I can't take the credit for the following entry but I thought it's worth sharing. I found it on a blog by Wayne Jacobsen.
This comes from the finding-the-truth-in-strange-places department of my life. If you want to know why God often speaks to us in a still small voice, I know of no better explanation than this, by a chef and former NFL football player:
"If you want your kids to listen to you, don’t yell at them. Whisper. Make them lean in. My kids taught me that and I do it with adults now."
Mario Batali, in Esquire
Great advice for parents! Even better for us to understand why God doesn’t scream his plan and purpose into our lives. It’s an invitation, not a demand! Yes, it takes a bit to learn to listen to that voice and give it the place in your life that it deserves, but what he wants most is for us to lean in and enjoy Him, not just get his wisdom.
My sheep know my voice, Jesus said. It’s not about hearing first; it’s always about relationship!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
For This I have Jesus
For the joys and for the sorrows
The best and worst of times,
For this moment, for tomorrow
For all that lies behind
Fears that crowd around me
For the failure of my plans
For the dreams of all I hope to be
The truth of what I am...
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
I have Jesus.
For the tears that flow in secret
In the broken times
For the moments of elation
Of the troubled mind
For all the disappointments
Or the sting of old regrets
All my prayers and longings
That seem unanswered yet....
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
I have Jesus.
For the weakness of my body
The burdens of each day
For the nights of doubt and worry
When sleep has fled away
Needing reassurance
And the will to start again
A steely-eyed endurance
The strength to fight and win...
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
I have Jesus.
*Graham Kendrick
The best and worst of times,
For this moment, for tomorrow
For all that lies behind
Fears that crowd around me
For the failure of my plans
For the dreams of all I hope to be
The truth of what I am...
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
I have Jesus.
For the tears that flow in secret
In the broken times
For the moments of elation
Of the troubled mind
For all the disappointments
Or the sting of old regrets
All my prayers and longings
That seem unanswered yet....
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
I have Jesus.
For the weakness of my body
The burdens of each day
For the nights of doubt and worry
When sleep has fled away
Needing reassurance
And the will to start again
A steely-eyed endurance
The strength to fight and win...
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
I have Jesus.
*Graham Kendrick
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Remembering Lill
"So, tell me...how do we get through this?"
This was one of the last full sentences Lill spoke to me. It was in early November and Carl and I were in Ivan and Lill's living room. Her voice was strong. This was the spunky, direct side of Lill's personality, and her eyes looked straight at me as she asked the question.
After that visit, her ability to speak quickly declined. She continued to hold steadfastly to her faith in God--that He is Sovereign, He is Wise, He is Good. Her mom told me she believed in God more than ever during this time.
The next week when I stopped by the house, she could speak only three or four words at a time. Over and over she would say something like, "It'll be OK." or "God is good." Or a simple "yes, yes!" like an amen when someone talked about God's healing power. Finally, even when words completely failed her, she would visibly relax when the promises of God were read to her or when someone held her hand to pray.
This is how Lill lived her life. Her faith in God defined her. She had an invincible spirit, a positive outlook and a determination to DO something if it was within her power. She had a servant's heart like few other people I know. Most of her work was done behind the scenes: organizing, planning, remembering the little details and adding beautiful touches to the simple things. (How many times did she send out an e-mail to the ladies of our small group, just mentioning in passing that she had ordered a bouquet of flowers or mailed a card or a care package to someone who was hurting. If we wanted to help out with the cost, OK--if not, it was in the very core of who she was, to help, to reach out, to care. And so it got done.)
Lill and I were first of all, neighbors. Back when our children were young, our families both lived along South New Holland Rd. But it was later when Lill accepted an invitation to lead a small group of ladies at the Worship Center, that our friendship deepened. She wasn't sure at first if she could do this job, if she was made of the right stuff to lead a group. Somehow I got involved in teaching once a month. Because I love teaching, and she enjoyed the logistics of leading a group, this arrangement worked well. And Lisa's solid, dependable personality serving as Lill's assistant, made us a pretty good team.
We had no idea what we were in for, what lay ahead for us.
