Category: a bit of history

a bit of history · friends and loved ones · who knows?

summertime on the porch

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When I was a child, my sister and I spent weeks at a time at our Great Grandmother, GG’s home in Ottumwa, Iowa.  Conveniently it was located next door to our Mammaw and Pappaw’s house.    I have so many happy memories of summertime in Iowa.

Summer was spent doing important things like picking strawberries from the garden, playing under the oversized Willow tree in the far front corner of the yard, and sitting on the davenport on the front porch to watch Lightening storms in the evening. Catching lightening bugs at dusk was always on the agenda, and of course, indulging in GG’s hot chocolate sauce over Hy-Vee vanilla ice cream for a treat.

I can feel it, like it all happened a few days ago; sitting there on the davenport with GG in the heat, the humidity wrapping around our necks like a thick winter scarf  while sharp, forks of lightening stabbed at the dark in the distance.    The glider-style couch had a large bright blue floral pattern on it that I can still see now when I close my eyes.  And she always wore a cotton, loose fitting, house dress and looked absolutely comfortable no matter the temperature…

I’m draped with memories of GG from my childhood, especially in the summer season.   While it used to bring pain, I’m filled with so much happiness now when I have a quick memory of her, her laugh, and her sparkling eyes.   Our summers were golden with GG.

One thing I recall for certain : GG began her mornings with God’s Word.  When we woke in the morning, we would see her Bible open, next to her cup of Folgers.  Could there be a better way to start a summer morning?  No.  absolutely not. Well,  except for the Folger’s part!

Without realizing it (until recently), I have been following in GG’s  footsteps; waking early to read my Bible and sip coffee (but, not Folgers), or wearing the always comfortable, always appropriate loose cotton summer dresses.  I even thought recently that I needed my own davenport for the back deck so that we could watch the lightening bugs glitter in the evenings.

I’m so grateful for the simple childhood memories that, even to this day, call me back to what is truly important!

from Psalm 92:

1 It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
    to sing praises to your name, O Most High;
2 to declare your steadfast love in the morning,
    and your faithfulness by night,

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

clean up as you go

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Saturday was a full day in my kitchen.  In my calendar, the day was free of appointments or commitments- so I was quite carefree!  I made plans to get my shopping done and get lots of food preparation done for the coming week.  There were  loaves of bread, muffins, and brownies to bake; soup to be made as well as hard boil some eggs; and there was fruit and veggie prep for easy snacking access.

When I got home from the store, and everything was unloaded and put away – I started with the bread dough.  As things were moving along in my kitchen, I found myself at the sink washing the same few utensils and bowls over and over again- in the middle and at the end of projects.   It is how things have always been done in my kitchen, my mom’s kitchen and my grandmother’s kitchen.

You clean up as you go.

Not long ago my cousin, Ang, and I created a Brubacher family cookbook full of recipes from our family.  But, it also included pearls of wisdom from my Grandma’s kitchen.  And do you know what was the first thought she shared with us?  Clean up the kitchen as you work.  Don’t leave a big mess for the end.  I think my mom and my aunts will all vouch for her.  This is how my Grandma has always operated.  It is good advice.

Its not just good kitchen advice.

When life really gets cooking, there are things that I tend to neglect.  And before I know it, I’m full of junk.  Let me be more specific – sin- I let sin pile up like a big load of nasty, dirty, sour-smelling dishes.   I can feel the weight of it, hanging heavy on my heart.  The more build-up, the more daunting it is.    It is so much better to keep a short account of my heart – to pray and ask the Holy Spirit to help me notice the sin, to acknowledge it and to confess it.   My Heavenly Father promises to forgive.

I love how the Psalmist describes it in chapter 32:

Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,
    whose sin is covered.
Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity,
    and in whose spirit there is no deceit.

For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away
    through my groaning all day long.
For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
    my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah

I acknowledged my sin to you,

    and I did not cover my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,”
    and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. Selah

I’m grateful to a Heavenly Father who has provided the only way for my heart to be made new.  There is forgiveness in His hands and He is prepared to make me clean, if I’ll only ask.  What a refreshing promise!

And thank you Grandma for being a godly woman of wisdom, not just in kitchen matters, but matters of the heart!

