Home Is Where The Story Starts

A Legacy of Happy Flowers

Posted by on Oct 22, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

Last night I ate flowers. Yep, that’s right. I am staying with friends in Pennsylvania while I visit schools and my friend grows flowers. She has quite the ministry of making up arrangements of cut flowers to take to shut-ins, those suffering a loss, or just someone needing a little encouragement. This is actually a legacy she received from her mother who grew roses and gave them away.   She learned recently that you can eat nasturtiums. Now, I couldn’t have told you what nasturtiums looked like before this visit but overnight they have become one of my favorites. They are happy flowers. They shout happy. The bright yellow and orange petals make me smile every time I see them. So, when they were placed on the table to be used on top of our salad I was intrigued.   They didn’t taste bad. They really didn’t have a lot of taste at all, but my! They did make my salad happy.   Since the conversation at the table had turned to happy flowers I told them the story of my flowers this summer.   The other morning  I glanced out the back door and saw two bright spots in the fading garden. They were lone flowers waving bravely above the clover and weeds. I laughed.   “Look at those two flowers. Out of the three rows of flowers I planted this Spring, only two flowers came up. Disappointing, to say the least.   But, are they nothing but a disappointment? No, those flowers are delightful and possibly even more noticeable because there were only two.   I planted the rows of flowers in memory of a friend who died a couple of years ago. Besides, it reminded me of my Aunt Florence. Aunt Florence was Grandma Jones’ sister and her garden always seemed as much about flowers as food.   Then there was my Aunt Twyla. She always planted petunias in her flower beds. I loved the happy things and every Spring I plant some of my own. This year I put them on the front porch. There are still some of them blooming at the end of the porch.   But the crowning glory of my gardening this summer were the moss roses. The first time I ever saw moss roses was in California. Mom chose them because we lived in a desert and they work really well in severe heat and lots of sun.   “I’m going to plant moss roses on the back deck,” I enthusiastically informed  Bruce. “They will do well there. I love moss roses. They are so very beautiful.”  And on I went!   He was agreeable, but I could tell he didn’t understand my excitement.   So, I did. I planted several pots of moss roses and put them on the porch. Over the next few weeks they gradually gained their footing in the planters until one day they burst into a riotous mass of color. When I looked out onto...

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The Power of Another Big Person

Posted by on Oct 14, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

It is no secret that my husband and I love children. They are some of our favorite people. But we don’t have any at our house.   Over the years we each developed friendships where we were able to invest time and love in the lives of children. It just came naturally. Now some of those children are grown up with children of their own.   That investment can reap great dividends.   Recently we attended the funeral of one of Bruce’s long-time friends. I knew they were close, way back when. I knew they valued their friendship. I also knew that their now-adult daughter valued her relationship with “Uncle Bruce.” The story goes that back in grad school if her Mama couldn’t find her, all she had to do was go over to Uncle Bruce’s and she would find them reading a book or making cookies. So I knew all of this.   But when we arrived at the funeral and Bruce greeted mother and daughter, it was obvious that this friendship meant more than I realized. This was a young woman who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Uncle Bruce’s love would help during this trying time. She counted on it.   Last Spring I had the privilege of speaking to a group of ladies at a church in Nebraska. Much to my surprise, many of the girls were from a Jr./Sr. High Sunday School class which I had taught were there. It was one of those full-circle moments. Here I was standing in front of them again. But this time they were all grown up, some with junior/senior high girls of their own! Then, this summer I was able to see another of their group and we keep in contact through Facebook. I love seeing them post messages about what God is doing in their lives.                     It all reminds me of a conversation I had with a professor in college many years ago. He shared with me just how much he and his wife depended on some of the single people who—as he put it—came along side and helped influence their children for God.   That’s what we are. Come-Along-Siders. Influencers. And we aren’t stopping.   There’s an entire new generation out there who need an Uncle Bruce and Aunt Miriam too!...

