Love Letters--from the past...



September, 1974

Dear Kara Kristin,

Your mommy and daddy are going through a very special period of their lives--watching their first little baby grow and change each day.  Because you are not old enough to understand how precious you are to us, Mommy is writing this letter so that you can read it when you are older.  Your cheeks are rosy pink and your bright blue eyes are a wonder . . .

 

Kara, at 6 - 8 months

October, 1978

Dear Rachel Kathleen,

Your first year has passed quickly.  It seems impossible that in a year's time you could be walking all over, all the time, wanting to be independent, bringing books to us to read to you, enjoying big sister's antics . . .  You have brought us a whole new world of joy and happiness and are your own little person . . .

Rachel -- just over 1 year old

 March, 1980

Dear Jennifer Susanne,

A whole year of life with Jenny has passed at an incredible pace . . . You have eight teeth, say "bye-bye" and go after your snow-suit with zeal when the word "outside" is mentioned.  You are a content baby who has filled our lives with happiness, fun and love.  When Dad comes home you stretch out your arms and coax him to pick you up . . .

Jennifer--just over 1 year old

 

And, then, there were three.

 October, 1984

Dear Isaac David,

Although you were named Isaac David after your dad and great grandfather, Mom refers to you as "man-child."  You were bigger than the other babies in the hospital and more handsome.  You don't cry easily, have big blue eyes, and pearly white teeth.  I noticed the other day, however, that one of those little baby teeth has a chip.  When it happened, I do not know . . .

Isaac--just over 1 year old

I wrote letters to our children as they were growing up--one a year as near to their birthdays as I could get.  What they liked to eat, who their friends were, favorite classes in school, special occasions were included in a yearly letter, carefully folded, and inserted into an envelope with their name and date on the front.

In spite of the smiles on their faces, our children were not always happy children. Their mother was not always happy with them or for them.  

But they were loved unconditionally,

and we thanked God each day

for the gift of each child.

Living is not easy.

Knowing that you are 

   loved makes it easier.

Over twenty years later, I tied ribbons around four letter packets--one packet for each child.  Each packet contained eighteen "birthday" letters with stories from the past. They were delivered with the hope that childhood memories would come to life and that each child would remember anew how precious they were and are. 

There was yet another letter in the packet--making it nineteen, instead of eighteen.  A letter from Jesus.  I discovered it in World Literature Crusade, typed it, and included in the letter packet for each child.  It's a love letter as each of mine was.  

It's a letter for you, too.

Dear Friend,

How are you?  I just had to send you this letter to tell you how much I love and care about you.  I saw you yesterday as you were walking with your friends.  I waited all day long, hoping you would talk to Me, also.  As evening drew near, I gave you a sunset to close your day and a cool breeze to rest you, and I waited . . .

I saw you fall asleep last night, and I longed to touch your brow, so I spilled moonlight upon your pillow and face.  Again, I waited, wanting to rush down so we could talk.  I have so many gifts for you.

You awakened late and rushed off for the day.  You looked so sad, so alone.  It makes my heart ache because I understand.  I try to tell you in the quiet green grass; I whisper it in the leaves and trees, breathe it in the colors of the flowers.  I shout it to you in the mountain streams, and give the birds love songs to sing.  I clothe you with sunshine and perfume the air.  My love for you is deeper than oceans and bigger than the biggest want or need you have.

We will spend eternity together in heaven.  I know how hard it is on this earth.  I really know because I was there, and I want to help you.  My Father wants to help you, too.  He's that way, you know.  Just call Me, ask Me, talk to Me; it is your decision.  I have chosen you, and because of this, I will wait. . . Because I love you.

Jesus

If you want to read more 

about God's love for you, 

read scripture.  

DAILY.

Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.   Psalm 119:105

Psalm 19: 7 reads "The teaching of the Lord is perfect and revives the soul.. . "

If we neglect the Bible, we can not

expect to benefit from the wisdom

and direction that result from

knowing God's word.

