Category: a bit of history

a bit of history · friends and loved ones · in my kitchen

fresh, warm bread

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Its one of my very favorite things. I love, love, love home made bread – especially my grandmother’s. I come from a long line of bread bakers who know how to make an incredible loaf of bread. MMMMMmmmmm – If I close my eyes, I can smell its aroma and I can almost taste it. Nothing is like it.

There is a particular ‘bread’ moment that I remember… we were having a light dinner at my grandma and grandpa Brubacher’s house. As we sat around the dining room table there was soup in a large terrine, and there was all kinds of meats and cheeses and condiments to make sandwiches. Now for some this would not be exciting, but there in the center of the table was a platter with slices of fresh bread for the eating. You may not believe it, but I can still taste that sandwich – especially the bread. So soft, so flavorful…

unforgettable…

Not long ago at our family reunion my aunt and a few cousins were talking bread recipes and methods. As I sat listening I realized how much I would really like to make my own bread. I’ve been thinking about starting for months. But, alas, making good bread takes time, energy and a lot of practice. All of which are reasonable expectations if you want delicious bread, except for someone with a baby. Recently that baby turned one and I’m thinking I may have time to dig in very soon.

There is another ‘bread’ memory from the dinner table at my grandparent’s home. At every meal before we began eating, God’s word was opened. My grandpa would read a portion of God’s word and maybe a reading from “The Daily Bread” – or from another subscription… It didn’ t really matter – This was fresh bread from Heaven, a delectable tidbit from the Heavenly Father. So sweet and tender…

life changing…

And now it is my turn. I’ve ordered the school books for Em and Isaac this year. I’ve been praying and planning. My ideas are coming to fruition; the calendar is beginning to fill up with page numbers and basic goals for the year. But I’ve come to realize this : its nothing without the fresh bread. I’m not talking about the kind you eat for your tummy’s benefit- I’m talking about the kind you consume for your Heart – God’s word.

Its not that I didn’t plan a Bible curriculum. No, I did that. However I have been reminded of the reality that it has to be more than that. I must serve up fresh words from the Heavenly Father on a daily basis – it has to be the center of our educational feast. Without it everything else we learn is worthless. But when it is at the heart of our learning, everything else makes sense. So enlightening, so life-giving…

Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty.

I may not get to start out with making fresh bread for our meals quite yet. But, I will be serving it up at the dining room table this year. Its my heart’s desire that every subject will have a fresh, warm side of God’s word and that our lives will be nourished on a daily basis by Him.

a bit of history

the squirrels’ lunch…

melodyannday1 Comment

What I’m about to tell you is from quite a ways back, deep into my history – at least 30 years ago.  I was five. Danville, Illinois is where this account takes place, at the home of our pastor, Dr. Harris Stuermer and his wife Ann.  We had been invited over for Saturday lunch, one fine spring day and so, we arrived around noon, my mom, dad, sister and I.

Lunch wasn’t quite ready, so I found myself with my sister, sitting on the back patio with Pastor Stuermer, looking at his beautiful roses.  As my dad came out onto the patio, Pastor turned and said (not realizing who he was dealing with), “Well Ken, it looks like the squirrels haven’t had their lunch yet, either…”

Now I will pause and tell you here, the roses in their backyard were breathtaking.  There were large, pink juicy blooms as far as the eye could see.  (You know, I remember pink – but they could have been yellow or red or white – they seem to change color in my memory) But as you probably know, there is only one way to keep those kinds of beautiful  flowers around.  You must deal with pests by feeding them a special lunch, if you know what I mean.  And that is how Pastor Stuermer knew.  That is all I will say about that – but I had no understanding of any sort at five.

And so,  I began asking my dad and our good host, “But how do you know they haven’t eaten their lunch?”  And knowing myself, as only a few people do, I’m sure I asked again and again, to be sure that I was heard.  But no one seemed to be able to answer. Finally I gave up, because at five there are better things to do than look at roses and squirrels.  However, the adults on the patio knew.  But they also understood something my dad has told me over and over since that time:  “On a need to know basis, you do not need to know!”

Ahhhhh.

