARED! Because God wants us in Heaven with Him and loves us so much, He spared us all of the fatal affects of sin. So go ahead… take a deep breath and soak in every wonderful minute of this life. You can do that with the assurance that God has it all taken care of.

“Whoever accepts and trusts the Son gets in on everything, life complete and forever!” John 3:36

“And we know, know it in our bones, that one day we’ll be thrilled beyond words that God brought “trouble” into our lives. We’ll see the change - the glad, wonderful, glorious change - he has worked in us, and if someone should ask if it has been worth all the trouble, we’ll say, “What trouble?” Jim McGuiggan from “The God of the Towel”.

Two Tickets to Toronto

“I know it’s late notice, but, could you fly out on Sunday? They need you there early Monday morning to set up and begin rehearsals,” said John, who operates teleprompter for many of the major television shows out on the west coast. It was late Thursday evening and he’d just received word that his partner had injured his leg and wouldn’t be able to fly to Toronto for one of his scheduled shows. He was calling to see if I could do it.

“Uh… yeah…I guess I could.” The call happened so fast I hardly had time to think about what it was he was asking. After hanging up the phone, I stood, leaning on the kitchen counter waiting for my heart rate to slow back down. I was going to Toronto, Canada for a week, to work on one of the most well known “talk-shows” on television. Did I just say yes?! Of course I did…I couldn’t possibly say no to such an opportunity; I was certain of that until I turned around… and saw Shane. In his six short months on this earth, I had spent only a few hours at a time away from him. He sat in his carrier on the kitchen table, cooing and waving his newly discovered hands in the air. It was then that the harsh reality of being away from him for eleven days and nights began to sink in. Before Shane, my business was everything. I wondered if and when an opportunity like this one would come along, but for those last six months, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I was in my new comfort zone and, that evening, I was being asked to step outside of it…way outside of it. During Shane’s first winter, I hadn’t often left the house, much less the country.

Sunday rolled around much sooner than I’d hoped it would. Since Mike was already out of town on business, I sat alone and held Shane all morning, trying to memorize enough about him to last me for a week. Tearfully, I handed him to my Mom when she came over to pick him up. I prayed all morning that God would somehow give me strength when it was time for them to leave. He did.

Taking a deep breath, I began to gather my bags, all the while, taking a final inventory of all the equipment that I would need. What if my teleprompter system doesn’t work when I get there? What if the script is much more involved than what I’m used to? What if I make a complete fool of myself on prime time television?! With a heavy bag in each hand, I could feel my spirit breaking; I dropped to my knees on the kitchen floor and started praying that God would just get me through the week.
He did.

Every night I called home and heard the sweet voice of my son on the other end. Every morning began with a quiet breakfast and a conversation with God about the upcoming day. He was right by my side for every moment of every one of those days in Toronto. I can’t remember another time where I had felt that more. The show went exceptionally well. The crew, though they were all from New York, welcomed the little southern belle from Nashville, and didn’t even make too much fun of my accent. All in all, it was one of the most fulfilling experiences of my career.

Sitting in the airport terminal on the last day, looking at my new “Late Night” t-shirt, I saw a young girl, slightly out of breath, walk up and nearly collapse into the seat next to me. I said hello to her.

“Is this the plane to Nashville? I was so afraid I was going to miss it. I got lost in the airport. This is my first time out of Canada and I’m just scared to death.”

With a confident grin and an outstretched hand, I said to her, “You’re gonna be just fine.” As we were boarding our plane, I motioned for her to get in line ahead of me. To myself, I said a little prayer that God would watch over her on her journey to Nashville. I’m sure… He did.

I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me" Philippians 4:13

Ahead of My Time

After the last button was fastened on my cardigan, I grabbed my perfume bottle for a hurried mist, and while glancing at the clock, raked things from the counter into the drawer. As always, I gave myself one hour to get to the other side of town. With three minutes to spare, I decided to go back for one more kiss from Shane, who had crawled into bed with Daddy after getting his first cup of milk.

“Boy, I took longer than I thought.” I said to myself as I climbed into the car. It was already fifteen minutes after the hour and beginning to rain, but I knew that if traffic wasn’t bad then I could still make it to work with one or two minutes left. With every commute to work comes a decision; I can choose to take the interstate and risk being tied up behind a wreck or I can choose to take the side roads and risk hitting every red light from here to town. Two minutes after making my choice, I suddenly wished I had made the other. As the red break lights multiplied rapidly up ahead, I heard on the radio that a four-car crash had just been reported.