     Vonette Bright

Heavenly Father, You loved me before I was born; You sent your Son Jesus Christ to redeem me from my sins.  You have given me the gift of eternal life.  I praise you for the gift of life.  May I be worthy to serve you.  May I reflect your love to others. 

Amen

                                                                                         

The Secret Is

    From The Secret Is by Kathleen Stauffer:

You've read those stories that begin with, "Once upon a time.. . "  The kind that usually end with, "They lived happily ever after."  This is not that kind of story.  Let me explain.

     I knew from the beginning that I was different.  I've never been able to put my finger on all the reasons; it's just a feeling I have.  . . . I grew up with my Mom, Mel, in a little town in the Midwest.  I don't really know much about my dad.  Mom said he named me Ledea because I was a girl, and Ledea sounded like lady.  . . . He was real excited the  day I was born according to Mom but left town before my mom even came home from the hospital.  Guess he had other plans.  . . . Our house was in an area of town with no sidewalks, but we had lots of grass; Mom called them weeds. . . . The house was gray and small.  A coat of paint would have improved it, but paint and brushes cost money.  

Growing up on the wrong side of
town with a single parent,
Ledea Jenkins, protagonist, also struggled with a learning
disability. A devastating accident
in high school, falling in love
with the wrong man, moving into
the little brown house by the
lake, and discovering the box room
in her grandparent's house
all held secrets.

Ledea understood God's unconditional love as a child.  Now, as a young adult, she struggles with

the real meaning of "the secret is."  With the love of a new best friend,
a persistent pastor, a secret
admirer, and her always-there mother,
will Ledea survive what life has thrown at her?

Having worked with students with learning disabilities, I desired to write a book using one of their voices--in this case, Ledea's, a girl who grew up in poverty.  It seems easy for some who are fortunate to be educated and have good paying jobs to be judgmental of those who do not.

How often do we hear. . .

They need to get a job.

They should have gone to school.

They're just lazy.

Unless we walk in their shoes, we do not know.

    

In Ruby K. Payne's book, A Framework For Understanding Poverty, she expressed the major differences between generational poverty and middle class were not just about money.  A working definition of poverty is the "extent to which an individual does without resources."  Payne lists the resources as:

*financial

*emotional

*mental

*spiritual

*physical

*support system

*relationships/role models

*knowledge of hidden rules

Due to Ledea's naivete, she found herself in situations and relationships that were not healthy for her.  However, her mother had always taken her to church and Sunday school as a child, and Ledea felt supported and loved in this environment.  She even practiced, practiced and practiced memorizing her favorite verses and hymns--recitations that stayed with her into adulthood and sustained her.  So that when Star, her new husband, took her away to a remote area to live, she carried the seeds of faith from her childhood years.

We learn in this inspiration fiction novel that a child born into poverty, a child with a learning disability, a young woman taken advantage of by others perseveres because of God's love.

For whatever is born of God

overcomes the world.

And this is the victory 

that has overcome the world--

our faith.

1 John 5:4

Ledea was created by God, as we all are, and saved by Christ, as we all are.  Whether you are rich or poor, we need to understand our differences and care for each other.

The Secret?

God's plan is to make known his secret to his people, this rich and glorious secret which he has for all peoples.  And the secret is that Christ is in you, which means that you will share in the glory of God.

Colossians 1:27

If you read The Secret Is, you will discover that the last chapter is written by Ledea just for you!

A Morning Walk, Ancient Paths, and Peace

I couldn't help but think of the Bible verse . . 

Stand by the roads and look

and ask for the ancient paths

where the good way is

and walk in it

and find rest for your souls . . .

when I studied the sign.




I thought about the phrases
"minimum maintenance,"
"level B service,"
and "road not plowed,"
and although the road was not an ancient path,
the sign enticed me.

Should I take the 

enter at your own risk

road or stick to my

usual morning route?