 

a bit of history · friends and loved ones

the rolling sea

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One hot summer, when I was a little girl- and don’t ask me the year because I’m not sure – we spent time in Goderich with my Grandma and Grandpa Brubacher.  Their big, red brick, house seemed immense to me as a little girl. The grand staircase in the front, the sun room at the back and the dining room in between with a table that stretched for miles and accommodated our large family  – it all made for the best “Grandma’s house” ever.

But, that summer, it wasn’t the house that I remember as much as the trip to Lake Huron. My parents loaded us up in the family station wagon and we went to the beach for a swim with a bunch of other Brubachers – I don’t remember exactly who.

I do remember that I went out into the lake with my mum and her youngest brother, my Uncle David.  We swam out to the deep where I couldn’t touch and we jumped the waves.  And there were big ones.  Well, big to me – this tiny, probably 3 foot tall person who’d never been for a swim in the lake before, certainly not out that deep.

It was the best time a little girl could have on a hot summer day.   I was a fairly good swimmer, but I didn’t have to worry  about the waves one way or the other because I knew my mum or my uncle would keep me safe, above the fray.  My confidence was they would catch me no matter how the lake swelled and rolled.

Recently, I had pause to remember all of those waves while playing through this old hymn at my Uncle’s funeral.  I’ve sung these words hundreds of times – and they are so familiar  that I know all four stanzas by heart.

When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll.  Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.

Never in my life have I felt plunged beneath heavy waves of grief like now.  Newly, I understand what the writer meant by sea billows of sorrow. In my lifetime, I’ve lost three grandparents and my precious GG, but none of those deaths have brought so much sadness.  The sorrow I’ve experienced is just like those Lake Huron waves rolling – tugging me down to the depths. Then, without warning they thrust me upward and just as I think I’ve caught my breath I’m thrown down again – jerked around without any control over the emotions that roll and swell.

But, I’m reminded that I can have that same confidence that I had as a child – not in my mum or my uncle this time – but, in my Savior.  He has made it well. That is his promise.  He is able to calm the raging sea of anguish in my heart.  He is the ultimate peace giver, even when the storm is threatening to ravage my soul again.

Regularly, this brief Scripture has brought calm to my heart and mind when I need it most:

from Psalm 34:

17 When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears
    and delivers them out of all their troubles.
18 The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
    and saves the crushed in spirit.

19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
    but the Lord delivers him out of them all.

Why does it matter that He is near?  It matters because He alone knows – He knows my story because He wrote it.  It matters because He understands – He bore all of my suffering when He died on the cross.  And It matters because He is able to give peace that is beyond understanding, and no one else can do that – He is the prince of peace.

 

Especially when the water is deep and I can’t touch, I know He will keep me safe in the waves.  I know His loving arms will rescue me and lift me above the rolling sea.

 

 

a bit of history · friends and loved ones

ready, not ready

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When I was a little girl, I spent my 7th birthday with my parents and sister as well as three of my favorite people; my Uncle Harvey, my Aunt Sharon and my little butter ball of a baby cousin, Paul.   It was a special birthday because it was the first I would spend in London, Ontario at our house on Hines Crescent.

We had pot roast with potatoes and carrots for dinner and the sweetest sugary pink cherry chip birthday cake.  In the photo of this happy event, we are all dressed up, and it seems like maybe it was a Sunday afternoon.     Do you know what I remember?  We played UNO – and there was laughter.  lots of laughter.  That feeling of “my stomach is going to hurt for days from laughing so much” was common when spending time with Uncle Harv.

Not too many years later, I recall sitting in church with my Uncle Harv and Aunt Sharon.  And something smelled really, really, really bad.  Uncle Harv leaned over to my sister and whispered with a little smirk, “Is that you?”  Giggles tried to sneak out, but we stifled them.  Then we looked down and we realized I had a large hunk of dog poop on my beautiful black patten leather shoe.  Then we did giggle.  But not as much as a few moments later when our pastor read a passage from Psalms with the phrase “dung gate.”  With my shoulders shaking, there was no hope of survival and I had to step out of the sanctuary for a moment.

As a young teenager, I remember returning to London for a visit with family.  My sister and I were having a chat with Uncle Harv about boys – it seems maybe one of us had a broken heart and he was encouraging us with his particular sense of humor.   He said to us, “Just remember girls, there will always be plenty of fish in the sea… (long pause) But then, who really wants to date a fish?”  His timing was always perfect.

