Category: Thinking about Relationships

Looking for Kindness

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Communication, Thinking about God, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment
It's time to look beyond the issues and see the people. Sometimes we have to keep our focus small -- on one person rather than the big issues.
It’s time to look beyond the issues and see the people. Sometimes we have to keep our focus small — on one person — rather than centering our attention on the problems that concern us.

Social media has recently posted several different versions of a meme that says, “Good Morning America! What have we found to be offended by today?”

Sadly, there is more truth in that question than we might like there to be.

I work for a huge national corporation. One of the values of the company is, “Presume positive intention.” I like that. But it isn’t the first time I’ve heard those words. A year ago I took a class when we lived in Colorado. In that class, we created norms for the behavior of class members. One of the norms was that we would choose to presume positive intention in others. And yes, I’ve heard this idea even before that class. It was in a different form however. In fact, it was in scripture, 1 Corinthians 13:5 (NIV), “It (love) does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”

May I be honest with you? I’m sick to death of everyone getting offended by everything that happens. I’m sick of negativity and predictions of doom of gloom. I’m sick to death of anger and strident voices blaming everyone else for everything that is wrong with our nation — or our world. I’m sick of people failing to exhibit respect for others. I’m sick at heart that human decency and kindness seem to have vanished from this world. Yes, even the Christian world. I am broken-hearted that we who have received grace often fail to offer it to others.

Please keep reading.

I am not writing this because I’m angry — I’m writing this because I feel as though we have failed each other; we have failed to be Christ to a hurting world; we have failed to extend grace to those who need it most. Mostly, I believe that we have failed our Heavenly Father — we have dishonored many, we have pushed to have our own way, we have grown angry when things have not gone our way, and we have kept track of every wrong — then we have thrown them in the face of those who we believe have “committed” those wrongs in our would.

I am not writing to make anyone feel badly.

I am calling for kindness.

God has called us to be His hands and feet in the world. His Son ate with sinners. He instructed us to turn the other cheek, to not only give our coat but our cloak as well. It was His instruction that we should feed the hungry, visit the prisoner, and care for the widows. In other words, we are called to reach out to the least-of-these.

The thing that I notice about Jesus was that He walked and talked with those who everyone rejected. He didn’t allow them to remain there in their sin. His message was that they could have more and be more. He wanted them to know Him.

As the church, we want the world to KNOW HIM. How will they know Him? They will know us.

So we must ask ourselves, what will they see and experience as they come to know us?

Will they see angry people with a chip on their shoulder? Are they going to be overwhelmed by the constant negativity that is shouted in our actions and on social media? Is it the disrespectful attitudes that they will see and hear?

Or, will they see love? Joy? Peace? Patience? Kindness? Goodness? Faithfulness? Gentleness? Self-control?

The people around us are God’s creation. Can we treat them as such?

Some of you are angry at my words and that’s okay. I am so thankful that God has called each of us to reach out to the world around us within the strengths that He has placed within us. It seems as though the message of love has been a bit maligned. For some, the message of judgement has become the only message, proclaimed loudly and harshly. Honestly, these messages can — and must — work together.

A friend of ours gave us a saying when we were in college. “People do not care how much you know until they know how much you care.” 

Be Caring.

Show Kindness.

Serve as His hands.

Go as His feet.

Please, can we show kindness to those around us?

It’s time.

A Prayer

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment
The beauty of the land I love is reflected in the creation of God, be it large or small.
The beauty of the land I love is reflected in the creation of God, be it large or small.

My Dear Father in Heaven,

I thank you that You have loved me and have allowed me to live in this nation. Thank you that all my life I’ve been surrounded by the beauty of Your creation and granted the freedom to enjoy that land. You placed me in a loving family and given me caring church families who helped to show me who You are; I am thankful. You also gave me Grandmothers who loved You. They loved me and prayed for me daily. Again, I am so incredibly thankful and blessed.

Today is Independence Day. It is a day where we celebrate the gift of the freedom that You gave us.