I studied the country trees tunneling the road and the occasional wild roses
highlighting the ditch grass.

Joyce Rupp's  

Deep is calling into deep.  

Stop standing before the dark, empty cave.  

Take a step.  Let go.  Walk in.  

Just like the seed must fall into the dark, 

deep black soil, 

so must I enter into the darkness,

go where there is mystery.

Startling me but without a sound,

two deer sprung from one side of the road to another

and disappeared into a drying cornfield.  

Black-eyed Susans stretched toward the eastern horizon.

As the gravel grunched beneath my footsteps,
I took one step after another
and noticed ordinary beauty.










                     Breathing in morning coolness, I quickened my pace and

Leaving the cemetery, ancient paths, rest for your soul. . . thoughts lingered.

approached an aged cemetery. Unhooking the rusted wire that held the gate shut, I wandered among the burial stones with names and dates from decades past faded by sunlight, wind, time. 















Fifty or more steps further, I stood at the
edge of the ditch to view a large stone
with a crown of fall-colored, wild flowers.

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me. . .

                               Matthew 11:28 +

And even further...
a rock pile of huge proportions
landscaped by clipped grass
and cornfields  . . .










As I walked an incline and looked ahead,
I delighted in how the fog blanketed the dips in the road.
A covey of blackbirds--big and noisy--
called out their day's agenda.

 

Reaching the end of the mile, I turned to
retrace my steps
to be greeted by sunrise--
eagerly seeking the horizon.
Filled with joy,
I felt like a child.

Then my soul will rejoice in the Lord and delight in his salvation.
                      Psalm 35:9





Being touched by His
creation welcoming me to a new day,
I remembered God's promise given
thousands of years ago:

The way of salvation has been marked since the beginning of times.  

Deuteronomy 32:7

You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with you in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.  

Psalm 16:11

Donna Carter in her book, 10 Smart Things Women Can Do To Build A Better Life, recommends that we live generously, offload stress, and grasp grace.  Perhaps one of the easiest ways to accomplish these things is to

 Be still and know that I am God.

Take a different route today.

Expect unexpected blessings.    

Thou dost keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee.

Isaiah 26: 3

Hardship or Blessing?

Alpha Writers 

recently assigned 

"Something Learned From a Hardship." 

 My first thoughts were --

I've had an easy life; 

I have nothing to write about.  

While walking our country road
the following morning. . .  . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

                                       

I came up with

personal hardships . . . .

enough to fill a page.  









*When growing up on our family farm, my oldest brother tormented me.
*A Christmas doll whose once perfect complexion was forever pitted by Ajax
     by a younger brother.
*A high school coach with killer workouts.
*A college freshman history course.
*My first year of teaching and the terror I felt for weeks.
        . . .  and, of course, . . .
*Marriage and children were a mixed basket of trials and blessings
      including the occasional worry of not being able to pay the bills,
     a mouthy child.

You get the picture.

What was I thinking?

Let's start at the beginning:
      my oldest brother.

At age 5, he demonstrated the use
of the farm tractor to me one summer day.
Thirteen months older than I, much wiser,
and already developing an interest in farming,
he hopped on the Oliver tractor
and pulled me up beside him. 
Pushing the clutch and working the throttle,
the tractor catapulted forward.
Dwight knew how to start the tractor,
but he had not mastered steering.
Leaving its station by the gas drum,
it took off.
Speechless, we watched with alarm as
the tractor lumbered over the rutted farmyard,
knocked over fences,
and rammed nose-first into our massive red barn
--a mere rumble left in its throat.
The cattle bellowed, the chickens scattered,
and Dad came out of the corn crib to check the commotion.
My mother burst from the house, a look of sheer terror on her face.

Dwight giving instructions on driving.