Our group has already known deep sorrow and experienced our share of pain. Today it is exactly two years since we said goodbye to Hannah, who died after a long battle with cancer. About 18 months ago, Becky's husband Amos lost his fight with cancer. Last January, Juanita's little baby boy Blake, died before he had a chance to live. And in the aftermath of my husband's serious motorcycle accident in 2008, this group rallied around our family, in too many ways to count.
Behind the scenes through every loss, there was Lill. Poised, elegant, always encouraging, I rarely saw her ruffled or shaken. If she felt inadequate, she didn't let on or dwell on it. She simply did what was to be done. She organized and planned meals, (in our family's case it was 3 nights a week for 2 months!) wrote e-mails and sweet handwritten notes in her meticulous penmanship. She helped plan several benefit auctions to raise money for medical bills. I will never forget at Amos' funeral, she single-handedly prepared 7 large pans of cassarole, enough to serve 150 people!
Lill was quite simply the heart of our group. The loss is great. The wind has gone out of our sails.
So the question for all of us today is the same one she asked me, "Tell me, how do we get through this?" Ivan, Jeff, Jody and Dathan, Jenessa, Lill's precious sisters and mom...how do you get through this?
I believe the answer is this: we do it like Lill did it. We do it with a sense that God is still in control. We do what is in front of us to do each day, even when we're not sure we have the strength or the ability to do it. In our deep pain, while bent over God's Sovereignty, His Wisdom and His Love, He comes to us intimately, just as He did for Lill. He comforts us by walking with us through the sorrow that seems so unjust.
And we get through this by taking one. step. at. a. time., one breath at a time, if necessary. God's Promise is that His Grace is enough, sufficient for this moment. Tomorrow the grace will be there for tomorrow. To all of us in this place, we just need to do today. We can do today.
And finally, we get through by leaning hard on the promise that this is not all there is. Our finite minds can only grasp what we know, and all we know as human beings is our short time here on planet earth. God's perspective is so grand, so beyond our comprehension, we simply have to trust Him because He is God and we are not. Like Jody said, today is not about goodbye. It's about "see ya later!"
*eulogy I wrote and read at Lill King's funeral
Monday, January 3, 2011
The Woodcutter's Wisdom
The Woodcutter's Wisdom
by Max Lucado
Once there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all, for he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted his treasure. A horse like this had never been seen before—such was its splendor, its majesty, its strength.
People offered fabulous prices for the steed, but the old man always refused. “This horse is not a horse to me,” he would tell them. “It is a person. How could you sell a person? He is a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” The man was poor and the temptation was great. But he never sold the horse.
One morning he found that the horse was not in the stable. All the village came to see him. “You old fool,” they scoffed, “we told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you that you would be robbed. You are so poor. How could you ever hope to protect such a valuable animal? It would have been better to have sold him. You could have gotten whatever price you wanted. No amount would have been too high. Now the horse is gone, and you’ve been cursed with misfortune.”
The old man responded, “Don’t speak too quickly. Say only that the horse is not in the stable. That is all we know; the rest is judgment. If I’ve been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?”
The people contested, “Don’t make us out to be fools! We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy is not needed. The simple fact that your horse is gone is a curse.”
The old man spoke again. “All I know is that the stable is empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?”
The people of the village laughed. They thought that the man was crazy. They had always thought he was a fool; if he wasn’t, he would have sold the horse and lived off the money. But instead, he was a poor woodcutter, an old man still cutting firewood and dragging it out of the forest and selling it. He lived hand to mouth in the misery of poverty. Now he had proven that he was, indeed, a fool.
After fifteen days, the horse returned. He hadn’t been stolen; he had run away into the forest. Not only had he returned, he had brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again the village people gathered around the woodcutter and spoke. “Old man, you were right and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us.”
The man responded, “Once again, you go too far. Say only that the horse is back. State only that a dozen horses returned with him, but don’t judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? You read only one page of a book. Can you judge the whole book? You read only one word of a phrase. Can you understand the entire phrase?
“Life is so vast, yet you judge all of life with one page or one word. All you have is a fragment! Don’t say that this is a blessing. No one knows. I am content with what I know. I am not perturbed by what I don’t.”