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Reading The End First

Posted by on Oct 10, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

A not so well-known fact about this author is that I read the end of books first. Well, at least after the first or second chapter. When I begin to connect with the characters I start worrying that it won’t turn out well for them. So I just have to read the end to make sure they are still all alive.   I am a happily ever after reader.  If an author betrays my trust by killing off a main character, or leaving things unfinished I am unlikely to read more books by that author. I don’t trust them anymore.   So, when my Bible reading took me to Psalm 77 it left me a little unsettled. The passage reminded me of America today. In verses 7-9 the following questions are posed. Will the Lord cast off for ever? and will he be favourable no more?                          Is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fail for evermore?                         Hath God forgotten to be gracious? hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies? Selah. The Psalmist was in agony over this question, “Has God written us off?”   Since I’ve often wondered this about America, I read on in hopes of finding good news.   Here’s what I found. In verses 10-20 we see what our responses should be. The Psalmist says in verse 10,   This is my infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right hand of the most High.   This sets the stage for the rest of the chapter. The Psalmist, in the midst of uncertainty over God’s blessing on his world would remember the goodness and past blessing of the Lord.   Then it ends. Yep, that’s right. Read it for yourself.   The Psalmist never answers the question posed in verses seven to nine. It just ends.   ARGHHHH! Sigh.   My husband likes to tease that he is going to remove the last chapter from my next new book and hide it until I’ve read the rest of the book. I like to tell him that I’m pretty sure he is too smart to do that. If he really did that I would probably have to find the book elsewhere to read the end, or find somebody who knows the end of the story. I might even do a web search for a synopsis of the plot and read the end there. I would find a way!   But, in this case there is a difference.  The author of this Psalm is ultimately God. He inspired the Psalmist. So, in this situation I need to relax, remember who God is, follow the leader, and trust the author. But, then maybe that’s exactly what the Psalmist was saying in the last verse of the chapter.   Thou leddest thy people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron. Psalm 77:20   I can follow the Good Shepherd with confidence, no matter the outcome. And THAT, my...

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Chocolate Chip Cookie and Coffee Friendships

Posted by on Oct 7, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

I often laugh and tell people that the way to find out my life story is to give me chocolate chip cookies and coffee. It’s guaranteed to work.   I’m not kidding.   Back in the dark ages—well, the late 1980’s—I spent a year in Sheridan, Wyoming in nursing school. It was a grand adventure for me but the real value of the year wasn’t fully realized for years to come.   The first week I was there was kind of lonely. The older couple I was living with was gone on vacation and school hadn’t started. So, when the Pastor’s wife invited me to ride with their family up into the mountains for the annual church picnic I jumped at the opportunity. “Just come to the house and we’ll go from there,” she said.   When I arrived Donna had just brewed a fresh pot of coffee and was making chocolate chip cookies. While she finished the cookies and packed food for the picnic I drank a cup of coffee and ate a couple of cookies. Fast forward ten minutes. (That’s how long it takes coffee to kick in.)   I started talking and within thirty minutes she knew my life story. Now, I maintain that it wasn’t just the coffee and cookies. Donna is one of those people who invite confidence with a couple of simple questions. She is just sincerely interested.   That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!   Anyway, we have laughed about it over the years as our friendship grew.  During the year in Sheridan I babysat their children and spent many hours at their table visiting and seeking advice. Once I graduated and moved home I returned as frequently as I could. Over the years I attended graduations and weddings, we shared sorrows, joys, successes, and failures. I remember many conversations around their table with me seeking advice from this dear friend and her husband. And most of those times included coffee and sometimes chocolate chip cookies too!   For years Donna prayed diligently for me that God would send me a husband. I learned the precious truth of the value of a praying friend. Finally, God answered.   Since the wedding we had not seen each other. It had been nine years. That is a long time! But often, the mug I would pick from my mug wall was one of the two that Donna had given me. We occasionally spoke by phone, Donna always remembered my birthday and our anniversary, and I kept in contact with their children online.   This summer, when we were out in South Dakota we made the extra little trip over to Sheridan. I showed my husband around this town that I love. We went to church and I was able to introduce him to the people and church that have meant so much to me through the years. I had pictures taken with my friends and their children and their children’s children. Yes,...