But yes I do!  I’m standing here at the brink of life with my little family in tow.  I have a lot of questions about what has happened to date… And what the future holds!  I need to know, don’t I?  *insert hands on hips here*  DON’T I?  *insert stomp of foot here*  This is all very real to me, right at this moment and I’m expecting an answer to my questions.  But instead, as plain as day, I hear these words:

I’m leading the way because I’ve already been down this road,
I’m bringing up the rear since I know what may come from behind.
I’ve got you covered from above, I’m hovering near all the time.
And I’ve hemmed you in on the right and left, you’re wrapped in my protection.
That blind spot you’ve noticed is not important, I see everything.  I won’t be caught by surprise.
So relax!  Because on a need to know basis, you don’t need to know – since I DO!

Time and time again He responds to me with care and affection like only He can. Its amazing how His unconditional love is always the answer that I need! What a loving Heavenly Father I have!  And on a need to know basis – that is all I need to know!

One of my favorite old songs reminds me of this:

When I’m weary of life’s tribulations, I turn to Jesus, He hears my cry.
He lifts my burdens and He gives me peace beyond compare.
My soul is resting in His care.
In times of trouble I have a Savior.
Why should I worry?  He’s always there.
He sees the sparrow and I know He’s watching over me.
My soul is resting in His care.
I’m in His care.  Oh Yes!  I’m in His care.
There is no problem or sorrow He cannot bear.
I will not fret, I will not fear, I’m not alone, my God is near.
My soul is in His care.

****************************

Cast your cares on the LORD  and he will sustain you;  he will never let the righteous be shaken.  Psalm 55:22

(originally written on January 27, 2011)

a bit of history · who knows?

A calendar of “Yes Days”

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Today will be a ‘Yes Day!’ I can hear the lilt in her voice, even now. My great grandmother would say it regularly to my sister and I during our summer visits. A ‘Yes Day’?!? Again? Of course it could not be a ‘No Day’ – not at GG’s house – not ever.

Usually over breakfast she would approach us with the declaration of a yes day. Breakfast was special because she would buy those little boxes of cereal and we would get to choose what cereal we wanted. This was a treat of epic proportions because my mom did not ever buy sugar cereals. Only a yes day could begin with something as special as “little boxes.”

I guess it was her way of keeping the whining and complaining at bay. She would say, “But today is a Yes Day.” And it worked. Somehow, she said it with such confidence in her voice that the grumpies would turn into giggles. It was as if she was a magician making them disappear like that.

As a mom, I would like to be a magician, just like my GG. I have attempted it with my daughter Emily. Especially since we home school – its easy to get into the routine of accepting a bit of whining and complaining. Recently I adapted the ‘Yes Day’ method. One day my daughter looked at me and said, “But mom, we just had a yes day yesterday.” Clearly she felt it was her right to have a no day once in a while.

Honestly, I’ve had my moments where I thought it was my right to have a ‘No Day!’ I’ve complained to God more often than I should. My house isn’t in the right neighborhood. I don’t have the right clothes. My children won’t act right in public. Why can’t my dishwasher unload itself? I’ve been telling my daughter to have a ‘yes day’ all the while my ‘no days’ have been prolific…

Colossians 3: 16-17 says, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”

Thanksgiving is this week and so, I’ve made a resolution. Its really only appropriate that it begins at this holiday. I’m going to clear the calendar of ‘no days’. I have so much to be thankful for – there really is no excuse to complain and whine. God has been so good – heaping blessing upon blessing onto my little family. And maybe, just maybe, as I begin to be thankful, my children will be able to follow suit. No magic, just a change of heart.

Thank you Father for all of the many good gifts you have given me! Help me to keep this in the front of my mind throughout each day. I give you praise and thank you with my whole heart! Amen.

And now, I have a ‘yes day’ to get started!

md

(written November 24, 2009)

md

a bit of history

keys to success

melodyannday1 Comment

(My Grandparents with my three children, this past Christmas 2011.)