“Maybe the old man is right,” they said to one another. So they said little. But down deep, they knew he was wrong. They knew it was a blessing. Twelve wild horses had returned with one horse. With a little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for much money.
The old man had a son, an only son. The young man began to break the wild horses. After a few days, he fell from one of the horses and broke both legs. Once again the villagers gathered around the old man and cast their judgments.
“You were right,” they said. “You proved you were right. The dozen horses were not a blessing. They were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now in your old age you have no one to help you. Now you are poorer than ever.”
The old man spoke again. “You people are obsessed with judging. Don’t go so far. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it is a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment. Life comes in fragments.”
It so happened that a few weeks later the country engaged in war against a neighboring country. All the young men of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded, because he was injured. Once again the people gathered around the old man, crying and screaming because their sons had been taken. There was little chance that they would return. The enemy was strong, and the war would be a losing struggle. They would never see their sons again.
“You were right, old man,” they wept. “God knows you were right. This proves it. Your son’s accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he is with you. Our sons are gone forever.”
The old man spoke again. “It is impossible to talk with you. You always draw conclusions. No one knows. Say only this: Your sons had to go to war, and mine did not. No one knows if it is a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only God knows.”
The old man was right. We only have a fragment. Life’s mishaps and horrors are only a page out of a grand book. We must be slow about drawing conclusions. We must reserve judgment on life’s storms until we know the whole story.
I don’t know where the woodcutter learned his patience. Perhaps from another woodcutter in Galilee. For it was the Carpenter who said it best:
“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” (Matthew 6:34)
He should know. He is the Author of our story. And he has already written the final chapter.
From
Come Thirsty
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 2004) Max Lucado
by Max Lucado
Once there was an old man who lived in a tiny village. Although poor, he was envied by all, for he owned a beautiful white horse. Even the king coveted his treasure. A horse like this had never been seen before—such was its splendor, its majesty, its strength.
People offered fabulous prices for the steed, but the old man always refused. “This horse is not a horse to me,” he would tell them. “It is a person. How could you sell a person? He is a friend, not a possession. How could you sell a friend?” The man was poor and the temptation was great. But he never sold the horse.
One morning he found that the horse was not in the stable. All the village came to see him. “You old fool,” they scoffed, “we told you that someone would steal your horse. We warned you that you would be robbed. You are so poor. How could you ever hope to protect such a valuable animal? It would have been better to have sold him. You could have gotten whatever price you wanted. No amount would have been too high. Now the horse is gone, and you’ve been cursed with misfortune.”
The old man responded, “Don’t speak too quickly. Say only that the horse is not in the stable. That is all we know; the rest is judgment. If I’ve been cursed or not, how can you know? How can you judge?”
The people contested, “Don’t make us out to be fools! We may not be philosophers, but great philosophy is not needed. The simple fact that your horse is gone is a curse.”
The old man spoke again. “All I know is that the stable is empty, and the horse is gone. The rest I don’t know. Whether it be a curse or a blessing, I can’t say. All we can see is a fragment. Who can say what will come next?”
The people of the village laughed. They thought that the man was crazy. They had always thought he was a fool; if he wasn’t, he would have sold the horse and lived off the money. But instead, he was a poor woodcutter, an old man still cutting firewood and dragging it out of the forest and selling it. He lived hand to mouth in the misery of poverty. Now he had proven that he was, indeed, a fool.
After fifteen days, the horse returned. He hadn’t been stolen; he had run away into the forest. Not only had he returned, he had brought a dozen wild horses with him. Once again the village people gathered around the woodcutter and spoke. “Old man, you were right and we were wrong. What we thought was a curse was a blessing. Please forgive us.”
The man responded, “Once again, you go too far. Say only that the horse is back. State only that a dozen horses returned with him, but don’t judge. How do you know if this is a blessing or not? You see only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? You read only one page of a book. Can you judge the whole book? You read only one word of a phrase. Can you understand the entire phrase?
“Life is so vast, yet you judge all of life with one page or one word. All you have is a fragment! Don’t say that this is a blessing. No one knows. I am content with what I know. I am not perturbed by what I don’t.”
