Roots

My father leans back in the wooden dining room chair. His hands wrapped around a John Deere coffee mug. The coffee is more to warm his hands than his stomach. I see the look in his eyes and the crooked grin ... I know there's a story about to unfold. Mom says I have that same smile. I hope so and I hope that my children will mark a story on its way with that same expression.

After a supper of homemade pizza and a dessert of vanilla ice cream and fresh blueberries ... my husband and I join Mom and Dad for conversation. My house is always a "family circus", as my parents call it. The four of us crowd around the dining room table and visit in between the craziness of my three boys. These are times that I know I will keep close for many years.

I'm listening close, trying to memorize the details. I guess one might say I'm a bit sentimental. I'll admit it, I am. I love stories. I love to hear them and tell them. I want to pass these tales down to my children and someday my grandchildren.

Tonight, the tale was of two young boys baptized in a small creek. I hadn't heard this one before. My father was recounting the day of his baptism. I guess in all the stories my father has told, I've never wondered about his salvation. I just knew he was saved and baptized. This evening, I learned he was washed clean in a muddy creek. Right along with him ... a long time family friend, Bob. At my father's telling, I could just picture him at near nine years old wadding into the water with his friend, Bob.

I found myself wondering what sins were drowned on that day? Maybe, spitting chew on the rump of a white mule (one of my favorite stories from Dad)? Did either of those boys know the difference their choice would make for their children, grandchildren? I'm sure they didn't at that time.

I've known Bob for years. He and his wife have been a part of my life for ... well forever. I remember dancing to Donny and Marie albums with their daughters. My sister and I spent lots of time in their basement and garage ... playing ping-pong, listening to scriptures during youth group meetings and just enjoying their entire family. Bob's wife played piano at my wedding. She helped prepare the meal we shared on the day I was married. Have I ever told them how special those times were to me? I hope so.

One Sunday, after a church service, my sister and I joined their family for lunch at Clark's cafeteria. I recall Bob's oldest daughter dabbed perfume behind our ears. She said her grandpa liked the smell and it made her feel special. I know it made my sister and me feel special. Did I ever tell her how that made me feel? I hope so.

I wonder if either boy knew or even thought that someday their children would make memories together. Did they know we would need them and their stories? I see my father's friend nearly every Sunday. He and his family are a part of my past, present and future.

Tonight I'm thinking about my Dad and his friend. I'm remembering good times, special times. I'm praying my boys have special people and memories. I want my boys to know their roots and to love those roots.

Are there people in your life that have made impressions, ones that will stick with you forever? And, are you leaving impressions that will last long after you are gone from this earth?

There's a song that I love ... Randy Travis' "Three Wooden Crosses" ... It isn't what you take with you when you leave this earth, it's what you leave behind you when you go.

Joel 1:3 "Tell your children about it, Let your children tell their children, And their children another generation."

A Life Touched by Treacher Collins

"Mama, when will I be like Alex?" My niece lets her little feet dangle into the cool lake and she looks out across the choppy water at her big sister splashing into the deeper waves.

"Hope, you know God makes us all different. You won't ever be like Alex." My sister wraps Hope in a warm embrace, holding her carefully by the water's edge. They sit together dangling their feet from the dock's edge.

"You know what I mean, Mama." Hope's voice takes on urgency, frustration.

"Yes, you want to know when you can swim like Alex." Here, my sister sighs and places a gentle kiss against Hope's red curls.

A quick nod is the only response from the little person held by the embrace.

"I don't know if you'll ever swim like Alex. Right now, let's just do what we know you can do. Let's put our feet in the water and watch Alex and Daddy play."

Again, just as so many times before, my sister does what I could never do ... she explains to her youngest daughter that life may never be what we call fair. For the time being, this explanation is satisfactory. Hope turns her attention to the water tickling her toes. And, she smiles. That smile that lights up her world and ours. It's the smile of a child touched by Treacher Collins.

Hope has never jumped carefree into a pool of water. She has never fallen playfully into a drift of snow and she has never danced in the rain. And ... she never complains or feels sorry for herself.

In order for you to understand this moment in Hope's life, I should take you back to the day of her birth ....