I remember visiting my Grandparents as a child, at their home in Goderich, Ontario.  It was a large, two-story brick house.  There was a front, grand staircase, and a hidden staircase that took you from the kitchen to the hall above, near the master bedroom.  And a bright pink and black bathroom.  My memories of our time with them, there at that house are very specific, and full of comfort; like a warm blanket that you can wrap up in on a cool evening.   Shreddies saturated in honey.  Playing UNO in the sun-room. Running up and down the back stairs, but stopping to watch Grandma whip hot, steamy, potatoes into creamy submission. Sitting on Grandpa’s lap in his big armchair recliner in the living room. And don’t forget Grandma’s baking- a cream bun, sweet rolls, a coffee cake – she always had something on hand…

But what stands out in my memories, far and above the rest, is the after-meal tradition.  After every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner, we would sit around the dining room table and when we had finished eating we would read God’s word and a devotional.    My Grandpa and Grandma Brubacher were the first to give my sister and I a copy of “Keys for Kids.”  It was a monthly periodical with devotionals for children.      We loved it back then, and I still read them to my kids now.

In my memory it seems as though they were always reading their Bible, or a devotional, and talking about the Lord. In fact, I’m not sure I can recall a significant conversation with them, in my later years,  where He didn’t come up…  As early as fifth grade, I remember my grandparents coming for a visit and my Grandpa came into my bedroom to chat.  He sat down next to me on my bed and asked me how things were going in my relationship with the Lord.  Back then I thought it seemed unusual and a bit strange.  Now I see it was all a part of Grandpa’s strategy.

He knew the keys to true success.

I read a quote recently from Robert Louis Stevenson: “That man is successful who has lived well, laughed often and loved much.”  I suppose that may be true in part.  But, Reuben Brubacher had success of a different nature in mind.  He wanted to leave a legacy of believers.  He wanted his offspring to be genuine followers of Christ.   And in word and deed he went about setting the very best example humanly possible of one who loved the Lord.  Grandpa talked about Him in the morning when the sun was coming up, and all thru the day til the sun was going down.  Those were his keys.

And it worked – His legacy is children, grandchildren and now even great -grandchildren who have chosen to follow Christ.  I can say sincerely as one of Reuben and Ann Brubacher’s grandchildren that it is in no small part because of their influence that I am a Christian.  My Grandfather, by God’s grace, has lived a truly successful life. (a humble man, I’m sure I’ll never hear him claim anything of the sort.)

Today, I can only tell you that I hope I can leave the same legacy as my grandparents.  totally sold out.  unashamed.  bold.  Those are the real keys…

My Grandfather took these words to heart from Deuteronomy 11, and has reaped the blessings:

18 Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. 19 Teach them to your children,talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. 20 Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, 21 so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land the Lordswore to give your ancestors, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth.

and,

from Psalm 92:

1 It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
And to sing praises to Your name, O Most High;
2 To declare Your lovingkindness in the morning,
And Your faithfulness every night,

a bit of history · who knows?

mountain mover

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It was delivered last week.  Two tons of river rock.  The “rock guy” dumped it in our front yard to the left of the driveway, a mountain of tiny smooth stones.  Every time I stepped out the front door, the big pile of rocks was staring back at me.  All weekend, I avoided making eye contact. My time was coming, but I didn’t want to dwell on it.  Not yet.

Well, this morning was my date with those stones.  While there was still significant shade and temperatures were low, I got on my boots and gloves, grabbed the shovel and moved the wheelbarrow into place.  It was time to transport the rocks to the backyard.  Specifically : uphill, to the site of the workshop, which we are preparing to build.

You may not know, but, my husband had a procedure on his hand a few days ago, and so in order to not interfere with healing, the mountain moving work fell directly onto my shoulders.  With lumber being ordered recently, and hopefully delivered shortly after we return from the beach, it became clear that the vapor barrier and layer of stones needed to be put in place this week.  And I was the one to do it.

It went like this:  shovel stones into wheel barrow.  push wheel barrow up the hill to the backyard.  empty wheel barrow and spread stones.  repeat.  again and again and again.  Many cups of water and lots of sweat later I succumbed to my earthly body and gave up for the morning, with plans to continue the work in the cool of the morning, tomorrow.  I felt pretty good about the effort, but realized my inadequacy when I looked out the back window :  I didn’t even finish half of the job.

While I was hard at work first thing this morning, I thought about other mountains that had been moved in my life, mountains that were moved on my behalf.  I’m a hard worker in the best of senses, but even I know that there have been times when I was powerless to make things happen.    Only God could….