Except for now.

It is no laughing matter that my Uncle Harvey left this earth for his heavenly home and I did not get to say goodbye.   Make no mistake about it – Harvey was ready.  Even when he was in the hospital last week recovering from a heart attack, he told everyone who would listen that he was ready, and knew where he was going.    He was prepared because he knew Jesus, and believed the promises from God’s word.

On my part – I was not ready.  I wasn’t ready for him to be absent from our next family gathering, or to not answer the phone when I call.  Not ready to miss his wide grin,  his laugh or one of his big hugs.  nope.   I suppose none of us who knew and loved him are ready for the big void he will leave in our hearts and lives.

It seems maybe there are a few things I can do in his memory.  I can make sure I’m prepared for eternity – and be sure to share Jesus with those who aren’t.  And I can laugh.  Laugh in the good times and the hard times – the levity he enjoyed helped me to cope in some very difficult circumstances.

Love you, Uncle Harv.   We’ll see you in a bit.

 

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

biscuits and love

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This Valentine’s Day marks my 17th with my sweetheart.  Our first Valentine’s Day together was the only one we spent unmarried.

16 years of wedded bliss and valentines with Michael have taught me one thing:  I had no idea what love was before marrying Michael.  And in fact – I’m still learning.  Michael has always been an amazing example of what love is for our family.

It is not just idealistic to say “Love is a verb.”  Michael could have written any amount of sweet and sappy sentiments on schlocky cards, but if there was no action behind them, they would be hollow.

Thankfully, the list of  how well he loves me and our children is long and includes things like: changing many, many dirty diapers, cleaning up puke in the middle of the night, washing dishes, folding laundry, midnight runs to Krystal when I was pregnant with Emily, staying home with kiddos so I can go for longer runs and workouts, explaining the hard pre-algebra problems to Emily even after a long and brain-numbing day at work,  finding extra for shoes on growing feet even though he might like some new bass strings ; the list goes on and on and on…

On this 17th valentine’s day weekend – He was not outdone.  Friday, on his day off, he was up first thing making biscuits for our breakfast.  They were so yummy, not to mention, they were heart-shaped as requested by the girls!    And that was just the beginning of time spent giving to each of us in different ways.

How does he do it? He loves us because He is ultimately loved by his Heavenly Father.  In Christ he receives love ; abiding in that love, he is able to give love away.  Partaking of such sacrificial love allows my husband to love us sacrificially.  I am so grateful for that love.

And of course, for the biscuits he bakes for us…

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And just in case you want to love your valentine well by making these amazing biscuits, I thought I’d share his recipe with you!  I don’t think he’ll mind!

Michael’s Biscuits

Ingredients
4 cups pastry flour
6 tsp baking powder
2 tsp salt
9 tbsp salted butter
1 pint heavy cream
buttermilk as needed

Instructions
Combine dry ingredients. Cut in butter. Add the cream. If dough is dry add buttermilk. Turn dough onto floured surface. Knead 4-5 times. Roll or pat until 1/4 to 1/2 inch thick. Cut and place on a greased pan.
Bake at 450 for 10 minutes – maybe a bit more- until brown.

 

 

 

 

a bit of history · in my kitchen

I *heart* mac and cheese

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When I was an elementary school student, we lived in London, Ontario.  My mum and dad both worked and so on days when we didn’t have school – like a snow day or some other sort of holiday – my sister and I would go to my Uncle Harvey and Aunt Sharon’s house.

It is true that we loved going to their home.  My Uncle was loads of laughs and my Aunt a really good cook.  Plus she was my first piano teacher and possibly my hero.   I remember that their house on McKay Street always smelled yummy.  It was a gentle, sweet aroma that made promises of the good things to come.

One of my favorite things that Aunt Sharon made for lunch was Kraft dinner.  That’s right! Macaroni and Cheese was my food-love back then and it is to this day.  Back then we had our Kraft dinner with slices of hot dog mixed in it and sometimes some salad on the side.  Once in a while she followed it with a two layer yellow cake frosted with chocolate icing.  But, nothing satisfied my comfort-food-craving-heart like that mac and cheese.