Thank you for leading and guiding the founders of this nation – for their wisdom and foresight. Please bless what they created that it may not be destroyed by the less wise.

But Father, we have failed You.

As a nation.

As the church.

Forgive us for believing that we are always right in our analysis and view. Forgive us for being strident voices of anger instead of voices of welcome granting the desire to communicate. Help us to remember that within issues are people with very real struggles and at times, overwhelming pain. Teach us to offer a healing hand and words of grace.

Forgive us for choosing the sins by which we are offended.

Help us to remember that in living our lives, in dealing with those around us, we are to reflect You and Your fruit…

Love

Joy

Peace

Patience

Kindness

Goodness

Gentleness

Self-control

For against these, there is no law.

Remind us that we are to be light.

That we are to be salt.

Forgive us for our impatience, anger, self-righteousness, self-reliance, silence, for majoring on issues rather than people who need You. Please break our hearts with the things that break Yours… lost souls, every kind of sin, homelessness, hunger, injustice, abuse, and broken lives.

Teach us to love what You love.

Teach us to love the way that You love.

Teach us to love who You love.

Teach us simply to love.

And when we are CALLED to speak the truth in love, help us to do so in Your grace and power, not running ahead of You, but waiting patiently for Your leading, nudging, and message.

Humbly, I ask Father, that You would make us all You have called us to be.

Help us to remember that, although this land is great and we love being Americans, You have called us to be Your people – not Americans only. Remind us that You died to save us – not to give us the perfect nation. Help us to never forget that we are strangers here and that we should feel uncomfortable in this world.

Bring renewal and revival to each one of us individually and to all of us collectively, I pray.

Unite Your people that we are a force of renewal in the land.

Teach us to pray.

To intercede.

To seek You face.

To know You.

Father, please allow us the privilege and the responsibility of being Your hands and Your feet in this world.

I love You, Father.

Thank you for hearing and answering my prayer.

In You precious and holy name I pray.

Amen.

Daddy’s Wallet

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about Love, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment
Marylouise, Byrlene, Daddy, Gayla, and Frank -- a few years AFTER the wallet incident.
Marylouise, Byrlene, Daddy, Gayla, and Frank — a few years AFTER the wallet incident.

It was worn, brown leather. It had been carried for years and one day it taught me two valuable lessons — even though I had to be an adult to truly appreciate them.

We grew up in the time when you ate at home. Mom cooked. Kids washed up. The meals often featured meat we had raised ourselves and called by name. Of course there was also the meat that Daddy or my brother hunted. (Yes, I know. Some people don’t like hunting — I get that. I went hunting with my Dad once, he sat me on a rock and told me to not talk to the deer that passed. He knew I wouldn’t shoot one. However, for our family of six, elk and venison were an important part of our diet and they made feeding the family affordable.) Our family rarely enjoyed a meal at a restaurant. So “going out” was truly a treat.

My Mom worked at the hospital and often worked weekends. It was on one of those Sundays that we decided to treat our Dad to “lunch out.” My sisters babysat and had other jobs — they saved their money and maybe my brother and I pitched in what we had. We went to a small cafe on Main Street. I really don’t remember much about lunch, but at the end, the waitress brought the ticket. I watched as my oldest sister looked at the ticket, swallowed, and began counting the money. She counted it two or three times and my stomach began hurting. I knew that something was dreadfully wrong.

Finally, my self-assured, confident sister looked at Daddy with tears in her eyes and softly said, “Daddy….”

He responded just as I would expect, “I guess you guys are going to be doing some dishes.” And then, of course, he reached for his wallet. There was no money in the bill section. He held it open and showed it to us so we wouldn’t think he was teasing. He began removing documents from the small compartments: license, social security card (back before we were warned to not carry them), along with a few other small items. After that, he began pulling out school photos of his four children.