On a beautiful, crisp winter morning, we welcomed the second of my sister's girls into this world. Anyone who knows me would tell you I was gushing with excitement. I have loved each of my nieces from the very moment I set eyes upon them. They are each beautiful in their very own special way. I will change their names in this blog to protect their innocence. However, anyone familiar with me will know the identity of these children. Anyone who does not know me ... I pray you will be touched and perhaps somehow changed by this story regardless of their names.

Alex is the eldest of my sister's girls. She is a tall slender girl. She loves dance, the Jonas Brothers and everything bright and cheerful. Alex has her father's bright blue eyes and her mother's grin. She was born with a quiet spirit and a love that would someday later prove to be a safe place for her baby sister to run when the world was cruel.

Hope is the younger of the girls. She too is a redhead but this is where the similarities end and Hope becomes her very own little person. On the day of Hope's birth, I drove my sister to the hospital and dialed my brother-in-law's work number countless times to let him know that the moment he left home, his wife had gone into labor. Hours later, we would learn Hope was born with Treacher Collins Syndrome. TCS is a craniofacial syndrome that affects the ears, nose and throat. Hope was born with lobes and no ear canals. Her lower jaw was too small and the doctors were forced to put in a trach. Because of this, she has a feeding tube. Hope hears with the help of a bone conducting hearing aid. These limitations are the reason she has never and for the time being can't enjoy some of the things we take for granted ... swimmining, playing in the snow ... dancing in the rain...

Alex and Hope are sisters. They love each other fiercely. I know this love because it's exactly how I feel about my sister, Mary. Everyone needs a safe place to run when the world gets crazy. Hope and I have something in common. We have a big sister that we admire, adore and look up to ... our safe place to run.

I have so much more I want to say about my sister, my nieces ... I'll save those things for another day. Today, I want this blog to be an encouragement to those touched by special needs ... an encouragement to those parents of children with special needs. There will be tough days, painful days ... days filled with blessings.

This I say to my sister, my nieces and my brother-in-law ... you are loved. You will always have a safe place to run when the world is unfair, scary ....

Psalms 139:15-16 "My frame was not hidden from You. When I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my substance being yet unformed. and in Your book they all were written. The days fashioned for me. When as yet there were none of them."

A Mighty Warrior

The mighty warrior prince raises his sword for battle. A fierce enemy awaits just beyond the forest edge. Its eyes glow red. Scales layer the beasts exterior. Shards of moonlight slice through the darkness and reflect off the black scales. The prince listens quietly in the night. No sound escapes his hearing. The crunch of dried leaves beneath clawed feet and the heaving breath of a giant enemy meet his waiting ears. The prince wets his drying lips and begins to whisper low and firm. A quiet prayer whispered in nearly quiet night. The words of this warrior take flight in the gentle breeze and ascend heavenward. He does not fear the darkness for he serves the master of light and the conqueror of all darkness. A beast far worse than any this prince has fought before emerges from the tree line. It breathes deep and exhales a fiery blow. Flames close in on the prince and he raises his shield. Fire bounces back toward the enemy and the warrior prince runs quickly to thrust his sword beneath the shimmering scales. A painful roar breaks the night air as a giant falls in defeat.

This morning I sat in dim light at my kitchen table. That is the only time I am able to find for quiet devotions. I generally pour my first cup of coffee and begin reading before six every morning. This morning was no exception. I opened my bible to Proverbs and started to read. Halfway through the second verse, my middle boy crept out of the hallway. He was up long before his usual time. He slid onto my lap and leaned back against my chest. I was frustrated that I wouldn't get my "quiet time" and then realized this could be a quiet together time. I changed course and opened my bible to Jeremiah 29:11 and let him read to me. He's still young, so the words were slow and broken. In that moment, I was struck by a vivid picture in my mind. When I see a little boy awake before dawn, God sees a warrior preparing for battle.

Have you ever thought about how often God used youth to accomplish much? Throughout the bible we are told of children that were given courage to do mighty works. One example would be David when fighting the mighty Philistine, Goliath. Even though the King was worried David would be too small and was only a child, David feared nothing because of his faith. I love this story and, even more, I love David's response to Goliath's taunting ... "you come at me with a sword, with a spear and with a javelin. But I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied." I get chills reading that scripture.