“Maybe the old man is right,” they said to one another. So they said little. But down deep, they knew he was wrong. They knew it was a blessing. Twelve wild horses had returned with one horse. With a little bit of work, the animals could be broken and trained and sold for much money.
The old man had a son, an only son. The young man began to break the wild horses. After a few days, he fell from one of the horses and broke both legs. Once again the villagers gathered around the old man and cast their judgments.
“You were right,” they said. “You proved you were right. The dozen horses were not a blessing. They were a curse. Your only son has broken his legs, and now in your old age you have no one to help you. Now you are poorer than ever.”
The old man spoke again. “You people are obsessed with judging. Don’t go so far. Say only that my son broke his legs. Who knows if it is a blessing or a curse? No one knows. We only have a fragment. Life comes in fragments.”
It so happened that a few weeks later the country engaged in war against a neighboring country. All the young men of the village were required to join the army. Only the son of the old man was excluded, because he was injured. Once again the people gathered around the old man, crying and screaming because their sons had been taken. There was little chance that they would return. The enemy was strong, and the war would be a losing struggle. They would never see their sons again.
“You were right, old man,” they wept. “God knows you were right. This proves it. Your son’s accident was a blessing. His legs may be broken, but at least he is with you. Our sons are gone forever.”
The old man spoke again. “It is impossible to talk with you. You always draw conclusions. No one knows. Say only this: Your sons had to go to war, and mine did not. No one knows if it is a blessing or a curse. No one is wise enough to know. Only God knows.”
The old man was right. We only have a fragment. Life’s mishaps and horrors are only a page out of a grand book. We must be slow about drawing conclusions. We must reserve judgment on life’s storms until we know the whole story.
I don’t know where the woodcutter learned his patience. Perhaps from another woodcutter in Galilee. For it was the Carpenter who said it best:
“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” (Matthew 6:34)
He should know. He is the Author of our story. And he has already written the final chapter.
From
Come Thirsty
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 2004) Max Lucado
Monday, December 27, 2010
my Christmas surprise
I have to show you a really neat gift my children gave me for Christmas this year! In Springtime of 2010, Tessa took a picture of my perennial gardens in full bloom. They took the photo to Costco and ordered it as a large canvas print. I love the gift, but even more, I love the thought behind their gift.
"I look upon the pleasure we take in a garden
as one of the most innocent delights in human life."
- Cicero
Thursday, December 23, 2010
An "Abner" Christmas!
This year's Smucker Christmas card photo is...shall we say,unconventional?! (And I didn't actually send this pose to everyone on our Christmas list!) In October, Carl's niece Shar Halvorsen, took some pictures of us to use for our 2010 card. The kids were in rare form that day, and one of them suggested we all do our "Abner" pose. By way of explanation, the Abner pose comes from our childrens' earliest memories of days spent playing in the back yard with our Amish neighbor kids. Everyone had someone close to their age and they had so much creative fun!
Every few years back then, I would gather all the children together,(at highest count there was a total of 11: 4 of ours and 7 of the neighbors!) line them up according to age/size, and TRY to take a picture. With the old 35mm film, I never knew if my efforts would pay off till the pictures came back in the mail.
So, just for fun, we all decided to line up and recreate the old pictures. Above is the picture Shar snapped. And the picture below shows one of the original Abner shots from years ago.
In the midst of whatever is happening in your corner of earth this Christmas: whether all's right in your world, or whether you are struggling through deep pain, may you be able to experience the presence of JESUS. Emmanuel, God with us. He loves you with an everlasting love, and underneath are the everlasting arms.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
My Mourning Musings
I'm the kind of person, who after immersing myself in a good book or watching an interesting movie, I'll spend the next few days thinking about the end after the ending. It's like tying a ribbon around a package, a finishing point in my mind.
And I like lists. Sometimes I actually add something to my list, for the sheer joy of crossing it off! Check. Done.
I rarely move furniture around in my home. I like things to stay the same. I like schedules and routine.
I like when 2+2 always equals 4. I like life to unfold in neat little sequences, orderly and predictable.
The problem with the world I live in is that it doesn't fit me, it isn't tailor-made for my personality and bent. As the Book of Job says, "Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward." No matter how much I wish it was different, life simply can't be put in a box. Few people reach middle age without having their hearts broken several times: I am no exception.