“Just two seconds…if I’d heard that just two seconds earlier I would be sailing down the side roads right now.”

My heavily perspiring palms nearly slipped off the wheel when I found my first chance to change lanes and exit the interstate. A momentary sigh of relief came as I broke free from the sluggish traffic and whisked onto the side road. I knew just which way to go; unfortunately, everyone else had already ingeniously decided to do the same thing. Everyone coming into town from the north was now sitting still. I thought to myself…if I had only planned better…if I hadn’t gone back in…if only I had given myself an hour and ten minutes. There’s no way I’ll make it on time now. This will surely affect the whole day. This is going to be a long…

Before I could finish my thought, the escalating rain shower drowned it out. After what seemed like hours, I pulled into the parking lot. The clock said 8:10. I pulled underneath an awning and swallowed hard as the producer of the project walked briskly over to my car.

“I am sorry for being late. The traffic was horrendous. I’m just so sor…” I smattered.

“You’re not late. It is five minutes before eight. You’re the first person here. And besides, our client’s plane was delayed because of all the rain. You might want to check your clock.”

I looked down and suddenly remembered that I had intentionally set my car clock for fifteen minutes fast so that I would never feel anxious going to work!

That afternoon, after a good day at work, I walked in the door, grabbed a cold glass of iced tea, and plopped down on the couch with the most confident intention of taking a relaxing, cozy nap. For the first time in months I gave myself permission to let go and simply “spend time”. It was wonderful.

I awoke to my surprised toddler standing in front of me, nose to nose. He wasn’t sure what to think of Mom not rushing around the house in the afternoon.

“Whatcha doin’ Mama?”

“Just restin’, honey.” Quickly I realized what he’d been doing when I raised up and found his tennis shoe Velcro-ed to my hair. Hands to his face, he giggled, “I gotchoo.”

That day God got me too. I was reminded just how much we need Him in every little thing that we do and just how much He does guide us in spite of ourselves. We try to depend on our ability to “beat the clock” and “beat the system”. In the process, we just beat ourselves up.

Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? Matthew 6:26-27

Are You Even There?

Of all the stories that I’ve shared there is no other that holds a more personal place in my heart. I think if we’re breathing we’ve prayed a prayer to God, at one time in our lives, over and over… and over… and finally concluded that He was not listening. I sure did.

One late spring evening, after leaving work, it suddenly hit me that I just couldn’t go home… so I drove. I didn’t have a clue where I was going; I just drove. As I neared the lake, outside of town, I decided to pull up to a boat ramp. After all, on such a wonderful day, I was sure there would be some boats to watch. To my surprise, I was the only one there. I got out of the car, sat on a small ledge next to the water, and watched as the sun began to set.

“God…” I whispered. “I need you. Just when I feel like things are turning around, they seem to fall in on me. Are you even there? I keep asking for help and I feel nothing in return.” I sat silently…. waiting… for something. There was a weight in my heart that became a lump in my throat and for the first time in quite some time, I completely let go. “You’re just not listening.” I said through tears.

Walking back up the hill towards the car, anger welled up inside of me. I marched back to the ledge and sat down again.

“Okay, God. I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do. I’ve surrendered my feelings to you. I’ve prayed and prayed about this everyday. I don’t know what else to do! If you are indeed God and if you are really up there, I need a sign, right here, right now.” With a sarcastic snicker, I challenged, “I’ve never found a four-leaf clover. If you’re really there, put one right by my toe.”

That was years ago.

On the day I was married, my husband and I stood in a courtyard, overlooking a different lake. Just before I gave my vows, the minister, with whom I had shared this story, took my hand and in it, placed a gold-plated four-leaf clover pendant.

It was just like the one that I found next to my toe that afternoon years earlier.

On that day, God had given me the gift of a tangible sign that I had no reason not to trust. He was there in my presence and was undoubtedly going to take care of me. I could feel His voice in my heart saying,

“I’m right here. You just had to open up your heart wide enough to see that.”