Since then my tastes have matured a bit – and with the knowledge that maybe bright orange cheese powder in a packet might not be the healthiest, freshest way to make the dish – I’ve been trying a new recipe now and again.

I’ve been down many mac-n-cheese roads involving exotic cheeses, bacon, hidden veggies, eggs, whipping cream and well, probably more bacon, not to mention all of the assorted shapes and sizes of pasta.

Which brings me to the glorious event of tonight.  Tonight I made the simplest version of homemade macaroni and cheese – I actually had all of the ingredients on hand.  And guess what?  It was heaven in a 9×13 pan!  I know all you southern cooks have your mama’s recipe to use, and it is the best and all – but, I do not.  My mum doesn’t believe in eating carbs.  Just kidding!  (sort of.)

I feel it is only right to share the recipe with you here, in case you’re one of my Canadian relatives who also needs the blessing of a good homemade macaroni and cheese recipe- or maybe you want it because you’re a serious comfort food – carb lover like me.  (This is my version of baked macaroni and cheese, taken from the Rachelcooks blog.

MACARONI AND CHEESE (believe me, it IS the cheesiest!) 

INGREDIENTS:

  • 1 pound elbow macaroni
  • 1 pound (4 cups) shredded extra sharp cheddar cheese (I used some yellow, and some white.
  • 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
  • ¼ teaspoon ground mustard
  • Salt and pepper to taste
  • 1 cup of 2% milk, 1 cup of whipping cream
  • 3 tablespoons butter

DIRECTIONS:

  1. Preheat oven to 375°F. Spray or grease a casserole dish or a 9×13 pan.
  2. Cook macaroni as directed on the package in salted water until tender.
  3. While macaroni is cooking, combine 2 and 1/2 cups of cheese with dry ingredients (flour, ground mustard, salt and pepper).
  4. Combine cheese and dry ingredient mixture with hot macaroni and pour into the greased pan. Pour milk over macaroni. Top with remaining cheese and dot with butter.
  5. Bake for 45 minutes or until firm and golden brown. Remove from the oven and let it rest for 10 minutes or so.  Try not to eat it right away out of the pan!

 

You should definitely make this soon!

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a bit of history · friends and loved ones

enough

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I have this sweet tooth.  It is pretty demanding of me. “Must have treat now!” (hear that quote in the voice of cookie monster)  But, you probably already knew that, based on how often I post recipes involving sugar and chocolate.

At any rate, I’ve recently been listening to the new Sara Groves album, “Floodplain” and on it there is a song that has grown to be my favorite.  In the song, “Enough” Sara refers to “honey in the rock.” Yesterday I realized I wanted to know what she was talking about.  The lyrics she’s written are so necessary for me right now.

First, here are the words to the song that I have come to love:

Late nights, long hours
Questions are drawn like a thin red line
No comfort left over
No safe harbor in sight

Really we don’t need much
Just strength to believe
There’s honey in the rock,
There’s more than we see
In these patches of joy
These stretches of sorrow
There’s enough for today
There will be enough tomorrow

I decided to look in Scripture, because I felt like she was probably referring to something there, in God’s Word.  Initially I found a lot of honey references to the Promised Land  flowing with milk and honey.  And, the Psalms reference to the law of the Lord being sweet as honey.  But, then I found something else.

In Deuteronomy 31, when Moses’ leadership of Israel was coming to an end, he was passing on this BIG job for Joshua to do:

23 And the Lord commissioned Joshua the son of Nun and said, “Be strong and courageous, for you shall bring the people of Israel into the land that I swore to give them. I will be with you.”

Following that, in chapter 32, Moses sang this song as a reminder to the people of Israel.  A song of hope and salvation and God’s faithful provision.  (This is just a part of Moses’ song, from v 10-13)  And in the middle of this prayer-song, I found it:

“He found him in a desert land,
    and in the howling waste of the wilderness;
he encircled him, he cared for him,
    he kept him as the apple of his eye.
11 Like an eagle that stirs up its nest,
    that flutters over its young,
spreading out its wings, catching them,
    bearing them on its pinions,
12 the Lord alone guided him,
    no foreign god was with him.
13 He made him ride on the high places of the land,
    and he ate the produce of the field,
and he suckled him with honey out of the rock,
    and oil out of the flinty rock.