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The Choir in the Pool

Posted by on Sep 27, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

  The other morning I went to the YMCA to do my water aerobics. It seems this is the best exercise for someone with a pitiful tendon. Besides, I actually enjoy it and I read somewhere recently that “The best exercise is the one you will do!” My floatie belt securely in place I bobbed around the deep end and performed my interval  exercises. Between watching the second-hand on the clock I observed the class at the shallow end. There were approximately twenty people doing what looked like a senior synchronized routine. The leader, a cheerful lady who enjoys verbal class participation, had them motivated. All of a sudden I heard singing. Now, if you have ever tried to talk in a large pool you know what the acoustics can do. It can be really hard to hear what anyone is saying, but guess what? I learned that it is an incredible place to sing. As the seniors marched underwater they held floatie noodles over their heads like a rainbow. With each step they raised and lowered the noodles. And they sang. Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue. . . The sound swelled and filled the pool area. The beauty of the voices all joined in this classic song took my breath away. It was incredible. Almost like those videos where acapella  groups stand in a vast cathedral and sing. A few minutes  later they started singing “Oo” and “Ah” up intervals on the scale. They harmonized. Then I really felt like I was in a cathedral. Well, except for the water part. Suffice it to say that you never know when a moment of beauty might float into your day. And I bet you can’t guess which song I hummed all...

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A Sweet Legacy of Apples

Posted by on Sep 22, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

It is apple season here in the mountains of North Carolina. The apple festival took place Labor Day Weekend and ever since there are apples everywhere. We have two apple trees on our property but we’ve had trouble the past couple of years. Something was eating all of the apples before they were even ripe. I mean ALL of the apples. There weren’t even any leftovers on the ground. The apples just vanished. We suspect coons or deer, but we weren’t sure. This year, with the trees loaded with blossoms followed by tiny apples I decided enough was enough. Someone suggested hanging blank CD’s on the tree with string. Evidently the critters don’t like the shiny things and will stay away! Well, it was worth a try. Out to the tree we went and up went the CD’s. All summer I watched the shiny discs twirl gently in the breeze flashing their glare all over the yard. I also watched the apples grow and ripen. Wahoo! We won! Finally, they were ripe and we picked them. About the same time we stopped by our favorite fruit stand to see if there might be some peaches left. There weren’t, but they had apples! So, we bought some. Then my husband noticed bags of “seconds” on sale. So he bought more. Fortunately, Bruce’s Aunt Alva showed up soon thereafter. I knew Aunt Alva had just what I needed, the recipe for her Apple Honey. It is an incredible treat on toast, pancakes, ice cream, or biscuits. I think it would even make rice cakes edible! After all, I had to do something with all of the apples. So, we did. We made apple honey. We’ve also dried some apples in a dehydrator we got from Bruce’s brother and sister-in-law. I’ve made apple crisp twice using a recipe from a book my aunt gave me. We’ll be working on the apples for awhile. But, I’ll enjoy thinking about the apples from the trees Bruce’s daddy planted and the recipe from his aunt. Kind of cool isn’t it, the way legacy can sneak into your day? Then there are the tomatoes Aunt Alva discovered. Four bushel boxes. . .   Aunt Alva’s Apple Honey Peel, core, and slice ½ bushel of golden apples Put in a PLASTIC tub. Add:     2 large (20 ounce) cans crushed pineapple 5-7 pounds of sugar 2 Tablespoons lemon juice Stir and cover with a towel overnight. In the morning put the mixture in a canner and cook until the apples turn clear. Put in sterilized jars and seal....

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Of Failed Tendons and the Body of Christ

Posted by on Sep 10, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts | 1 comment