I should have learned from that experience not to trust him.  Some lessons are learned the hard way.  He  tormented  me by throwing rocks at my bare legs while walking the quarter-mile lane at the end of the school day.  Sundays may have been the Sabbath; however, he teased me on the way home from church and then chased me up the stairs hoping to get a good push or punch in before dinner time.  I had his routine down after a few weeks and would jump out of the car ahead of him, bang the back door in his face, and rush upstairs.  Slamming my bedroom door, I sat with my back against the bed and my legs ram-rod straight to hold the door shut.  A vertical crack exists to this day.

The circumstances of our relationship worsened as we got older.  

Confessing to my mother one day, 

I hate him, and I can't help it, 

was a low point in my life.

With four brothers added to the family by this time, she could only sympathize.

Dwight left for college.  There was less conflict; however, I found myself missing him.  I left for college a year later.  We never wrote; we never talked on the phone.  He did occasionally return my roommate and me to school after a weekend at home.

I can't remember when it turned around.
 Like many things, it took time. 

Several years later, he attended my college graduation... along with his own family: his first wife and a new baby.

1969 college graduation--a family picture.

Thinking back, I realize that resilience, persistence, resourcefulness were developing as I grew up with five brothers.  These words weren't a part of my vocabulary or understanding as a child or as a teenager.  Neither was grace.  

However, 

when at my low points,

 I was beginning to understand grace

--without my knowledge of doing so.

  

In WE SEE IN A MIRROR DIMLY, my first book, Julie, the protagonist, returns to her mother's grave to read the verse on the headstone.

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.  

II Corinthians 12:9

Julie walks to the nearby church, finds the pastor, and asks him to define grace.

"Grace?"  He paused, steepled his fingers and looked upward.  "What a wonderful question.  Not a common one though.  Let me see what I can do for you."  He smiled somewhat impishly and continued.  "It's a girl's name, although not very popular anymore.  It's another word for a prayer.

. . . By grace are you saved through faith, not by works, it is a gift of God, not of works . . .  What is grace?  Most importantly, you need to know that it is all around you.  You just have to ask for it; it comes from God; it gets you through the day; it gets you through life.  It is the power to accomplish in our lives what we can not accomplish on our own.  It saves you; it makes eternal life possible.  For life, it's more important than the air you breathe, or the water you drink.  It is divine.  It's unmerited."

Philippians 4:8 

reads

Finally brothers,

whatever is true,

whatever is honorable, 

whatever is just,

whatever is pure,

whatever is lovely,

whatever is commendable--

if there is any moral excellence

and if there is any praise--

dwell on these things.

Hardship or blessing?  
Give it time. 

        My oldest brother, my tormentor at an early age, currently gives hugs and calls me "sweetie."

Donna Mae: BFF

It was second grade.  

Twenty some students sat in their fold-down bench seats attached to the desks, all connected to one another, row after row.  The teacher stood primly in front of the room, a phonics textbook in her hands wearing her thick-heeled shoes, mid-calf skirt and sweater-set, red lipstick fading on her smile.  Reading time was interrupted by Principal Hovik's knock on the door.

All eyes followed Miss McMellon as she clip-clopped to the classroom door--each of us hoping we were not in trouble--individually or collectively.  As our teacher opened the door, Mrs. Hovik stepped in with a stranger.  Patting a little girl lightly on her blonde head, the principal whispered a few words to Miss McMellon and left.

We stared at her--

a new student? 

It didn't happen often.  

She stood ram-rod straight as her blue eyes scanned the room.  Her blonde-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail, and she was dressed nicely--a skirt and sweater set--much like the teacher's.

"Class," Miss McMellon announced fanning herself.  "We have a new student.  Her name is Donna Mae Gritten."  Looking about the room, and not being used to a new student in the middle of the first quarter, Miss McMellon paused before continuing.

 "We need to welcome her."

Some tried smiling, a couple of girls self-consciously clapped, a few boys rolled their eyes and did a quick re-count on boys vs girls.  Eileen giggled.

Looking somewhat flustered, our teacher looked about the room.