Somewhere in my head, I expected him to pull out four pictures, one each of Byrlene, Gayla, Frank, and Marylouise. Instead, he pulled out a picture for each year of school through which we had passed: grade school, junior high, and high school. He continued to search, and he finally pulled out a small folded object, a $20 bill. Tossing it to my sister, he said, “I was afraid I had spent it.”

We all began to breath easier.

As he was returning things to his wallet, I stacked four sets of pictures putting the most recent on top. Daddy took them from me and carefully placed them back in his wallet. Byrlene took “our” money along with Daddy’s $20 and went to the counter to pay the bill.

Yes, the obvious lesson was learned. Be prepared. Seriously though, what 10 year old girl truly understands the concept of “being prepared?” I’ve come to understand the importance of that lesson as an adult — even though I saw the importance of it, up close and personal, that Sunday at a Colorado diner.

The second lesson is one that I have come to truly understand as a mother — even though, in truth, I learned it from my Daddy’s wallet. You see, I’ve come to recognize how Daddy loved his kids. He loved us at every stage of our life and he treasured the memories from every age. In the pictures, he could see the growth spurts, the awkward stages, the missing (or broken) teeth, the hair cuts, the freckles, crooked smiles, and questionable fashion. In all of these things and stages there were treasures of memories and hopes, successes and failures, gangly limbs, and bright shining eyes. He treasured them all. Four stacks of photos were proof of that.

When Suicide Touches The Family

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Family, Thinking about RelationshipsLeave a comment
My big brother, Frank, telling us goodbye after a visit to Colorado from Alaska.
My big brother, Frank, telling us goodbye after a visit to Colorado from Alaska.

This little rhyme (in its many forms) has a lot to say to us about consequences….

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost;
For want of the shoe, the horse was lost;
For want of the horse, the rider was lost;
For want of the rider, the battle was lost;
For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost;
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail

For a year we have lived with the consequences of a decision that was a result of even more decisions…

For want of resources, he was denied help….

On Saturday, February 8, 2014, my brother, an honorably discharged veteran, died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Frank was a tall, kind, and funny man. He wore creativity like a cloak, was inventive and talented beyond description. His love for family caused him to be, at times, protective and over-bearing. Then suddenly, 12 months ago, this enigma of a man was gone and our family is heart-broken.

Two weeks before he chose to end his life, Frank went to the emergency room seeking relief. He had been on an anti-depressant for an extended period of time, yet suicidal thoughts continued to plague him. He sought a change in medication, or to be hospitalized until he could better cope – anything. He asked for help, but help was not to be found. The mental health facility was filled to capacity. Frank was sent home without receiving the help he sought.

Someone somewhere failed to help my brother.

For want of help, hope was lost….

You see Frank was and is a statistic:

• In America, according to CNN, veterans commit suicide at the rate of twenty-two per day. That is one every 65 minutes. My brother was a Vet.

In addition, according to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention:

• Using firearms is the most common method of suicide with 50.6% of those who choose to end their lives using a gun. My brother chose a shotgun.
• White men are 4x more likely to die of suicide than white females who attempt it. My brother was a white male.
• Of the 38, 364 people who successfully committed suicide in 2010, the highest percentage of suicide victims were between the ages of 45 and 64, and 78.9% were men. My brother was 56.
• By state in the US, the second highest suicide rate is found in Alaska with 23.1% of its population committing suicide in any given year – it is barely beaten by Wyoming at 23.2%. My brother had lived in Alaska for more than twenty years.

He was a statistic.

For want of hope, a man found no way to cope….

The question that plagues me is, how do we as a nation, as a country of caring people, prevent this from being the only option that a person feels he or she has left?

For want of a way to cope, a man sought relief…

While “suicide prevention” seems to be the obvious answer, it does not work when help remains unavailable. So what can be done about the ones who seek help and find that help is not available?

The system is broken. There are suicide prevention hotlines, but a person who goes to the source of medical care and cannot be cared for should be able to ask, “Why not?” In my mind and heart, I want to find the doctor who saw my brother and ask him why he didn’t help.