In Ephesians, we are given a clear message that spiritual warfare is very real and also very defeatable. We must put on the full armor of God. Now more than ever, our children need this armor to achieve great things and to hear the call of our heavenly Father.

So, I ask myself and other parents ... are we giving our young the encouragement to do great things? Are we laying a foundation of faith in their lives ... a foundation that will provide the full armor of God? I'm afraid I have fallen short in this area. In my attempt to keep them little as long as possible, I sometimes hold them back from achieving great things.

My quiet time with God is important and I will strive to find that time. But, from now on, I will enjoy every moment with my mighty warrior.

Ephesians 6:10-17 "Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."

I Heard the News Today

I heard the news today. I turned the television on and heard ... there are innocent children dying in the streets of a foreign land. Our soldiers are sacrificing their lives and innocence for our freedoms. Politicians are arguing over the present state of our country. Town Halls are filled with angry citizens screaming for their voices to be heard. The unemployment rate moves up and down like a yo-yo. The local factories are famous on the evening news when they lock out their employees. Party lines are drawn between the liberals and conservatives, each one blaming the other for America's downfall.

I heard the news today and, just as many times before, I became angry, scared and depressed. Why even watch when there is nothing that has a "feel good" moment in it? But, I watch regardless. I want to know if the unemployment rate is changing. Why? Because, if it changes for our nation than perhaps it will change enough to bring work to the factory where my husband used to spend his days. He hasn't worked in five months. I watch to see if the war is nearing an end, it never seems to end. I listen, I want to know what will happen with health care. Will my parents get the care they need according to the present plan. I don't know because I don't understand the foreign language our politicians seem to speak. I'm a common person, I would prefer that someone simply lay it out in clear explanations. But, I continue to watch becoming more confused and angrier with each word.

I found myself wishing for a place where party lines could be crossed. A place where no one cares if you're a republican, democrat, conservative or liberal. I long for the feeling of "community" and "coming together."

I heard the news today that there is a child fighting for life. A child battling a disease that ravages through the body and stains every inch ... just like a drop of dye in a glass of water ... this disease seeps in and stains everything. I heard the news and was no longer a conservative republican, no longer one of many American citizens arguing over my beliefs or opinions ... I was a mother on her knees praying for another mom who must somehow take her baby's innocence with the news that he is dying.

In that moment, party lines disappeared. The children dying on the streets of a foreign land became one child dying in our country. The soldiers sacrificing their lives for freedom became one mother willing to sacrifice her life for a child she adores. The town halls filled with angry citizens became one home filled with a family hurting and screaming for a way to understand this disease. The unemployment rate became the rate of survival from something even doctors struggle to understand.

I heard the news today and realized there is a place where party lines can be crossed. A place where no one cares about your political party. That place is on your knees in prayer for a mother, father and child.

I heard the news today and went directly to that place. Join me there. Come to the place where God can erase the party lines and cleanse the stain on a child's life. Pray for this child as if you were praying for your own.

Romans 15:30 "I urge you brothers, by our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the love of the Spirit, to join me in my struggle by praying to God for me."

Angels Unaware

Hebrews 13:2 "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels."

Recently, I heard someone telling a tale of their experiences. It seemed they were attempting a joke or laugh at the expense of another human being. Honestly, I can't tell you a thing from the ramblings but the unnecessary remark about a homeless individual. The words were placed dead center of the story ... "a panhandler begging for money, food." It was a trivial comment for this person but it struck a nerve within my heart. How could anyone make light of another who is forced to beg for their next meal? The remark stayed with me for several days.

Shortly after hearing the story, I was listening to my radio. On came a song spinning the possibility that beggars might just be angels sent here to be sure we're doing our part here on earth. I can't tell you the artist singing this song but I can tell you the memories it pulled forward in my mind.