So what's a person like me to do with this reality? When things seem to spiral out of control in my personal world, I feel a need to write. Putting pen to paper (or tapping a computer keyboard) helps me process and work through the complexities that otherwise clutter my thoughts and keep me distracted and uptight. Writing allows me to put my thoughts and feelings into a box of sorts, to put words and sentences together until they say what I am feeling.
Right now I am in one of those seasons, wrestling with unanswered questions and the deep pain that life sometimes throws our way. It feels random,senseless,cruel.
I watch helplessly from the sidelines as a good friend fights a rare and aggressive type of brain cancer. The best doctors in the country can not perform an operation to cure her, or give her treatments that respond to this awful disease. I watch her courageous and committed husband, a gentle, private man of few words, whose very world is crumbling around him: he loves that woman so much! And her children struggle to walk a path that no one this young should have to face.
Where can I find some word of comfort, some consolation for my soul? How can a merciful and gracious God allow His children to experience unexplainable distress? The age-old question haunts me: Why do bad things happen to good people?
I am not naive enough to believe that I can expect answers to all my questions. Even theologians throughout the centuries who have given their lives to study the meaning of suffering have not been privy to a formula that completely addresses the myriad of unanswered questions.
Ironically, comfort comes to me from my own personal experience. Two years ago, when my husband was seriously injured in a motorcycle accident, I felt my world crash along with his. So much uncertainty and fear, so much pain.
But looking back, the most difficult time of my life brought with it a deep-seated peace, an almost tangible presence of Jesus that simply can not be duplicated in "normal" life. God's hand was in the heartache.
If this is true for me in my experience, then I have every reason to believe that my friend and her family are being carried in the same way. Underneath them are the everlasting arms.
"This I call to mind, and therefore I have hope. Because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is His faithfulness!"
And I like lists. Sometimes I actually add something to my list, for the sheer joy of crossing it off! Check. Done.
I rarely move furniture around in my home. I like things to stay the same. I like schedules and routine.
I like when 2+2 always equals 4. I like life to unfold in neat little sequences, orderly and predictable.
The problem with the world I live in is that it doesn't fit me, it isn't tailor-made for my personality and bent. As the Book of Job says, "Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward." No matter how much I wish it was different, life simply can't be put in a box. Few people reach middle age without having their hearts broken several times: I am no exception.
So what's a person like me to do with this reality? When things seem to spiral out of control in my personal world, I feel a need to write. Putting pen to paper (or tapping a computer keyboard) helps me process and work through the complexities that otherwise clutter my thoughts and keep me distracted and uptight. Writing allows me to put my thoughts and feelings into a box of sorts, to put words and sentences together until they say what I am feeling.
Right now I am in one of those seasons, wrestling with unanswered questions and the deep pain that life sometimes throws our way. It feels random,senseless,cruel.
I watch helplessly from the sidelines as a good friend fights a rare and aggressive type of brain cancer. The best doctors in the country can not perform an operation to cure her, or give her treatments that respond to this awful disease. I watch her courageous and committed husband, a gentle, private man of few words, whose very world is crumbling around him: he loves that woman so much! And her children struggle to walk a path that no one this young should have to face.
Where can I find some word of comfort, some consolation for my soul? How can a merciful and gracious God allow His children to experience unexplainable distress? The age-old question haunts me: Why do bad things happen to good people?
I am not naive enough to believe that I can expect answers to all my questions. Even theologians throughout the centuries who have given their lives to study the meaning of suffering have not been privy to a formula that completely addresses the myriad of unanswered questions.
Ironically, comfort comes to me from my own personal experience. Two years ago, when my husband was seriously injured in a motorcycle accident, I felt my world crash along with his. So much uncertainty and fear, so much pain.
But looking back, the most difficult time of my life brought with it a deep-seated peace, an almost tangible presence of Jesus that simply can not be duplicated in "normal" life. God's hand was in the heartache.
If this is true for me in my experience, then I have every reason to believe that my friend and her family are being carried in the same way. Underneath them are the everlasting arms.
"This I call to mind, and therefore I have hope. Because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is His faithfulness!"
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