However, the real question is, what can be done to enhance the effectiveness of a mental health program that sends a suicidal man home with the advice to call his doctor? How will we address the needs of veterans — and others — like my brother?

For want of relief, a good man died….

I understand that resources are limited. Even so, it is time to evaluate where money is spent. Before someone says it, this isn’t an issue of gun control; this is an issue of healthcare – mental healthcare, to be exact.

How can our nation reform healthcare and fail to address the availability of resources? We must evaluate the resources that are available, address the needs – meet them. We can’t simply reform one kind of healthcare – we must address mental healthcare as well. Systems need to be in place to prevent the tragedy that is now our family’s reality. The lack of available resources must be addressed.

It’s time to fix a broken system.

All for the want of resources to help….

I doubt that the person who told my brother to make an appointment even knows the end result of his thoughtless statement. Our family is living with those consequences every single day, and we will for the rest of our lives.

 

MEMORIES: Terrible, Wonderful Memories

On By mdannels3In Thinking about Communication, Thinking about Family, Thinking about Love, Thinking about Relationships2 Comments
My family at my Aunt Sally and Uncle Bud's wedding. I was the flower girl. L to R: Charlotte, Me, Dad (Emory), Frank, Mom (Jean), Gayla
My family at my Aunt Sally and Uncle Bud’s wedding. I was the flower girl. L to R: Charlotte, Me, Dad (Emory), Frank, Mom (Jean), Gayla

We all have childhood memories. I have many — some when I was quite young, maybe three or so. Probably my first memory was when I was the flower girl in my aunt and uncle’s wedding. When we practiced, someone tore up some paper (I think it was an adult Sunday School paper) so that I would have something to drop as I practiced walking up the aisle. I don’t remember the wedding, but I remember that rehearsal and the person (I seem to remember that it was a man in our church) who took time to make me feel special.

Memories. They can bless and they can hurt. Honestly, I’ve been pretty emotional since Thanksgiving. It was hard to be away from our oldest son and daughter-in-love, parents, sisters, brothers. It was hard to know that Thanksgiving and Christmas would never again include that phone call where we passed the phone around and everyone talked to my brother. And it was hard to have new traditions and new friends and new jobs. It was good. Still, it was hard.

I’ve been thinking a lot about memories — the wonderful ones, the terrible ones, and the terrible wonderful memories.

Does that make sense to anyone but me?

There are memories that are wonderful. They are precious, heart-warming, comfort-giving, and even life-affirming. Playing in a park in Paonia, Colorado with cousins. Driving my Grandmother to a retreat center in the mountains. Being trusted to take my Dad’s truck to fetch a load of coal — and being reminded to pay attention to the speed limit signs. (Now why would he feel the need to do that?) Sitting in a restaurant with my Mom watching swans on a lake in Carlsbad, NM. Being called a “little Gayla” at the Montrose High School. Getting my first turquoise necklace from my oldest sister. Watching my brother box. Learning to sew from second Mom. Seeing a fast white car and noticing the red-headed, bearded guy who owned it. Holding three baby boys in my arms. Dear friends, loved ones, laughter, travel, successes.

Other memories are terrible. They are painful or embarrassing. Some of them are of times when I really wished I would have shriveled up and vanished. Misspeaking and saying the totally wrong thing — and then having people repeat it. Playing the piano for the 9th grade choir during the school Christmas concert, having the gym door open and all of the music blowing off the piano and all around the gym. Being told that you weren’t “good enough” to be a member of a school club. Crying when you try to read 8th graders a story about the Civil War. (They aren’t empathetic, nor are they tolerant of emotion.)

And then there are the terrible, wonderful memories. Those are the ones that have been causing me to be so emotional during the past two months. They are the special memories. They are memories that I treasure — but they are tinged with regret… We should have hugged tighter and said, “I love you” more; I should have listened better — I wonder what I missed; I should have let him have one more sip of water; One more story before bed wouldn’t have hurt anything; We should have jumped on the trampoline in the rain; There should have been more museum visits — even tough we visited hundreds; I wish we would have gone Christmas caroling more often and had a few more snow ball fights.