There was the mountain that moved when I moved to Tennessee, with a tiny amount of savings and only a very small part time job, and no place to live, that He provided for me. Then there was the time that I was able to purchase my piano, which I never thought I would be able to do.  And I can’t forget the moment when I realized I was working my last full time day in the corporate world; I was going  home full time to be with my children because the need for that income, which had been a huge mountain, was eliminated.  And there are so many, many more accounts of mountains moved.

All of these memories kept me moving, up and down the hill, shoveling, one more time.  You see, this whole building a guitar workshop project sometimes feels very daunting.  Not just the building process of the shop, but the making guitars business that will follow.   I really  have no idea how it is all going to work out and a lot of days it seems like a HUMONGOUS mountain that is immovable and impassable.  But, as I relived those memories of how God has already moved really big barriers on my behalf over and over again, the wheel barrow wasn’t quite so heavy, the backyard didn’t seem so steep and the work began to pass by quickly…

These words mean something entirely different to me this evening, as I examine the future…

from Matthew 17:20:

for assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you. 

Heavenly Father, You have always been my mountain mover.  When I’ve thought there was no way, you have made the way plain, removed obstacles, taken down barriers.  Restore the belief in my heart for what is ahead.  Give me the faith to keep moving in the right direction.   amen.

a bit of history

Sweet Strawberries…

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Its that time of year. The strawberries at a local farm are coming in strong. I know because I was blessed with eight quarts yesterday morning. My mother and father in law made the drive yesterday and picked up enough for a small army – I was one of the happy recipients. And oh, are they sweet. There is nothing as good as a fresh, locally grown strawberry.

Well, unless you’re eating a fresh strawberry that you just picked yourself.

How do I know this, you might wonder… Well, I’ll tell you. In the summer of 1982 I was visiting my grandparents who lived on the rolling hills and plains of Iowa. On their property they had large gardens, which happened to have a big portion of one of the plots designated for strawberries. rows and rows of strawberries.

In the morning before it would get too hot, (which isn’t really possible at the end of June in Iowa- it was always hot…) my great grandmother (GG, we called her) would send us out with our buckets to pick berries that had become ripe. I must confess I didn’t enjoy it – it was hot, sticky, uncomfortable and dirty. I didn’t fully understand it then, but I can look back with such appreciation now. Those were the most incredible, tasty, berries – better than any you could buy.

Some things in life require significant amounts of discomfort, patience and effort, but in the end – those have the highest reward.

I compare this thought with my own life now. Too often, I want the easy, painless road. I pray for God’s will to be mine, but, “please let Your way for me be the one without sorrow.” I forget that to be like Christ is to take up my cross, to join with Him in suffering.

Daily I am bombarded with this world’s way of thinking. The easy life is the “sweet life.” My way right away. If I’m honest, its what I long for. I want to focus on Scriptures that promise joy and happiness and overlook the ones that require commitment, loyalty, long-suffering.

But there is truth to my strawberry principle : Berries that are served over ice cream because my hands harvested them in the heat of the day are so much juicier and delightful than berries bought at the store. Likewise, healing for one person who has known significant pain and illness is so much more gratifying, even inspiring, than the health of another who has been well all along. True joy is savored the most when it follows a period of suffering.

From James 1:

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.

Heavenly Father, What a promise You have made for those who love You! Blessings will follow the trials. Help me to be steadfast to the end, whatever the trial may be, so that I may taste the sweetness of your lovingkindness.

(written in May of 2010)

a bit of history · friends and loved ones

The Dance of Unspeakable Joy…

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(my sweet girl, light on her feet!)

In the spring of 1993, I was a senior in high school. I was preparing to graduate. But graduation was the farthest thing from my mind. As spring came into full bloom and May drew closer, there was one thing and one thing only that I was thinking about and that was Prom. And I, I was a Baptist pastor’s daughter.

In case you don’t know what that means, I’ll tell you: most Baptists don’t dance. I had a very tall hurdle in front of me. I wanted to go to the prom so badly that I begged, I pleaded, and I bargained with my dad. Finally he acquiesced. I could go to the prom, on one condition: I had to lay low… I was absolutely not to make a big deal of this. We didn’t want the deacons finding out, right?