I grew up in a family heart set on blessing the needy and less fortunate. My parents were active within the local chapter of Salvation Army. They contributed time, effort and finances. I'm talking about the days when phone calls came late at night saying someone was "hard on their luck" needing a place to sleep or a warm meal in their belly. I remember many a time such as that in my childhood home. The phone would ring long after bedtime, my mother's soft "hello, Fleming's" and then my father would take over the call. A firm "I see, of course we can help" and then my father's good name that any credit used would be paid the following day. I would listen to their hushed voices as I curled deeper into my warm blankets. The darkness outside seemed to creep in my bedroom and threaten the safety I felt.You see, I knew the call meant someone was cold, hungry and hurting ... while I lay warm and well fed in the comfort of our house ... that frightened me. Then ... out of that darkness I would hear my father's voice, steady and true, lifted in prayer for the person needing help on a cold winter night. Peace followed, spreading a tender hand of calm through our home. I would fall back to sleep listening to my parents talk about the phone call. I could hear the tears in my mother's voice as she said "it was a good reminder that we are blessed."

Don't misunderstand me or think that I am totally naive. I know that there are those that beg in order to feed an alcohol or drug addiction. I am very aware that some lay sleeping on a park bench from a decision of their own mind. But, I ask you this ... are there not decisions you've made foolishly? Have you ever made a choice that somehow altered your future in a less than favorable way?

I believe we all suffer consequences of poor decisions. So, how is that you or I can sit back judging the beggar? Our poor choices might be easily hidden within the confines of our homes. Does that mean they are any less poor than those of the addict walking the street? No. The sins of addiction are evident for all to see. Other sins take quiet root and hide from the unsuspecting eyes of passersby.

I know that the person making light of the panhandler did not see their words were cold, callous. I know too that this person is full of God's love and works hard to bring His word into the lives of many people. I just think this person was caught in a moment where their words were less than chosen well. We've all been there, haven't we? In an odd way, I'm thankful that this person made reference to the panhandler. It brought back memories and reminded me that I need to be more compassionate each day.

Perhaps the panhandler interrupting my day is an angel making sure that I do my best with my time here on earth. Or, perhaps ... I'm the answer to that beggars prayer.

Proverbs 3:28 "Do not say to your neighbor, "Go and come back, and tomorrow I will give it" When you have it with you."

My Sweet Sixteen

I was 15 years old when I stepped into Logansport High School for a speech team meet. It was one of the first meets I had competed in and I was nervous. Hours had gone into memorizing, practicing and delivering my Drama. Standing outside the classroom, waiting for my turn to compete, I watched the other students hustling to their speech rooms. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the boy who would someday be my husband. I remember thinking he was the cutest boy I had ever seen. All memorization of my speech was forgotten as he smiled at me and introduced himself. My heart went weak when I looked into his brown eyes.

Somehow, in that moment, I knew he was for me ... forever. How is it that your heart knows these things?

Today marks our sixteenth wedding anniversary.

Fooled you, didn't I? Of course, my sixteenth birthday was sweet. That day, I was able to go on my first date with Jerry Willis. I wasn't allowed to go out on dates until I turned sixteen. We spent 8 months, from the time we met until my sixteenth birthday, writing notes and calling each other on the phone. We were from different towns, so we went to different schools. That meant, no seeing each other in the halls at school, no sharing classes ... The week I turned sixteen, we went to our first dance.

The distance between that first dance and today has been paved with better and worse. I am thankful for the worse and blessed by the better. The worse has brought us closer and made our marriage stronger.

All too often, I think two people enter into marriage with "rose colored glasses." You know the ones I'm talking about. The glasses that say your marriage is going to go down in history books as being the first where no one argued, disagreed or hurt each other. I wore those on our wedding day. Go ahead and laugh, I am. They came off the first day we argued. Imagine my disappointment when I found that Jerry Willis did not always think I was perfect. Go ahead, laugh again, I am.

I remember thinking that day our marriage was over. How could he possibly stay married to me and how could I love a man that didn't agree that I was always right? Lucky for me, Jerry didn't wear "rose colored glasses." He was somehow better prepared for that first argument. After my yelling and crying ... he sat me down and explained that disagreeing wasn't a sign of his love for me ending. We were going to have our arguments. That was just part of life together.