Terrible wonderful memories are a fact of life. We do things and we build memories that are precious and treasured. As our children grow older, as we lose loved ones, as we move away from a long time home, or change from a career we loved to one we merely like, we come to realize how very important the memories are. But even more, we realize the importance of making more of them. And hopefully, we understand that people are more important than schedules or cell phone minutes or muddy finger prints or appointments.

I wish I would have remembered that more often… And, by God’s grace, I will remember it in the future.

How about you?

 

The Best Gift Ever

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about Relationships, UncategorizedLeave a comment
The manger representing the Light that has come into the world: The Best Gift Ever
The manger representing the Light that has come into the world:
The Best Gift Ever

It’s Christmas… almost. It’s that season of the year when our hearts and minds turn to family, friends, presents, cookie baking, candy making, and so much more. It is a season. I like looking at it as a season because that means that I can enjoy if for more than a day or a week — I can enjoy it for four weeks or six — or dare I say it? Even longer than that!

For years I was the person who had all of my Christmas presents purchased and wrapped in September. I’m not so good at that anymore. In fact, this year, I seem to be running a little bit behind in the gift purchasing department — but I’m getting there.

Gift giving has been a little controversial at times. Some folks have felt as though it was a burden, for some an expectation. There are other people who feel that Christmas gift giving is an obligation — and honestly, that breaks my heart.

To me, gift giving is a pleasure — even to people like my Dad who are really hard to buy for. I love giving gifts at Christmas or Easter or birthdays or any day at all! However, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve developed a little bit different philosophy about gifts. I’ve always gone for quality — a memory or something that would be treasured — rather than quantity. Our sons received three gifts for Christmas from Mr. Gorgeous and I every year. After all, there are only three gifts mentioned as having been brought to the Christ Child.
It’s fascinating to me that moments and memories that are precious to me have no special meaning in the lives of others. Years ago, I was with some special people and as we sat and talked and talked and talked, we also watched and photographed cardinals. After that, I bought all of us matching cardinal Christmas ornaments. Only one of them understood the significance to that particular gift. But then, we each have our own treasured memories, don’t we? Special things that touch me are different from things that touch others. And that’s okay.

When I give gifts I try to get “into the head” of the person to whom I am giving. I usually ask what they want and often I get them something from that list. There are also times when I don’t ask what a person wants because I want them to have something different. As a kid and teenager, I didn’t always do well at that. In fact, as a kid I wrote poetry and my poor parents received a number of poems from their daughter. Of course, there were also the requisite macaroni necklaces, etc., that I gave as gifts. And then in second grade I made a salt dough Christmas tree ornament — my mom let me take it several years ago. This year when I opened the box and gently lifted it from its cotton, about half of it fell off. The glitter garland had been coming off in bits and pieces for years. Now, when I make gifts, they are a little more sophisticated…. I hope.

I guess all of this rambling is really meant to remind us that giving gifts is a privilege. It is the opportunity to show our love and appreciation for others. As we give gifts, people have the opportunity to see into our heart — and we have the opportunity to reach into theirs. It is the chance to value others. And frankly my friends, in a world that beats people down and defeats them daily, helping a person to feel valued is a gift of inestimable value.

I guess the real reason I love to give gifts is because for me, it is a way of patterning my life after my Heavenly Father. He gave the most amazing gift ever when He gave His Son — the reason that we celebrate Christmas — Jesus Christ. Through His Son, He gives us His forgiveness, as well as the privilege of becoming His child. That, my friends, is the very best gift ever — Jesus, the Son of God.

Thankful, Grateful, Blessed

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Five Kernels of Corn
Five Kernels of Corn

Last Sunday at church my pastor, aka Mr. Gorgeous, told the story of the Pilgrims. He told about the horrible famine and lack of resources that they experienced. In fact, at one time the situation became so critical that food was strictly rationed. For a brief period of time, every person in the colony was restricted to five kernels of corn per day. FIVE KERNELS… Can you imagine living on five kernels of corn a day? I cannot.