On the evening of the dance, I donned a beautiful bright pink taffeta dress, I hopped into my date’s freshly washed shiny red Toyota and we were off to have fun and be as inconspicuous as possible. And oh, did we have fun!

I didn’t realize until the following morning that I had been unsuccessful with the “inconspicuous” part of the plan. There on the very front page of my hometown’s Sunday morning newspaper was a picture of me, arm in arm with my date, large as life in our fancy prom duds, our names in the caption box below.

So much for incognito…

Twenty years later, I can laugh about the story with my parents. Sort of.  But, I still feel the details of the story like it was yesterday; my face flushes several shades of bright red and my pulse races to new heights.

Back then I was so nervous to see my dad’s reaction! I wanted to hide the Sunday paper, but that was futile since I was sure that all of the deacons got the Sunday paper. There was one thing that had been impressed on me long before that day, but now it was stuck permanently to me like glue : dancing is wrong. Except, its not. At least, that’s what I’ve learned since then.

Actually, it was only a few weeks ago that I realized just how right dancing can be.

My children and I were sitting at the breakfast table, getting ready to start our school day. The atmosphere was a bit heavy because of a few things going on in our family; a sick friend was in genuine need, an uncle of mine had passed away recently, and of course there were all of the other frustrations and plain old junk that happens. We were life-less while we sat munching our cereal, completely weighed down by it all.

Instead of beginning our day with the usual memory work that goes with our home school curriculum, I decided to put on our CD of Scripture songs by Seeds Family Worship. We started bee-bopping at the table, singing along. Songs from Matthew and Jeremiah and Isaiah, were ringing out with truths we needed to hear like, “Ask and it will be given to you,” and “Call to me and I’ll answer,” and “Do not fear for I am with you.”

We’d heard these tunes before, but they were new that morning. And then something indescribable happened. There was this unexpected, blissful freedom lifting us right out of our seats and propelling our bodies into movement. Singing along was just not enough.  Before I knew it we were up dancing and giggling and jumping right out of our sorrows.

Now, I’m sure we looked funny. As you can imagine, I am not a dancer in a groovy, “Oooh! That girl’s got moves,” kind of way. But, we were moved by the exciting truths from God’s Word – and when that happened, there was such a release of joy right in our living room!

Should I be surprised? In Ecclesiastes, it says there is a time for mourning, but also for dancing. Psalm 30 talks about how HE is able to turn our mourning into dancing. It makes so much sense to me as I think about it now: when I begin to meditate on the power of His promises, the burdens are lifted and my feet really do become light.

I’m so thankful for a Heavenly Father who inspires new dance moves at a moment’s notice, just when I need to “get moving” with a new attitude! The life He gives really does turn sadness into a dance of unspeakable joy!


a bit of history · friends and loved ones · home schooling

a toccatina life

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My history is riddled with piano performances and recital pieces that were played by the seat of my pants.  No, really its true. As a child  I loved to be at the piano.  I played and played and played.  I’m sure my family would vouch for me on that count.  But, that was just what it was.  playing.

I loved to play, but I did not always choose to practice the way I was instructed.  My teachers would tell me, “Practice this portion slowly, and repetitively and you’ll get it.  Your performance will be stellar, if you do what I suggest.”  That’s what they would say, or something similar.   But, my ears couldn’t hear most of the time.  I loved to play, but I had a ‘wild hare’ about me.  I liked to play fast.

And so, I played pieces, often, just on the edge of disaster.  almost under control.  almost.

By the time I finished my senior recital in college, I had sort of learned the principle.  And, even then one of my pieces could have been better, if I had put into practice what my instructors had been telling me my whole life.

My daughter is now the one on the bench, having piano lessons with a wonderful teacher, and getting unsolicited advice from me on the side.  She’s preparing for a piano competition this coming Saturday.  And there’s one piece, Toccatina, that requires a very quick pace.  Oh how she loves to fly over the keys.  But, there are hitches. When I mention practicing slowly, she plays even faster.

Now, I’ve been there and I know what her outcome might be.  I wish she would practice more carefully.  But, she can’t hear me.  Regrettably, she is taking after her mama.