The past few weeks I have been dealing with a betrayal. A betrayal of my posterior tibial tendon. Yep, that’s right. The posterior tibial tendon in my left foot is failing. No biggy, you say? The rest of the foot can pick up the slack?   I don’t think so!   I’ve always walked flat-footed and my feet are flat—the arches are practically non-existent. My parents shelled out good money for my first pair of special orthotics when I was in my early teens. With the orthotics and avoidance of too many hours barefoot or in non-supportive shoes I’ve managed just fine. I’ve never had what could be called a graceful gait, but that didn’t really bother me. I am me and that’s who I am.   But, over the past few months I’ve developed a problem. First my left foot grew from an 8 ½ to a 10. Go figure. No wonder all my shoes hurt and my left great toe nail is bruised.   But that wasn’t all. “Miriam, your ankle has turned in. Look at it,” my husband said. “The right one is straight up and down; the left is completely laying inward.”   Yikes. Something I had noticed in passing but had failed to absorb into the problem-solving part of my brain suddenly shoved its way front and center.   So, after two weeks of vacation during which I let my little toesies be happy and free in flat sandals, I went to the store and bought size ten supportive running shoes for work. Wide-toed shoes that I find ugly. After all, I have to be able to walk/run for 12 hours and I had no work shoes that didn’t cause severe pain in my toe.   Oh boy. By the end of that first 12 hour shift in good shoes I had pulled/strained/sprained all of the muscles in that ankle. Suddenly forced into a semblance of alignment my foot rebelled. So started my odyssey.   After a visit to the doctor and a referral to the orthotics people I was presented with the diagnosis. Posterior Tibial Tendon Dysfunction. It won’t go away. It is progressive. Orthotics should help for awhile.   After two more weeks of x-rays, icing, ibuprofen, elevating, and painful 12 hour shifts, I finally got my orthotics. But they weren’t the end all. They helped relieve the pain, but by now my foot was hopelessly out of sync. My toe spasmed under with each step. All the other toes seized in response.   Add physical therapy where I was shown on a human skeleton what is happening with my foot! Wow, who knew all of those bones were so interdependent? Not me! I just went along assuming what had always worked would continue to do its thing. With the new information and the tools I need I am learning a new gait, one that puts the weight on the outside of my foot where it belongs. Changing how you walk at...

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Why shouldn’t I? Why Shouldn’t You? Praise!

Posted by on Aug 18, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

A few days ago I drove to work with my window down. I like doing that whenever it is warm enough. Somehow hearing all of the chirping birds that fill the neighborhoods between my house and the hospital makes me happy. And honestly, anything that can make me happy to be going to work at 6:30 in the morning is a good thing! I’ve always loved hearing chirping birds. They are so happy. Somehow, it lifts my soul. As I waited at the highway for traffic, a song from my childhood popped into my head.   The birds upon the treetops sing their song, The angels chant their chorus all day long. The flowers in the garden blend their hue, So why shouldn’t I, why shouldn’t you praise Him too?   It’s a simple song. At first I couldn’t remember where I learned it. It seems like one of those songs I’ve always known. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that my mommy and Grandma McKnight used to sing it to me.  But then I remembered it was on one of our childhood records. I wondered if the birds are chirping because it is morning and they are so glad the dark night is over? I wondered if they are saying good morning to each other? I wondered if they are thanking God for everything they have? Today I started looking online to find the author and copyright information for the song. I couldn’t find anything on the original author but I did find a site (www.hymnal.net) that played a clip of the song and then there were comments after the clip. I was amazed by the number of people who remembered learning this song fifty plus years ago. But, one comment caught my attention. “This was a favorite of mine about 50 years ago as well. I am now doing research and writing on ecotheology and a number of theologians stress the fact that all of creation praises God just by being what it is, a witness to God’s creativity. Whenever we worship, we are joining our voices to an unceasing universal praise. Indeed, this little chorus sums up this profound idea in such a simple way!” Allan Effa  Then I realized another message of this song. It is one that resonates greatly with me. It is this: the birds, the angels, and the flowers were all doing what God created them to do. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s what God wants from me. I am to do what He created me to do, nothing more, nothing less. And, if I listen He will be glad to let me know what that is! WOW. So, tomorrow when I drive to work I’ll roll down my windows and sing this song. Then I’ll proceed through the day surrendering to be used how God made me! To glorify...

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The Key of Change – Guest Blogger on Christian Communicator

Posted by on Jun 18, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

Have you ever thought you’ve FINALLY learned an important lesson and NOW you are done with it? Me too. But, the truth is that it isn’t that simple. We learn best by repetition. Case in point. I am honored today to be the guest blogger on the Christian Communicator site. Go to this link to read my post. Those of you who have read my book, All I Have Needed-A Legacy for Life will recognize it. This seems to be something God has been teaching me over and over the past few years, and I can’t say this summer is any different. He peels away more and more layers. Every time I think I have ARRIVED I learn that there is yet a deeper level of trust to gain in our wonderful God. I expect I’ll be working on this subject the rest of my life! So, click on the little link below and enjoy the piece. Then if you want more pieces similar to this one check out the above mentioned book either here on my site or go to your favorite local or online bookstore and order one for yourself! The Key of...