The Israelites were so forgetful and doubtful.  Often I’m just as doubt-filled and needy as them.  They knew they were the apple of His eye.  They knew He had sustained them in the dessert with manna each day.  “He suckled them with honey out of the rock,”  And still they needed a song to remind them of His love and care and His unchanging faithfulness.

I find myself standing on the edge of a journey.  It isn’t new territory.  I’ve been here before.  And yet, I’m staring out at this stretch of road ahead it looks awfully dark and shadowy- gloomy and sad, maybe even treacherous.  I don’t feel a bit entitled or demanding, as I sometimes imagine the Israelites to have been.  I’m not terribly courageous or strong like Joshua when I whisper, “Are you out there Lord?  Because today’s the day. I need to know you’re going to be there…”

As I tiptoe out into the valley today, the words from the Scripture above, and from the song are encouraging my heart.  He has cared for me from the very beginning as the apple of His eye.  His provision has been more than sufficient in the past and it will be again.  Daily, I can look forward to the sweet comfort of His presence and the fellowship of His suffering.

His promises are firm.  His Word is sure. He is enough.

a bit of history

the best laid plans…

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I wasn’t going to say anything.  Really, I thought I’d keep it to myself.  It is easier if I don’t have to talk about it with people, because then I don’t have to believe it.  Seriously.   I’d rather pretend it away into oblivion.

After all, I’m a planner.  And this was not a part of the 2016 blueprints.

Two weeks from tonight my yearly appointment at Vanderbilt with my specialist, Dr. Zic will be over.  Some of you probably know that I have an unusual form of lymphoma which manifests in my skin, and results in strange lesions that I have to treat with a fancy high-powered (yucky) steroid.

I did not have any of those “spots” in 2015.  I was able to ignore my condition and pretend like I’m completely healthy.  So, on Christmas Eve, when I realized I had not just one but two spots that had popped up, I was a bit shocked.  This was not a part of the plan for 2016, let alone my Christmas.  I guess it was a good thing my appointment was already on the calendar.

Friends, the good news is – I know the routine. I know the meds my physician will assign, I know how the treatment works and all that it entails.  The bad news:  I don’t like it.  It works well, but I don’t feel the greatest.  Worse: I’m grumpy (read: especially with my loved ones at home while doing school) sometimes.  UGH.  And even worser than worse: I’m reminded once again that there are so many unknowns with this diagnosis.

You know that Scripture in Jeremiah?  The one that says,  “For I know the plans I have for you… ”   I know that’s a popular Scripture to repeat during a difficult trial, but I’ve realized I’ve been thinking of it all wrong!   While I do understand what it actually says, I personally have been wanting it to mean this: “For I know the plans you’ve been making Melody, and I’m totally on board with you…” I wish it weren’t true- but it is the way I’ve been interpreting it.  It let’s me have some control that way.

But here’s the reality: I’m not in charge.  All the manipulating in the world isn’t going to make my future turn out the way I want.  I mean, it could turn out that way, but not because I earned it or managed to make it.  My little, teensy- tiny piece in God’s story is HIS design.  Who I become, as a result of this small trial, is what fits best into that great big story He is narrating.

Who would I be if not for the faith it requires to walk this road with Him? Who would I be if I had only a life without this disease, this disease which allows me the joy of drawing closer to Him and knowing Him more intimately?   And who will the people around me become, if in all of these things I radiate His joy?

One thing is for sure : His plan is greater than the one I had written down in my planner for 2016, especially if it means He is drawing me closer to Himself or if my life will bring Him glory.

Heavenly Father, I’m laying aside my plans. (And You most of all know how hard that is for me to say.)  Keep me on board with your will in 2016, even when it is hard and I don’t like it.  Hold me close, and help me to trust You. Thank you for the grace and the joy I know you have prepared for me on this journey – they are gifts only You can give!  Amen.

 

 

a bit of history · friends and loved ones

Never fancied myself a farmer

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Growing up in the midwest, I was surrounded by farming communities, in Illinois, and Ohio, and even southern Ontario.  Wide-open spaces with rolling hills, and fields upon fields of crops, there were beans and corn, and corn and beans… as far as the eye could see.

And even though I’ve known many, both friends and family, who enjoyed the lifestyle of rural farm life, not once did I say to myself, “I’d like to be a farmer’s wife one day.”  It just wasn’t something I aspired to be.