Turns out the piano bench, wasn’t the only part of life where I was living fast-paced, ignoring instruction.  Often I find myself in situations, charging down paths unknown, earplugs inserted, rather than hearing. If only I wasn’t so hard headed, and in such a hurry to do things my way, then it wouldn’t be so difficult!  Even today, I’m making a u-turn, realizing maybe I should have listened…  Oh, Lord, please help me!

There is a softer, kinder cure for inexperience : It is listening to wisdom.

Here is what Proverbs 2:1-9 says.  Words that are true for ALL of life:

My son, if you receive my words,
And treasure my commands within you,
2 So that you incline your ear to wisdom,
And apply your heart to understanding;
3 Yes, if you cry out for discernment,
And lift up your voice for understanding,
4 If you seek her as silver,
And search for her as for hidden treasures;
5 Then you will understand the fear of the Lord,
And find the knowledge of God.
6 For the Lord gives wisdom;
From His mouth come knowledge and understanding;
7 He stores up sound wisdom for the upright;
He is a shield to those who walk uprightly;
8 He guards the paths of justice,
And preserves the way of His saints.
9 Then you will understand righteousness and justice,
Equity and every good path.

This is such good news for my heart.  All wisdom, for every part of life, comes from God and He gives willingly, even liberally! Sometimes it comes from the mouths of people who have already heard His voice, and have helpful knowledge to offer.  Sometimes it is prophetic, straight from His word.    But, I have to seek it and acknowledge it with my whole heart and put it into action.   Then maybe my daughter would have a good example to follow…  for practicing the Toccatina and for living her life.

Heavenly Father, Help me to change.  I want to follow after you and your wisdom. Remove whatever is keeping me from hearing You and your instruction.  Let me apply your words to my heart first and let that bring new actions.  amen.

a bit of history · friends and loved ones

lost in the holes

melodyannday2 Comments

There are large, two feet deep holes in my backyard.  Twelve of them, to be exact.  Soon there will be 12 concrete pillars, then wood posts attached and a foundation laid across those posts.  In the not too distant future a small workshop will sit on top of that foundation.

It is a dream that got all this dirt moving:  my husband’s dream to build guitars.  I feel sure he’s spent sleepless nights planning what his first guitar will look like, how he’ll construct it and what it will sound like.  I’m positive he thinks about it a lot.  But right now that seems so far away.

The guitar-making isn’t just a dream, it is a desire to follow. And believe me I’ve asked him probably no less than one hundred times, “Are you sure this is what He wants us to do?”  And He affirms, “Yes.  I need to get started.  The rest will work itself out in time.”

But me, I loose sight of that first guitar.  It gets lost in all those holes…

Really, I’m not good at being far-sighted.  I approach life with here and now vision, and that can be difficult sometimes.  Things don’t always work out that way.  God’s timing isn’t forced into particular instants.  In fact it is a lot different.  Often He asks me to begin digging the holes, when I don’t know what the end will be.

Seriously, the Bible is full of lives who moved in obedience without full disclosure, right?  Noah, Moses, Abraham, Joseph, Isaac – the list really goes on. They all took the steps, one at a time, moving forward in what God asked even when it sounded crazy.  And if I want to read some insane stories, any of their scenarios will fit the bill!   But, ultimately they followed, even when it seemed impossible, unreasonable and down-right nuts.

When I look out my kitchen window, to the back left corner of our property, I feel a little bit nutty.  Those holes threaten to open up and swallow me whole.  But, all I have to do is go back and read Hebrews 11 and realize I am in really good company.  This life of being a believer, a Christ follower, is a journey.  It is an every day choice of faith, moving according to His will the best that I can.

As I watch my husband in his back-breaking work, I can let myself be distressed over the future. Or I can submerge myself into the security that faith brings, knowing those  holes belong there.  They are a step of obedience.

1 Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. (from Hebrews 11)

Of course, obedience doesn’t mean I will see the results I think are appropriate. As I follow Him, I have a hope and assurance that He will take and use this humble life for His honor and glory.  Does that mean Michael’s guitar making will be famous?  No.  Will it be a lucrative hobby, at least?  I have absolutely no idea.   It just means that our Heavenly Father has a purpose beyond our earthly understanding – and in simple faithfulness, following Him, we get to be a tiny part of that purpose.