God is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of … infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts or hopes. Ephesians 3:20

That’s the Ticket

”Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this, says the Lord Almighty, and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it.'" (Malachi 3:10)

“Test me on this…” God says. Go ahead and tithe and then just sit back and watch as God proves His existence, His power, His mercy, His resourcefulness, His cleverness and even His humor sometimes.

That verse reminded me of a moment that God did just that. During my college years, money was tight, to say the least. My weekend job provided just enough money to keep gas in my car and a week’s supply of cereal and macaroni and cheese in the cabinet (just the staples, you know). I felt that I was surely being excused of tithing. God couldn’t possibly expect me to give money in church on Sunday when I barely had enough to get by. He knew how tough college was. He knew that I was planning to give back as soon as I got out of school and was able to get a good-paying job. He wouldn’t want me not to have enough money to buy food because I gave it all to church. That would be absurd, right?

One Sunday, as I listened to the minister’s message on this very subject, the people around me seemed to disappear; I felt God tugging at my heart. Even then, I tried to explain,
“God, I know I need to give, but any week but this week. On top of everything else, I’ve got a speeding ticket to pay for and I don’t get paid this week!” All during the church service, God never let up. I felt moved to relinquish my worries and give back to Him. When I felt myself repeating a number, I laughed as I realized that He was even specifying the amount. I wrote a check for $60, the same amount of the speeding ticket. I knew that He was challenging me to challenge Him.

Vividly, I remember thinking as I quietly tore the check from the book, “Okay, here goes nothing. It’s all Yours. Now You know that I don’t have anything left.” As if God didn’t know, I still felt the need to state my case.
The service came to an end and I walked out to the crosswalk towards the car. The patrolman, standing on the opposite side of the busy road, held up his left hand motioning for the traffic to stop as people gathered outside the church. As the cars came to a stop, a large group of us safely crossed the road. The closer I got to the patrolman, the more he began to grin; he raised his right hand and motioned for me to come to him. Grinning back inquisitively, I reluctantly walked towards him.

“So,” he said as he wrapped his husky arm around me. “Your Dad told me you’ve had a little trouble with the law this week.” he said, unable to keep a straight face. “Do you have the ticket with you?” he asked and I nodded sheepishly. “Give it to me. I’ll see if I can take care of it since it’s your first one.” Excitedly I dug through my bag and handed him the paper and thanked him with a hug.

“Now get out of here before you get run over. And slow down!!”

As I trotted off to the car, I just laughed. God had not even let me get to my car before He proved to me that He would take care of me; and of all the ways He could have done it, He chose to utilize my own mistake. Not only had He tenderly proved that I could trust Him, but He threw in a little mercy to boot.

Now just as I would not intentionally speed, foolishly thinking that my friend would tear up all my tickets, so I will not intentionally spend all of my money, foolishly thinking that God will just replenish it for the asking. I’m still amazed, however, at the perfect moments in life that He chooses to teach priceless lessons about His love for us.

What a Day

Eighty-eight degrees today! What a day for the air to go out on my Jeep. It would be several days before I had time to leave it overnight to be fixed. It was yet another item to add to the “to-do” heap. It was going to be a long, hot week.

The first afternoon in my “open-air” truck turned out to be milder than most. The deep blue sky made known the coming summer shower, a respite from a lengthy run of dry and sweltry June days. As I drove through the back roads, up and down the Tennessee hills, I could smell and feel the soft, cool breeze as it gained strength. The first few drops of rain fell softly on my arm. It was invigorating and refreshing. I asked myself why I usually avoid this. The shower was short; it was sweet and I couldn’t remember ever seeing things look so vividly green, dotted with bright orange daylilies hanging off the hillsides. The trees and the grass soaked in their cool drink of water. I soaked in the beauty of this summer afternoon.

The sun nudged its way back out and peaked at me through the trees. It was then that I remembered back in the deepest part of winter that I looked at these trees when they were gray and bare. I had ached to see them come back to life. Back then, spring seemed so far away. Today they were so weighted down with lush, green leaves and leftover drops of rain that I could almost reach out and touch them from my open window as I drove past.