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That One Little Mug-Celebrating our Uniqueness

Posted by on Jun 5, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

That One Little Mug-Celebrating our Uniqueness

Have you ever noticed someone who just doesn’t fit into the crowd? Maybe they are taller than everyone else, a different color from the rest, have an unusual stance, or maybe they have an attitude. Maybe they are too chatty. Maybe they make people uncomfortable with their truthfulness.   Or maybe they just march to a different drumbeat; heading the opposite direction from the rest. Like the mug in this photo.   My husband and I both love symmetry. He is a bit more predictable in his symmetrical tastes than I am, but then he’s more predictable than I am, period. So, when we arrange the mugs on our mug wall we always put them facing the same way. It just looks better.   But there is this one mug we found in an old china cabinet the other day. It was his mother’s. It’s a grandma mug and it is cute and cheerful. But, when I went to hang it on the mug wall there was a problem. If I put it facing the “proper” way its good side was in. Yes, you heard me right. The side that was out just had blue writing that said, “I love Grandma.” No bright red, yellow, green, pink, and blue. Just blue.   Now, I couldn’t have that, could I? How sad it would be to put the mug so its uncreative, non-happy side was hidden.   But that is what we do when we insist that a child—or an adult conform and hide their GOD-GIVEN idiosyncrasies. Yes, they do need to learn to function in the real world and sometimes that necessitates learning that there is a place for quirky and a place for conformity.   But, maybe our “real-world” isn’t so real anymore. Maybe by making everyone act “normal” we are stifling the creativity and variety that God wants us to have. We need a balance!   Oh, I know. Sometimes there are areas of our personality that can get extreme.  Like my dad told me when I tried to use God as an excuse for talking too much. “But that’s just the way God made me,” I spouted.   “But, does that mean He wants you to stay that way?” was his reply. There is the verse that says we are new creations when we become a child of God. But, that doesn’t change the underlying personality and gifts God gave us. Instead it gives us the new nature and the Holy Spirit to help direct those  quirks.   I’m talking about personality issues here, folks. Let’s celebrate all of our quirks and different drum beats. Let’s look for ways they can glorify God. Let’s be who God made us to be! If that means going against the flow, so be it.   My husband reminded me of an example. I once knew a little girl—about five or six years old—who came to church one Sunday with three pony tails, one on each side and one in...

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Treasures in the Cedar Chest

Posted by on May 29, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts | 1 comment

Treasures in the Cedar Chest

One day last week I cleared the clutter off the cedar chest and carefully laid aside the hand crocheted tablecloth “made especially for you by Juanita Bradley”—Bruce’s aunt. I lifted the lid. I was on a mission.   I pulled out the blankets that were tucked on top of the treasures and started poking through the years of mementoes. First I discovered a pink dress, the one I wore forty years ago today when my daddy married Dortha Onstott and we were no longer a motherless family. It was a good day. I had been carefully measured just a few weeks before the wedding. But, as is apt to happen with a young girl somewhere right around my twelfth birthday, just four weeks before the wedding I grew an inch or two. Oh well. I loved the dress anyway!   “There’s my nursing cap.” I pointed to the flattened white hat, unbuttoned for easy storage. I first wore it thirty years ago this coming December. It doesn’t seem possible that I have been a nurse for almost thirty years. Where did those years go?   “What is that?” Bruce pointed to a piece of oriental material.   “My kimono”, I said. I explained that when we were little a young Japanese lady who lived with my parents for a time gave them to Cheryl and me as a gift. I don’t remember Yoko, and I don’t remember wearing the kimono, but I’ve always treasured the little gift because my mother did.   Finally, I discovered what I was searching for, a bright flowered piece of material. A sun bonnet, Laura Ingalls Wilder style.   One summer, when we lived in North Platte, Nebraska my mother had sun bonnets made for my sister and me. I think she got one too. There was a big event in town, something to do with Nebraskaland Days I believe, and she wanted us to have them to wear. The great thing about them is that unbuttoned they make a little apron. I was so excited about mine I could hardly wait. I loved the colors. But then, the day arrived and we had to wear them. The shine wore off my excitement right quick. You see, I’m kind of like Laura I guess. I didn’t like feeling hot. I didn’t like having something tied under my chin. I felt trapped. Before long the thing was hanging on my back, much to my mother’s dismay.   So, why did I unearth the bonnet? Well, it’s like this. On June 7th the curb market, a local hand-made craft and produce fair here in Hendersonville, NC is having their semi-annual “Old-Timey Day.” I have been invited to bring my books and set up a table. So, I thought to myself, why not? I’ll dig out that old bonnet and iron it up. I’ll put it on and then I can look the part.   I’m delighted to have something that my mother bought for me to...