Recently, I realized, that maybe I’ve become a farmer of sorts.  It wasn’t intentional by any means… but over time, maybe the last nine or ten years, I’ve eased in to the occupation.

It all began when I received an email from a gracious mother who’s children are in my choir.  Her sweet little ones move around the house, singing songs and repeating Scripture I’ve taught them.   She thanked me for working with the young people of our church, teaching them things that will last a lifetime.   As I read that kind mama’s words I thought about what a pleasure and a joy  it is to till the soil, and sow God’s word into these fertile hearts and minds.

The position I find myself is a bit abnormal.  In this role, I won’t see the gospel come to fruition later in their lives. I’m a farmer who sows without immediately reaping.   And I wonder about their futures, because of my planting…

Will they be drawn to a saving knowledge of Christ?   Maybe they will gain great courage from a Scripture we learned together.  They might sense the nearness of His presence when they remember a song we rehearsed, right at the moment they need it most.  Is it possible they would be encouraged in the darkest of nights, when they recall a hymn full of truth and grace from God’s Word?  I guess I don’t know for sure.  But, I can recount the times that these kinds of experiences have been reality for me -when a certain Scripture or song I learned in my childhood was come to mind.

What I know for sure: If I will continue the work of planting the seeds,  I can have confidence that the Holy Spirit will finish the work that has begun as He sees fit.

With all of this in mind, I’m finding I suppose I don’t mind the idea of farming after all.

from Deuteronomy 6:

4 “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one! 5 You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength.

6 “And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. 7 You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up. 8 You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. 9 You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

a bit of history · friends and loved ones · shop talk

answered prayer, wrong day…

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Yesterday  when I woke up it was Saturday.  In case you aren’t aware, Saturdays normally belong to me.  It just works better that way.  I make plans and I get stuff done. Please, I’m begging, don’t mess with my Saturdays.  Ever.

So, yesterday…  It started out fine, but by lunch time, things were coming unglued.  And by unglued, I actually mean, Michael had an accident and we had to go to Doctor’s Express to get a bad cut dealt with.  He sliced open the top of his left index finger.

Here’s the thing : on a normal day, my prayer life might consist of asking the Heavenly Father to administer growth in my heart.  “Help me to be more like You,” I pray often.  “Let my life show Your fruit!”    But it is impossible to pray that prayer and know what you’re asking for…  I’m never prepared for how He will answer.

As we sat in the waiting room for a physician to look at Michael’s finger, I could feel it happening.  Patience was slipping away.  And all sympathy or concern was passing, and being replaced with selfishness.

I might as well have told God in my completely self-absorbed way, “Listen, I know what I asked for, but I didn’t mean on my Saturday!”

The truth is, I’ve never resembled Jesus when it comes to showing lovingkindness – My attitude is more like this:  “Oh! You’re hurt?  I’m so sorry!  Now, lets get on with things.”  And every time I’m given the opportunity to allow fruit to develop, I destroy it!  Especially yesterday, on my Saturday, when all I could do was think:  “Look, honey- It is Saturday!  I don’t have time for this!  I’m sorry you almost cut your finger off – but I have stuff to do…”

Oh, I realize it sounds ugly – but I’m not good at compassion some times.  I can be, if it is convenient for me.  And even as I type these words, I’m aware (again) of how sinful I am.

Last night, when it was late and dark and rainy and cold, and we realized we were out of bandages that we needed to wrap Michael’s finger, I made a run to Walgreen’s.  For some reason on that drive, I was reminded of the Scripture from Isaiah 53:

But He was wounded for our transgressions,
He was bruised for our iniquities;
The chastisement for our peace was upon Him,
And by His stripes we are healed.

His death on the cross, bearing every sin, allows Him to understand each one of us deeply in a human way – whether death or suffering or sin or sickness –  It was all laid on Him to experience.  I will never be able to understand or care for my loved ones to this degree.  It is impossible.

But, here is how that Scripture can change me: The more I focus on His complete sacrifice, the less my selfish motives make sense.  And, the more I allow His great love to sink deeply into my heart, the more love I will be able to offer others.    Maybe when this truly happens, someday,  I will be less interested in my prayers being answered on the right day, and I’ll welcome Him to work in my heart on His terms.