In those raw winter days the thought of getting near the creek close to home was unimaginable. It would’ve been cold enough to burn my skin. Today, the creek was gentle and soothing. Water meandered effortlessly over rocks as it formed tiny whitecaps all along the way. Just days prior, my son and I waded in that creek one afternoon. With the sound of the water rushing by, I remembered the feeling of mud between my toes and how much fun it was for him. It’s funny; I never payed attention to the creek when my windows were up.

Later that week, driving those roads long after dusk, the sound of crickets filled the warm summer night air. Summer camp hayrides from years ago came to my mind. From the back of the haywagon, I remember watching the head counselors for the boy's and girl's holding hands. I told myself then that one day I would find my soul mate and fall in love just like them. A few years later, on a night just like that one, I did.

During that week, I thanked God for withholding things from me now and then in order to teach me to dream; and I thanked Him for gently reminding me of when I’m actually living inside those dreams.

That weekend my husband asked me, “Have you still not taken your car to get your air fixed?”
“Um...next week.” I told him.

And patience, experience; and experience, hope:
Romans 5:4

Just Get Me Through It

“What if I can’t handle the added pressure? What if my computer equipment crashes? For weeks, every possible scenario rolled over and over in my head. Although I’d been in television for over a decade, and had worked a few awards shows through other companies, my considerably smaller company had never been specifically requested to do a show of this caliber. It was a wonderful opportunity, yet very frightening.

In the days prior to the show, I wasn’t certain that my newly purchased computers would be ready, after having had problems with them that we couldn’t seem to figure out. On many occasions I sat silently and asked God to “just get me through this”. I asked Him for the wisdom to address my technical problems and the faith to overpower the doubt I had in myself.

Just prior to the show, after having gotten through setup and a full day of rehearsal, there was a surprising sense of peace in my heart. My Heavenly Father was watching over me. For the first time in nearly three days, I looked up from my computer; I saw thousands of people filling the auditorium. The excitement of the night was building and in that moment, I realized what an amazing opportunity God had given me.

The show came and went like a flash and it couldn’t have gone better. While packing up my gear that night, I couldn’t hide the elation I felt knowing that it was a success. Over and over, the words “thank you God” rolled through my head. I remember thinking, however, that my words didn’t seem to be as sincere as my feelings. Did God know how much I appreciated how He carried me through this? A simple “thank you” seemed so inadequate.

Sitting in church the following Sunday morning, I pulled out my checkbook and began to reflect over the past week’s pay. Ten percent of what I had made would be the biggest check I had ever written for a weekly tithe. As I wrote the numbers and signed my name, I felt a little weak in my knees and then… I realized that God was giving me a chance to say “thank you” for my blessings… straight from my heart. Even the elation of the show that night couldn’t top the feeling of letting go of the check as I dropped it into the basket in front of me. By doing it, God gave me a sense of oneness with Him. I thought to myself, “What an amazing business partner I have!”

There is no way that our Heavenly Father will ever receive a justifiable return based on the investment that He has made in all of us, and yet, all He asks of us is that we simply love Him.

Submit to God and be at peace with him; in this way prosperity will come to you. Job 22:20-22

You Choose the What-He’ll Choose the Way

In our online book club with a few members of our church, we read ”The Purpose Driven Life”, by Rick Warren. In it, we studied about using the gifts that God has given us to glorify Him. I threw in a challenge to the group one day… to make a list of things we felt we are good at. I suggested that we keep those lists and refer to them when a need arose that matched a gift of one of our members. The next Sunday, I was approached to speak at our Women’s Fellowship meeting. This person reminded me that I had mentioned in my list, that I had done some public speaking back in college.

“Well are you ready?” she asked, slightly sarcastically.
“Ready for what? “ I replied sheepishly.
“To use your gifts.” She explained.

Couldn’t I have just stayed quiet? Wasn’t it enough to just read the book? I just had to come up with some silly idea to make lists. If I had only known that someone would actually use it, I wouldn’t have listed so many things so confidently.

I had no choice but to agree to her request. She proceeded to explain the topic of the meeting. I, along with two other women would be speaking on, of all things, using your God-given gifts.

“We’ll need you to speak for about 8-10 minutes.” My knees weakened as I listened intently to her overview.

Throughout the coming weeks, my research on this subject turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. I realized, during that time, that in order to speak about a given subject, it is not necessary to know all there is to know about it. I simply read everything that I could about God’s view of our gifts and talents; from that reading, I gained life-changing insight and I couldn’t wait to share these new thoughts and explanations with the other women.