As things continued with the terrible drought, the Pilgrims gathered for prayer. They prayed and prayed and begged God for rain. He answered and gave them two weeks of consistent, gentle rain. The crops were revived and the harvest was plentiful. They gathered for a feast to thank God for His bountiful provision. As they sat to eat their meal, someone placed five kernels of corn at each place setting to remind them of how very far God had brought them.

Before John preached, he gave each of us a small plastic container holding five small kernels of corn to remind us of the journey of our relationship with God.

Five kernels.

I have to confess that I often look at the blessings and the things that He has given me and I forget how far He has brought me. I forget the journey.

There are times that I look at my life and I think about the things that we haven’t done or haven’t done well enough. You know, we should have more in savings than we do, our retirement fund should be larger, we should be able to do more to help those around us. And even though all of those things may be true, I need to see the journey — I need to thank God and acknowledge Him for how very far He has brought us. I need to be thankful for the travel from point A to point B.

What did we learn from the journey? We learned that choices today have consequences tomorrow. We learned that it really is best to pay up front — whether it be financially or with work and effort. We learned that following God’s plan takes us to places and provides us with blessings we could never imagine — even if the journey isn’t always the most pleasant. We’ve learned that the journey is something to be grateful for.

I’m thankful for being the youngest of four: for two precious older sisters — as different as night and day — and an amazing big brother with whom I fought and who I miss terribly. I’m thankful for five parents — Mom, Dad, Momma (2nd mom), Mom-in-Law, and Father-in-Law — and numerous adopted parents who thought I was worth loving and investing in. I’m grateful for the love of a Godly man who welcomed me into his life and heart and made me his wife. I’m thankful for three sons, a daughter in heaven, and a daughter-in-love who are all amazing, gifted people. I’m grateful for nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, and in-laws (and a few out-laws — smile). I’m grateful for work: store clerk. janitor, legal secretary, corporate writer, recreation director, day care worker, pastor, teacher, and now an insurance claims processor. I’m grateful for friends and former students and neighbors and houses and beds and clothes and shoes and dishwashers. And I’m blessed by so much more than just these things.

Most of all, I’m blessed by the journey to reach, to achieve, and to gain. Journeys teach us and help us to become who God has called us to be.

Five kernels in a small plastic jar — I have one in the living room, one in our office, one on my nightstand, and one on my desk at work.

You may wonder why they seem to be everywhere.

It’s because I never want to forget how far God has brought me . . . and I want to remember that I still have miles to go.

Touch Points

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A few touch points in my life: My Bible, my favorite doll from childhood, and Sad Sack -- again, a toy from my childhood.
A few touch points in my life: My Bible, my favorite doll from childhood, and Sad Sack — again, a toy from my childhood.

Recently, at a thrift store, I bought a stainless steel bowl. On one side, it has a small metal ring down about an inch from the top edge. I have another one a teensy bit smaller, but when I found that one, I had to have it. It is the egg salad bowl — and it is just like the one that my Aunt Rose made her egg salad in for years.

Every summer, for forever it seems, I have planted purple pansies with yellow “faces.” I’m not really sure they are my favorite pansies, but they are a necessary part of my yard because my Great Grandma grew them under a window in her yard.

In my jewelry box you will find a Mickey Mouse watch with a red band on one side and a brown leather band on the other side — it was handmade by my Daddy after I broke the original red strap.

I have my Mom’s wedding ring hidden away in a compartment in a wooden box.

In my wallet is a card that came with a bouquet of flowers from Mr. Gorgeous back when we were in college. What he said on that card is special.

My sons and I watch A MUPPET CHRISTMAS CAROL starting in November and numerous times clear up until Christmas. And if I’m really down — even in the summer — I will watch it again.

There is a Children’s Bible for Early Readers that I treasure. You see, our sons took turns reading the Christmas story to our family from that Bible.