On the day of our wedding, I slid a gold band on his finger inscribed with 1 Corinthians 13:13 "And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love." Since that day, my husband has unknowingly taught me the scripture that comes before that verse.

1 Corinthians 13: 4 - 8 " Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth, bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails."

My husband's love for me is never failing. At the end of each day, I know I am loved.

I have a picture frame. It was given to me on my wedding day by the boy I married. A poem is penned on one side ... " To The One I love" ... " I cannot promise you a life of sunshine ~ I cannot promise riches wealth, or gold ~ I cannot promise you an easy pathway that leads away from change or growing old ... But I can promise true devotion, a love to last forever ~ All the happiness love can bring as hand in hand we walk through life together, I do love you ~"

I'm not sure of the author. So, I give credit to the person that wrote this poem. And, I give credit to man who has kept that promise for sixteen years.

Our Team

I watched as my oldest son and my husband loaded a weeks worth of clothes into our church van. What seemed like a hundred teenagers buzzed around that van and the church bus. Each person was loaded down with bags of clothes, cereal boxes and the ever present cell phone. The parking lot surrounding our church seemed to hum with activity.

It was early Saturday evening, our youth group was packing up for a mission work camp in New York. My husband and I had spent the day going over a list of necessities. That morning, I had busied myself with all the duties that define me as "mom." The typical reminders of what to pack and how much to pack.

As the bus was loaded down under its week long burden, I began questioning what we packed. Did we remember everything? They would be gone from home for an entire week. What if they needed something that I failed to pack?

As I watched those teenagers, I realized I just wanted to leave the parking lot and spend my evening as planned. Supper out at our family's favorite restaurant and watching a movie together. I wanted to ignore the fact that two of my guys were leaving before dawn the next morning. On a trip that would take them hours away from me and my other two sons.

As I sat there feeling a mix of worry and sadness, one of my younger boys asked "Hey Mom, is that a team?" I followed his pointing finger to the crowd of teenagers and adults busy passing duffle bags into the back of the van.

"What Bud?" I asked, confused.

"Right there. Is that a team?" My boy pointed with more emphasis.

Again, I looked from his finger to the crowd. In all my rambling thoughts and mix of emotions, I had missed what a small boy clearly saw. Our team.

"Yes, Bud. That's a team, our team."

The conversation had been short but prophetic. His young eyes saw what mine should've seen from the start. That group of teenagers and adults formed a team of believers embarking on a mission. They were setting out to play a game they had practiced for in the month previous. Our youth pastor put hours into planning this trip. Youth group meetings revolved around schedules, packing lists and fundraisers. Then, there was the game plan. They went over salvation and bringing others to the saving knowledge of Christ. Each meeting included concentration on the game book ... the Bible.

It didn't matter what was in their bags ... it mattered what was in their hearts. Jesus. And that's what our team was all about. Taking Jesus and sharing Him and His love.

I looked across the sea of teenagers loading their possessions and found my oldest son. He's tall, thin and handsome. I sat in that parking lot looking at the young man that was my little boy. In my mind, I heard him answering my hundred questions of "did you remember to pack ...?" The answer was the same each time. "Mom, I packed my bible, my devotional and a pocket new testament."

I looked at my boy ... I know that God has shaped his spirit in a way that I could never even begin to measure. My son gave his life over to Christ on the day after 9-11. The day after a mark of history in our nation, my son and I knelt on his bedroom floor and I listened as he recited the sinners prayer. He made that choice on his own. I can't take credit for his strong convictions. Sure, there have been family members, friends and others that have influenced him. But, in the end, credit is due our Father and only Him.

And now, I was sending my son to the very city that launched his salvation. For some, New York holds pain from 9-11, a place where they grew up, a tourist spot they enjoy vacationing or maybe even a national symbol of survival after terror. For me, New York reminds me of 9-12. The day my son became a part of the team and now he's off recruiting team members in that same city.

If you're standing on the sidelines, wondering what it takes to be a part of the team ... stop wondering. Get in the game. Grab your play book, recite the game plan and follow the Coach.

This team doesn't have a limit on players allowed. All are welcome.

John 3:16 " For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."