The night of the meeting came and when I walked into the room, my nerves calmed and I felt surprisingly peaceful. I was excited and passionate about sharing this message; God had taught me to recognize my gifts, accept them, and develop them. The irony of it was that by sharing this knowledge, I was doing just that.

I ended my speech with a piece that I had written some weeks before. Having recently become a Mother, I had very often been inspired to write about the things that God has taught me through my son, Shane. I felt that a particular short story of mind illustrated the overall message that I wanted to convey. At the end of the fellowship meeting, my minister’s wife asked me to share my writing with her husband. He took home with him my copy of the speech. A few days later, he surprised me with a phone call, asking me to send more writing to him. He encouraged me to write a weekly devotional and send it out on the Internet. I did it. I call it “Morning Cup”.

“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with they might.” Ecclesiastes 9:10

Parade of Homes

As we entered the door, the attendant reminded us to remove our shoes. We took them off alongside the others crowded at the door, carefully trying not to lose our balance and start a giant game of dominoes down the sidewalk.

“Whew,” my friend sighed as we finally entered this magnificent home featured on this year’s “Parade of Homes”. We looked forward to this every year… a chance to see how the “other half” lives and try to emulate as many ideas in our own home décor as we could.

Straight in front of us, the ceiling opened up to reveal an elegant crystal chandelier. Its sparkle was echoed on the mahogany sideboard with an exquisite collection of crystal vases very stately lined up according to height. Layers of crimson napkins cushioned the formal china place settings on the dining table, which was standing ready for any dignitaries who just might stop over for a gourmet dinner. I cringed when I suddenly visualized a tiny hand pulling the fine linen tablecloth off and sending all that was on top crashing to the hardwood floor. With a slight shiver, I passed through to the “family” room. Wall-to-wall bookcases exhibited, to this mesmerized group of onlookers, precious artifacts from world travels and copies of rare books. As the tour progressed, we saw the master bedroom suite with silk throw pillows piled so high on the bed, that it would take half the morning to restore it after a night’s sleep. Or perhaps, I thought, “Maybe they all just sleep somewhere else, to save the trouble.” I stifled my laugh as we continued. My friend and I thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon that day. I realized something very precious, however, as we compared our homes to this one.

I thought about those tiny little hands again and how he’s decorated our home over the last year and a half. Instead of a collection of exotic spices lining the kitchen countertops, we have a collection of our favorite “sippy cups”. In the living room, you won’t find a beautiful white sofa like the one on the tour. Instead there’s an experienced stain-resistant one accented with someone’s favorite “blanky” and teddy bear left from last night’s movie. Custom-designed silk bathroom shower curtains you’ll probably never find. They’re much too tempting for little hands that love to tug. What you will find in our home is a tub filled with brightly colored tugboats, a beach ball, and a magnetic alphabet placed on the back wall just in case someone needs to write a message.

It’s true that as long as there are handprints on the fridge and a sock or two in the floor, after someone amazingly walked out of them, we’ll probably not be asked to be a part of the “Parade of Homes”. As long as wooden gates block off entire sections of the house and toy trucks are lined up on the stairs, we’ll most likely not get calls to schedule a tour. That’s okay, though, because when we walk in from a long day at work, and that little guy runs from his Mimi’s arms to ours, grinning from ear to ear, I know in my heart, that only the “Master” interior designer could create that kind of feeling in any home.

As for the rich in this world, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on uncertain riches but on God who richly furnishes us with everything to enjoy. 1 Timothy 6:17

College Daze

“An afternoon at my old college campus…that’ll be interesting.” I said to a co-worker when he told me where we’d be working that week. When we hung up, I began to imagine what it would look like now. Without a doubt, since spring is just right around the corner, the campus would be buzzing with kids dying to be out in the sun. There would be a sea of bright collegiate t-shirts, some expressing proud school spirit, others displaying allegiance to exclusive clubs. Everyone lucky enough to own a convertible would by cruising campus, packed with carefree kids under college ball caps. Frisbees flying through the air would pass bicyclers enjoying the lazy, sunny afternoon. A game of touch football would surely be going on with zealous spectators lined up along the open fields. As I remembered those scenes, I thought of the freedom that was synonymous with college. Part of me worried that being back there might by difficult. Would it make me feel old? Would I be jealous?