Even if I am 100 years old, my favorite movies will always be JUNGLE BOOK, BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, and LION KING — all three cartoon versions produced by Disney. These movies were our boys favorites at different points in their lives and I will always treasure the memories of watching them with my “little” boys.

I have bubble-gum machine rings from our boys, a plethora of handmade bookmarks from Phillip, a blue angel Christmas tree ornament from Nathan, and a threadbare Winnie the Pooh wallet from Ben.

Each of these things — and so many more — are precious to me, not because of their cost, but because of the memories that are attached to them. The true value of the “things” in my life can only be measured in the relationships that they represent.

I’ve been sentimental all of my life. I still have things from childhood — Sad Sack a squeaky dog and my baby doll from when I was tiny along with notes and cards, and even an essay from 4th grade. They are — forgive my description — “touch points” in my life. The items, these things and the relationships that they represent are from a specific time in my life. In strange ways they reassure me. They remind me that I’m loved, that I’m smart, that I’m capable, and/or that I belong.

I’m sentimental about my Bible too. Now I don’t know how you feel about it, but I write in my Bible. I mark it, take sermon notes in it, underline in it and highlight it. You see, I believe that my Bible is God’s love letter to me. My response to that letter is my “talking” back to Him in my prayers and in the notes in my Bible. When God speaks to me through His Word, I put the date by it — sometimes I will write a situation beside it. In many ways, my Bibles are spiritual diaries.

I received a Bible for my 24th birthday and I used it for five or six years. If you were to read it, you would find notes and promises marked from different times in my life: meeting Mr. Gorgeous, getting married, having three boys, going to college, and becoming a pastor. Promises would be underlined. You would find our son’s names by specific scriptures — they were promises that God gave to me for each of our boys. You would find music notes, keys, and hearts drawn in the margins. Those symbols mean something to me.

Since then I’ve had three or four additional Bibles. Each one tells the story of the time in which I used it. Dates, symbols, highlighting, underlining, and notes remain constant — but they are different in each one. They are my spiritual “touch points.” Each note, symbol, or mark reminds me that God cares about who I am. They tell me that He wants me to be more like Him. And, those things remind me that He loves me enough to send His Son to die for me.

The touch points that remind me of my human relationships are precious and important. But the touch points that show the details of my journey with my Heavenly Father? They are life changing.

Distance

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The detail in the close view -- near to where we are -- serves as a frame for the colors and layers that are in the distance. Each contributes to the beauty of the picture just as relationships -- distant and near -- add to our lives.
The detail in the close view — near to where we are — serves as a frame for the colors and layers that are in the distance. Each contributes to the beauty of the picture just as relationships — distant and near — add to our lives.

It was bound to happen. After all, we now live nearly 1000 miles from the place that was home for 12 1/2 years. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon — and I didn’t expect it to make me so sad.

The distance has been magnified by circumstances. We’ve been in Wisconsin for nearly two months. In the past ten days, my dad (we use to live less than an hour away from him) had surgery, a dear friend’s son was in the hospital (I worked with his Mom), and our son became ill (we were 15 miles away). I’ve felt the distance — the literal distance — between us in profound ways. On the other hand, since we’ve been here, my father-in-law was hospitalized and our nephew-in-law became ill and is hospitalized. Granted, my second dad and our nephew are five hours away — but it isn’t 18 hours.

As a teenager I was told to bloom where I was planted. I’ve always tried to do just that. But really, what does that mean? Does it mean settling in and becoming a part of a community? Could it be working hard at the job you have and doing it to the best of your ability? Is it simply learning, as Paul said, “to be content in whatever situation wherein I find myself?”

Wherever we’ve lived we have “settled in” and made a life for ourselves, for our children, and we’ve ministered. We’ve interacted with communities. We’ve found jobs and worked hard to do them well; we’ve made friends and been involved in their lives. We’ve tried to show others who Jesus is. As we all do, we’ve loved people and we’ve been blessed to be loved by amazing, wonderful people.