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Of Landmarks and Air Mail

Posted by on May 12, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

Of Landmarks and Air Mail

I am a landmark driven person. If someone gives me directions, I’ll do a lot better if they include a few landmarks. When we travel I watch the signs, calling out the names of side streets and roads. We notice buildings that have seen better days, pretty homes, businesses, and churches. We really like to read church signs and we love the architecture of churches. Maybe it is a sudden valley, a lone tree, a peaceful creek running beside the car. We watch and comment on the things we see along the way.   One thing I love about the fact that we have two places between which we split our time is the familiarity which develops in the drive. All along the way from Hendersonville to Banner Elk there are landmarks.   There are the mundane places, for instance where we merge onto a different interstate. There’s the McDonalds where we sometimes stop for coffee or sweet tea. We pass Ridgecrest and The Cove where I have wonderful memories of fellowship with other writers and speakers. Some places are spectacularly beautiful, like our favorite valley—the place we day dream of living someday.   And then, there is “Air Mail”.   At the base of the mountain, immediately before the climb up what is called the “Winding Staircase,” is a mailbox. The first time we drove this road my husband told me to watch for it and then told me this story. Years ago, when he and his mother were driving up to Boone she spotted the mailbox and it tickled her funny bone. He hoped it was still there. It was a landmark of a happy time with his mother.   When we spotted it we almost felt like Mama was there with us. Sure enough, high on a pole above the real mail box was a second one with a little airplane perched on top. It was labeled “Air Mail.”   I laughed out loud. It tickled my funny bone too. So, the highlight of the trip whether we are coming up the mountain or going down is spotting the Air Mail Box. It reminds Bruce of a special experience with his mother. It gives me another connection with the mother-in-law I never got to meet. And, we either know we’ve made it down the winding staircase safely, or we need to pay attention to the curves because we are heading up!   Silly?  Maybe. But I was thinking about this the other day. I was in a conversation online about the value—or lack thereof—of sorrowing for the “good old days.” In the conversation we agreed that there is little value in that. My grandma used to say, “The good old days weren’t so good.” And it is true.   But, wait a minute. Let’s be careful not to react too quickly and bounce too far to the other side. There is value in looking at the past. There is value in noticing the landmarks, those points...

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The Treasure of Time Spent Together

Posted by on May 10, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

The Treasure of Time Spent Together

Today I saw online that one of my “Jr. Cousins”—a daughter of a cousin—is going to spend several weeks this summer with her grandparents in Nebraska. I am so excited for her. I would love to spend several weeks with her grandparents! They are some of my favorite people. Besides, they live in Nebraska. Enough said.   I told my junior cousin that she would never regret the time she spent with her grandparents. Specifically, the time where she is the only person there. I learned this lesson and I’m so thankful I did.   You see, when I was in my twenties I discovered that it was really cool to visit my grandparents without anyone else along. Especially without my parents. Now, don’t get me wrong. It was fun with them there too. But, I discovered an entirely different level of communication when it was just me and them. I don’t know if the difference was in my attitude or my grandparents’—maybe both—but I definitely felt like an adult talking to adults in a way I had never experienced before.   I heard some of the same stories, but I heard others. I found myself looking at them differently than I would have if my parents had been there to enter the conversation. I learned to appreciate my grandparents as individuals, adults, and even friends. That was the real treasure of the situation.   So today, when I realized a junior cousin was on her way to this kind of experience those mixed feelings bubbled up. Joy and even a bit of jealousy! All of my grandparents are now in heaven. I’ll have to wait until I get there to enjoy a day with them again. But, I AM thankful for every opportunity I had to spend time with them while they were here. I don’t regret one single moment. Not one.   What about you? If you have a grandma or grandpa still living, take it from me. It’s worth whatever you have to do to get there. Then you will understand the...