Heavenly Father, Let us be faithful to your calling.  Use us however You see fit, for your glory on this earth.  Keep us on Your path, following your plan step by step.  Help me to get lost in your will, not in the holes.  amen.

*********

Last night, as I lay in bed, I remembered a simple hymn we used to sing when I was young at our church in London.  We would sing it as people were baptized.  It is a choice to follow Him, wherever He leads.    I get just a bit teary as I sing this from my heart, renewing my promise to the Lord this morning .

Where He Leads Me I will Follow

I can hear my Savior calling,
I can hear my Savior calling,
I can hear my Savior calling,
“Take thy cross and follow, follow Me.”

Where He leads me I will follow,
Where He leads me I will follow,
Where He leads me I will follow;
I’ll go with Him, with Him, all the way.

I’ll go with Him through the garden,
I’ll go with Him through the garden,
I’ll go with Him through the garden,
I’ll go with Him, with Him all the way.

He will give me grace and glory,
He will give me grace and glory,
He will give me grace and glory,
And go with me, with me all the way.

a bit of history · home schooling

And the answer is…

melodyanndayLeave a comment

Maxwell Crescent.  That’s the name of the street where I spent a portion of my childhood – in London, Ontario. Growing up in Canada introduced me to a new culture full of different foods, friends and terminology.  There is one particular memory that sticks with me, even today.

I had made a new friend who lived down the street, named Carla.  Now Carla, as far as I know, was a full blooded Canadian – born and raised in London.  We were quick friends, walking to school together, playing around the neighborhood, riding bikes, ice skating in her backyard. (Yes, for you southerners, I said ice skating)  We were around each other a lot during those elementary years.  One of the first days we walked home from school, that first fall, I’ll never forget something she said.  Her house was just a few doors down on the opposite side of the street.  But as I stopped at my driveway and she kept walking, she shouted over her shoulder, “Call on me later so we can play!”  And with that, she disappeared around the bend in the road, into her house.

“Call on me…”  I mulled it over in my mind.  At nine years old I wasn’t sure what to do.  This was back in the day when I wasn’t allowed to pick up the phone just whenever I wanted… was I supposed to call her on the phone?  I was baffled.  I went inside and asked my mom.  My mom, who was also born and bred as a Canadian, explained that Carla wanted me to go over to her house and knock on the door.  She wanted me to come and get her so we could play together.  “Call” had nothing to do with dialing numbers on a phone.

It is a word that rings true today, in fact. (no pun intended)  You may know that my husband and I choose to home school our children.  If you were to peek at my calendar, you would see that our start date for school this year is on this coming Monday.  only two days away.  two short days.  I am prepared.  The books have been purchased, school supplies organized, lesson plans written.  In a lot of ways I am ready.

But today I began to doubt.  You see, there are a lot of things I can’t plan.  This is very upsetting to someone like me who is a planner by nature.  And as all of those “unplan-able” types of things began to mount up in my mind, my heart began to race.  What will Mackenzie do while I’m helping Isaac with his coloring?  How will I find time for Emily to practice piano if Mackenzie is napping?  Will I be able to get all of Emily’s school work done and still interact with Isaac on his activities?  And the questions piled up, right here in the room with me in tangible heaps of worry, messing up my previously neatly organized school nook.

It was when I put my hands over my face, in order to avoid making eye contact with the piles, that I heard Him say, “Call to me…”  Now, you may not know this, but I have been praying.  a lot.  I have covered every inch of my school nook, including the book case and the table and chairs and the text books in prayer.  But He said it again, persisting… “No, Call to me…”

And it dawned on me, He meant “call” just like Carla had said it.  Come over.  Let’s spend time in each other’s presence.  When these questions come up – He’s got the answer.  He didn’t mean, float some giant, nebulous prayer out into the cosmos. He doesn’t want me to leave a message on His answering machine so He can get back to me later.  No, He wants person to person contact.

Jeremiah 33:3 says, “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”

And with that, my load of anxiety over all of these unanswerable, unforeseen questions evaporated into thin air.  I don’t have to know the answers.  I just have to spend time with The One who does…

amen.  thank you Lord.

md

(written August 13, 2010)