The once sunny weather forecast had changed quite dramatically by the time that day rolled around. The afternoon that we arrived the clouds had begun to roll in and the winter chill had found its way back. Students were bundled up, clutching their books, trudging to and from classes. The atmosphere was far different from what I had imagined. In fact, as I looked at the students around me, I noticed an almost solemn expression on most of their faces. In their eyes there were a million questions racing around. “Am I measuring up? What will my future bring? Will this pay off? Can I take three more years of this studying? Is this field really what I want to do for the rest of my life? Will I ever even get a job?”. In my mind, I was back in college again, racing down those sidewalks, trying desperately to get answers to those same questions. It’s funny how we tend only to remember the good things.

That afternoon I walked much slower down those sidewalks and was beginning to soak it all in when my cell phone rang. It was my husband asking me if I would be able to break away for lunch. In the background I could hear my little boy saying, “Mama…Mama”. I got the strangest feeling as I stood there on my old college campus, after completing a job that I love, talking to my husband and child. If only I could’ve peaked into the future and seen this moment, I wouldn’t have wasted all those days worrying.

Oprah Winfrey calls these “aha moments”. I just think it was God bringing His little girl back to the very place where she asked all those questions a decade earlier. Standing there, hearing the sweet voices of my family, I realized that I had been given all of the answers to all of those questions. God had taken care of everything…just like He promised. I walked away that afternoon feeling younger and freer than I had in ten years.

Hitched Without a Hitch?

Oh how perfect it would be! We would have an intimate ceremony outside in the Cumberland Mountains. Classical music and the warm morning sun would create a mood of peacefulness and reflection. We would say our vows under golden October trees in this quiet courtyard overlooking the glistening lake below. We would be surrounded by an intimate group of family and friends and they would join us later for a delicious lunch in the private dining room of the lodge. A fireside room in the cabin would be set aside for a quaint reception complete with a simple cake adorned with delicate chrysanthemums, in celebration of the glorious presence of autumn. This would be no glamorous production, by any means. It would be, however, a dream come true to marry Mike here. This state park in the east Tennessee mountains had been a personal refuge for me for over 20 years. It was going to be perfect!

The sun came up on the morning of the wedding, and not a moment too soon. Sudden anxiety about the day had stolen any chance I had for sleep. On the Thursday before, I had heard a report of a cold front rolling in, but I tried to dismiss the possibility of bad weather, as this weekend in October had always been perfectly mild on the past trips here with my family. But as hard as I tried, I could not deny the sound of howling wind outside our cabin that morning. "45 degrees will be the high!" the television weatherman reported. I believe it was a record low for such an early day in October.

My grandmother, with whom I had shared a room in our family’s cabin, saw that I was awake. As she crossed the room to gather her slippers, she stopped and quietly sat on the side of my bed. She knew what I was thinking. This day wasn’t going to be perfect after all. She took my hand and held it in hers. She didn’t say a word to me. She did, however, talk to God. She prayed that He would bless this day and especially bless Mike and me. She prayed that God would always be the center of our marriage and that we would always look to Him for guidance and comfort throughout our life together. Behind a tear that had slipped down my cheek, I thanked her. She gently kissed my hand and got up to leave. I thought it odd, just for a moment that she hadn’t prayed for the weather to improve. We all knew. But somehow, suddenly, I knew that everything would be okay no matter what. Somehow, through my grandmother’s faithful prayer, God had given me an all-encompassing feeling of peace, almost to the point of giddiness. “I’m getting married today.” I whispered as I rolled out of bed and reached for my long johns… yes, I said long johns.

As I started to get ready, I saw that my new ivory leather heels were as slick as glass on the bottom, so, remembering some advice I'd been given as a young girl, I went outside to scuff up the soles. So there I was, outside of the cabin, with huge rollers in my hair, wearing nothing but my long underwear and a garter, doing the twist on the front sidewalk, when I looked up and saw the preacher arriving...early. "So far, so good", I snickered under my breath. He asked if he was at the right place. It was tempting to tell him, “Yes, but the bride isn’t here yet.”