When you move away from those special folks, it’s hard. Honestly, I make friends fairly easily. But it is still hard to be away from old friends, to be away from family members. And it is especially hard to be away from them when they are hurting.

Distance is difficult. It isn’t impossible to overcome, but it’s hard. In the world in which we live we are able to remain connected in so many more ways than ever before. I don’t “tweet” (I’m too verbose), but I do Facebook. I use Instagram, email, text, and of course I use the phone. Oh yeah, did I say that I blog? For the past seven weeks, we’ve been trying to communicate and stay in touch, but we didn’t have internet — we’re back on line and it’s just in time. The distance seems smaller for the simple reason that I can pick up my computer and check Facebook and email everyday once again.

I understand the concerns that people have about the overuse of technology — I have many of those same concerns. However, today, living 1000 miles away from Dad, Nate, and Carson, I’m thankful to be able to know what is going on in their lives.

Distance means we have to work harder to stay involved in each others lives. It means that the relationships are different — but they aren’t gone; they’re not lost.

As a fourth grade Girl Scout I sang a song that said, “Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other’s gold.” That’s where we are. We are living a great distance from many people we love and care for. Yet, there are amazing  “new” people that we’ve already learned to love and care for. They are silver; they are gold. They are treasures in our lives — distance or not, we treasure the gifts of the people that God has brought into our lives.

In fact, in spite of the distance — or perhaps because of it, I can join the Apostle Paul in saying these words to my friends and family who are everywhere from Alaska to Vietnam and all points in between:  “I thank my God every time I remember you. 4 In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy 5 because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now,6 being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. 7 It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart.” (Philippians 1:3-7a, NIV)

 

A boy from Iowa…

On By mdannels3In Thinking about God, Thinking about Love, Thinking about Relationships2 Comments
Me and my man! Galveston, Texas in February 2014
Me and my man!
Galveston, Texas in February 2014

….met a girl from Colorado

….in New Mexico….

And the opening chapter of our love story was written.

He was tall, red headed — balding, wore a red beard and drove a fast car. I followed him around, flirting, for seven months before he asked me out. It was about time. He worked nights; I worked days. We fell in love over his cancelled vacation due to a terrible snow storm, and my week off work recuperating from a car accident, picnic lunches he would bring to my office, late night phone calls during his “lunch hour”, and sight seeing excursions. Six weeks after our first date, he asked me to marry him and I had the wisdom to say yes. Six months later we said, “I do,” and the next chapter of our story began.

John, aka my Mr. Gorgeous, is my best friend. The hair — a bit more sparse now — and beard are both liberally sprinkled with a salty white. During the past twenty-eight years, we’ve raised three boys, attended and graduated from college, pastored three churches, lived in five different states, gone on three cruises, and traveled extensively. I wish you could know him. Some of you do, I know, but not all of you. So, please allow me to take a few lines and introduce to you my man.

He would pile three boys in a recliner and read one story for each son when it was suppose to be one bedtime story. John taught the boys how to eat an Oreo — dunked in milk, of course. When mom had trouble getting the boys to understand the importance of cleaning their room, he allowed the boys to each choose one toy and then boxed up all the others. They each lived with only one toy for a whole week. Cleaning moved up on their priority scale after that. He sold his own things to make sure that his family had what it needed, and sometimes what it simply wanted.  When I shared my dream of being a teacher, he made a way for me to go to school and complete my teaching credentials.

His sense of humor is one of my favorite things. He can take almost any situation and find something to laugh about. In my opinion, that is a valuable trait. Kindness, quiet leadership, strength, and generosity are all marks of his character.

As a follower of Christ, John goes where God leads and he chooses to serve the Lord with his whole heart.

He is a sacrificial, caring, loving, and Godly man.

And he is my best friend.

Today is his birthday and our anniversary; I’m thankful for my boy from Iowa and I’m glad he went to New Mexico to marry this Colorado girl!