"We have no empty student desk," she explained to Donna who seemed not concerned that we were all staring at her or the fact that there was no where for her to sit.  "So, please, choose someone to sit with for today.  Tomorrow, we'll have a desk for you."

Miss McMellon gently nudged Donna Mae Gritten toward the classroom.  Donna stood firmly as she studied our faces.  Finding her cousin, Donnis, she nodded recognition.  Nonetheless, she made eye contact with a little, brown-haired girl with a shy smile and walked to her desk and sat beside her:  me.

And that was the beginning of our lifetime relationship.  It was 1955.

 

 

Sharing the bench-desk, eating goulash together in the cafeteria, playing on the slide and merry-go-round, we hit it off.  After getting off the bus that day, I ran all the way down our quarter-mile lane to tell my mother:

 I have a new friend!

In the months and years that followed:
we washed dozens of eggs
(fresh from her family hen house)
together in the basement,
wrote secret notes,
compared can-cans,
played basketball
(she was a guard, I was a forward),
went out for football cheerleading as seniors
(knowing nothing about the game),
became blood sisters after much debate,
talked about everything during our stay-over-nighters
from religion to sex to our unpredictable futures,
and celebrated our birthdays together.


We attended a church service one evening while in high school, and as we sang, "The Old Rugged Cross," tears streamed down our faces.  We were simultaneously touched.

Donna was expressive.  I was quiet.  She was in the fore-front; I was her shadow.  After a speech competition in high school, I read the judge's comments regarding her presentation.  The word histrionic was splashed on the page.  Curious, I looked it up when I got home:  Theatrical!  

The summer after graduation, we both worked at Lake Okoboji but rarely saw each other.  Transportation from one side of the lake to the other was a problem if one didn't own a car or a boat.  She worked at an inn; I worked at a church camp.  College, marriage, children and family responsibilities separated us further; and as the years passed, we lost touch except for an occasional birthday or Christmas card always ending with....

 I miss you.

Three years ago, I spent time in the Hospice Unit where my mother lay dying.  I discovered Donna's mother was recuperating from hip surgery three doors away.  I made tea for her, we talked, and then made a call to Donna.  Guess who I'm with? I asked her.

Currently, Donna's mother and my father live in the same assistive/nursing home facility, and we are re-connecting whenever possible.  After her last visit with her mother, Donna and her husband drove 2 1/2 hours to my house.  We visited the remainder of the day, into the evening hours, and the following morning over caramel rolls discussing children, grandchildren, jobs, retirement.  We didn't have time to talk about 

Remember when?

Donna and I were best friends, but during our high school years, we were a part of a group of six.  Over time, our lives took very different paths.  Linda committed suicide in her twenties, Cindy drowned when her car over-turned in a stream, Pat just recently died of breast cancer.*  And, Donna and I were wondering, 

Where is Barb?     We must find her.  

After loosing three in our friendship group and

caring for 

and 

watching our parents age, 

we are also wondering 

what life has in store for us.

As for now, we want to re-discover this precious, life-long relationship, talk  about our past and how it shaped who we are today, and discuss where God is leading us. 

The Bible records the friendships of Ruth and Naomi, David and Jonathan, Elijah and Elisa, and Job's companions.  These friendships displayed loyalty, compassion, forgiveness, selflessness.  Our friends keep us hopeful when we are down; they celebrate with us during our joy moments.  There is no envy or ill-will between friends.  Donna and I never argued; we always wanted the best for each other.

Thank you, God, for Donna.

We were created to be social creatures.  Did you know that World Friendship Day is celebrated every year on the first Sunday in the month of August?  Women's Friendship Day is on the third Sunday in August, and Old Friends, New Friends Week is the third week of May.

It seems that friendship is worthy of celebration! 

Let your friends know how much you appreciate them.

Keep them in your prayers.

God loves us.

*Patricia Ann, age 66, passed away on August 21, 2012, at her home following a courageous battle with cancer. We will miss her.