Within the hour, the many buttons on my vintage-style crepe gown were all fastened; and the final touches were done on my hair after having placed on my head, the band of silk roses that my Mother made. Thankfully, my Mom had also packed a nice ivory sweater with her things. It was a far better way to keep warm on my wedding day than with the denim jacket that I had brought. With my bouquet in hand, Mom and I drove the short distance to the lodge where I would wait for the wedding ceremony to begin. On the drive down the hill, I could vividly see myself many years earlier… a tomboy racing down that hill on a purple bike, my ringlet curls flung back, desperately trying to catch up with my older brother and my cousin.

We felt that arriving twenty-five minutes before the ceremony would give us plenty of time to take a couple of pictures of me with our wedding party. The wedding party consisted of my two-year-old cousin and Mike’s four-year-old niece. They arrived within minutes of us and as we all approached the front door, I saw something that hadn’t been there the afternoon before… a lock. Mom bolted to the car and drove to the office where she scrambled up some park employees with keys. By the time she got back, we had just minutes to spare before everyone else arrived.
At precisely 11:00 am, my friend began the music. I took off my sweater at the last possible moment and took a deep breath, trying to subside my shivering, I sure didn’t want my teeth to chatter as I walked down the aisle. We sent my niece and my cousin ahead. They walked slowly and deliberately to the classical music that could be heard in-between gusts of wind. I felt relief, however, that the ceremony had finally begun and it looked like things were going to go really smoothly.

Suddenly, my 2-year-old cousin spotted his Dad, dropped his pillow, and ran towards him. His Dad is my first cousin, with whom I'd grown up; he was determined to get his son back in line with the ceremony. He took his hand and slowly walked with him. By this time, the song to which I was to walk down the aisle had already begun to play. So there we were… walking only about 6 steps behind my little cousin and his Dad up the aisle. There at the alter, we all arrived at the same time; and we all just laughed.

The minister read beautiful scriptures and talked of the Godly union of two people in marriage. I held my soon-to-be husband’s hand. I looked into his dreamy eyes. Then I turned and looked into my Dad’s eyes; his eyes were simply… puzzled. We were almost three-quarters of the way through the ceremony and the preacher still had not dismissed my Dad to sit down. I thought to myself…they make t-shirts about girls who accidentally marry their Daddy in East Tennessee… don’t they? With a few nods from us, the preacher finally worked his way back to asking who was giving this bride away.

After Dad sat down, I joined hands with Mike. Very sincerely, I said my vows and the preacher turned to Mike to offer his. Mike took a deep breath and started to repeat the sacred words, when suddenly from the back of the courtyard came a giant, "whoosh". Out of the corner of my eye, I looked back to see a tour bus pull up, throw on his air-brakes, rev up the engine to its idling position and commence to unload fifty five senior citizens into the lodge for lunch, each of whom were compelled to stop and gawk at the crazy people getting married on this freezing cold day. The videotape revealed later, that our guests saw nothing but moving lips from that moment on. The roar of the diesel engine filled the courtyard.

Loy, a friend of our family's for years, suddenly jumped from her seat and sprinted down the aisle towards the intruder and begged him to shut off the bus engine. I don’t think he heard her though...must have been too loud. Again...we all just laughed.

Following the ceremony, I suggested that we all head in to our private dining room for lunch. Finally we could all relax and warm up by the fire. My Mom sheepishly motioned for me to look up and when I did, I saw that the restaurant management had just given our lovely reserved dining room, overlooking the courtyard, to the busload of senior citizens. Again...all I could do… was laugh.

I tucked my bouquet under my arm and went through the buffet line with all the other campers… silk wedding gown and all. All of us snickered the whole way through. That day was certainly living proof that sometimes it isn't in God's plan for things to go the way we plan. That evening, Mike and I quietly sat by the fire in our “honeymoon cabin”. We reminisced and laughed about all the wacky things that happened that day. But it was when we began to talk about all that our family had done for us, that I remembered to tell Mike about the prayer that my Grandmother prayed for us that morning. And it was at that moment that I realized that amidst all the imperfection, God had done something extraordinary that morning that would far outlast and outshine anything that we, as humans, could ever plan. From His perspective, everything with eternal value had indeed come off without a "hitch". On that beautiful October day, I became "one" with the love of my life. On that day a new family began.