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Punkin Pie Trust

Posted by on Apr 30, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts | 1 comment

This morning, needing to reboot my brain so that it wouldn’t be stuck on one problem and how it could be solved, I put on my walking shoes and ushered myself out the door. As I walked along the creek on the path to the park I reveled in God’s creation. Spring is finally coming to the mountains. The cool wind blew my hair around and with it went the cobwebs muddling my brain.   My mind started reviewing the attributes of God. Nature does that to me. Omnipotent, Omniscient—I love the sound of that word—Omnipresent. . . my mind hesitated. Everywhere present. He is right here with me.   I imagined Jesus walking beside me on the path, and you better believe it, I told him all about it. After my mind spit it all out verses started coming to me.   “Cast your care upon him, for he careth for you.” HE CARETH FOR YOU! WOW! I imagined all of my worries as big rocks. I piled them up in my arms, each with its name painted in bright primary colors. I took the pile over to Jesus and I dumped them. I felt lighter.   “Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him and He shall bring it to pass.” Trust. . . there’s that tough word again.   “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and He shall direct thy paths.” Trust in the Lord with ALL my heart. ALL my heart.   At that moment a thought struck me. Is this my stumbling block with trust? Do I have the kind of trust that can dump every problem on Him, like a pile of rocks and walk away? Or is mine a puny intellectual trust that knows God is able, but doesn’t ever really dump and walk away?   Like a flash of lightening a memory shot into my mind. Grandpa McKnight was sitting in his chair, feet up on the stool in front of him. With his huge hands folded across his belly he waxed eloquent on the difference between Pumpkin Pie and Punkin Pie.   “Pumpkin pie, Miriam is great.” He grinned. “I can always eat pumpkin pie. But, well, it’s not the same thing as PUNkin pie, is it?” He unfolded his hands and rubbed them together, rolling his eyes a little. “PUNkin pie, now that’s the real deal Susie!”   And I thought, I’ve been depending on a pumpkin pie kind of trust. The kind that is easy to make. The kind that tastes a little like the real thing, but doesn’t quite satisfy. What I want, what I need is PUNkin pie trust.   But how to get that? So as I walked back home I thought about the steps to PUNkin pie trust.   Why do I trust my husband? Because I know him. I have experienced his honesty and trustworthiness over and...

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God’s Message to Me. . . and You!

Posted by on Mar 19, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts | 1 comment

Over the past several years my pattern has been to read Psalms for my devotions. I read five a day, starting with the Psalm that matches the date and then adding thirty, sixty, ninety, etc.   One great result of this habit is that now I have a journal-of-sorts of these years. As I read I can see from the notes in the margins, the underlined verses, and even the underlined sections in my Life Application Bible just what was going on that day. Not just that, but I can see how God spoke to me and met my need.   Today I was reading Psalm 41. This month I am mixing it up and just reading straight through.   Psalm 41:2-3 are bracketed and beside it I’ve written, “Daddy – December 2012!!” The verses say this: “The LORD will preserve him, and keep him alive; and he shall be blessed upon the earth: and thou wilt not deliver him unto the will of his enemies. The LORD will strengthen him upon the bed of languishing: thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.”   The reason this stood out to me that day was, well, it was so obvious.   You see, I read this passage that day from my daddy’s Bible. I was standing beside his hospital bed in the ICU at the VA in Sturgis. He had just suffered two seizures. He was still unconscious. I was scared to death and trying not to show it. I looked around the room and there, on the top of his belongings sat his Bible. Picking it up, I turned to the Psalms and started in on my pattern. And, there it was, in front of God and everyone. God’s message for Miriam for the day!   Now, I’m not one to say that God always will give such a clear answer. Many times He doesn’t. But, that day—God did. When I returned to the waiting room I told Mom, “You’ll never guess what the passage I read Daddy said.” She was amazed.   And when Daddy woke up and his mind cleared from the seizures and meds, I told him and He was encouraged.   You see, God’s Word is there to speak to us, teach us, and encourage us. Today and everyday! Don’t forget to find God’s message for you...

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The Value of The Long View

Posted by on Mar 7, 2014 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

The Value of The Long View

As I get older, I often think about my grandparents’ lives in the whole. We look at their marriages as shining examples of success, and they were. We see them as hugely successful people, and they were. But, buried in those long marriages and successful lives were harsh and difficult days. Days when they failed. Days when their situation seemed impossible. Days when they felt like giving up. Days when they couldn’t see the road ahead. But, over all they came to the end of their lives and looked back on it with joy at the great life they had! This is a lesson for me. What about you? The value of the long view. It’s just another legacy they left...

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