To Crumple In A Heap or Sing Precious Memories?

I glanced casually at the clock and stopped short. Is it really almost eleven? Frantic glance at the microwave, "No, it's ten till ten. Wait. What is going on here?" Snatch at my phone... "The microwave clock is set one hour behind?? You've got to be kidding!"

That wasn't the beginning of the story. The beginning of the story started four days earlier when the electricity went off for seven hours the day my husband was planning to leave for a week. I'll not bother you with the rest of the week, except to say there's been a lot of snowy roads and a lot of plans that have not panned out.

The story I came here to talk about is Thursday.

With rain on Wednesday and a temperature drop and possible snow forecast for during the night, I had Isaac park the van at the bottom of our treacherous lane before going to bed. True to the way my week had been going, we woke up to snow falling and a covered road. I used to refuse to even try driving in snow, so I am getting braver. But oh, how I hate it.

Off we went, on a road that no snowplow had yet touched. I should have known what was coming when I passed the first high water spot but on we went. I was gritting my teeth, anticipating the first bad hill, when we rounded the corner to see a truck parked on the road and beyond him, water. Our road floods easily and this isn't the first time our morning trek has turned into a debate about whether or not to drive through. With the truck sitting there though, I didn't even bother to try. I put the van in reverse and struggled my way back to the road I'd just passed.

One good thing about where we live, there are multiple ways you can travel to reach the same destination. We turned around and wound our way back the way we had come; past The House On The Hill, on out to the interstate and around the world to school by SR 513. I confess, my drive home included tears and a good bit of verbal frustration and self pity. I felt lonely and forsaken and in desperate need of some Jesus in skin.

I got home and set to work on hot lunch prep, busily texting my husband as I worked. His week that was to be spent helping his buddy with a countertop job in AR was turning out to be even more frustrating than mine, with cabinets not arriving and walls not being painted, to name just a few of the complications. After describing the latest disaster, his next text made me throw up my hands and laugh. "Preeeeeeecious memories........" he typed, complete with musical notes on each side. Typical, typical Christopher!

"Perspective, Bethany," I muttered. "Perspective."

That was right before I glanced casually at the clock and realized my time was running out....

After some frantic scrambling, 

 I grabbed the shovel

and scraped the snow so I'd be able

to drive up when I returned. 

And I trucked all my stuff 

down the hill to the van

with some precarious moments

along the way

(You try opening a van door while

standing on slippery snow

And holding two hot pans of brownies.)

 And. I went to school and discovered that I probably wasn't Job being attacked by Satan after all. One of the ladies helping with lunch had fallen the day before and broke her arm and the other lady discovered her casseroles were still cold when it was nearly time to serve lunch.

I didn't break out singing "Precious memories" but I did decide that that was a better option than my earlier urge to crumple in a heap.

The End.

Even so come the end of this week.

Amen.

The Day That Didn't

You know how it is when you hear about an event and you can't get the idea out of your head that you'd like to go? You're sure that if you don't go, you'll wish you would have but you're afraid that if you do go, it will end up not being any good. And, if you're like me, if you do go and it ends up not being any good, the day will become a hopelessly wasted one that you now know -- beyond a shadow of doubt -- you should have spent at home to start with.

Maybe none of you are like me.

If that scenario does ring a bell in your mind, you probably learned long before the age of 39 how to handle such issues. I can't say that I've learned, but I think I might be learn-ing.

I think the first time I consciously made a choice to break my trend was when we took our famous train ride. Many times since then, when I'm tempted to grovel in despair that I've made the wrong choice and the day has been ruined, I'm reminded that I have a choice to make and my feelings aren't necessarily true. Actually, I've started trying to remember to do one better than that. When I've finally made the decision to do one of those things that I've gone back and forth and around and around on, I pray about it. I tell God, "Please would you bless this day as I go __________. I would love it if everything goes the way I'd like it to go but if nothing goes right, I'll be ok with that too."

And then I do my best to keep my promise.

Yesterday was one of those days. I'd heard that Zinck's fabric store was having a 50% off sale on some of their dress fabric this week. I find fabric for a lot of my girl's school dresses at that store so it seemed like an event that I should try to take advantage of. But that meant an hour + trip and pretty much spending a whole day away from home. Should I or shouldn't I? There was no way Chris could take a day off and turn it into a date day. Should I go alone or ask someone to go with me? Yes or no; around and around.

I'd finally decided I would just go alone but the night before, all my usual second guessing began. I could just see the van leave me set somewhere or spending the whole day away and coming home with nothing. For every reason I had thought I would rather just go alone, I now knew having someone along would be better. The very fact that I was so nervous about the whole thing was probably a clear indicator that I should just stay home, you know?

In the morning, I fished for sympathy from my husband. All I got was, "If you get left set somewhere, I'll come and pick you up personally." Which sounded to me a lot more like, "You're being silly but I'll humor you a bit," rather than the sincere sympathy I was coveting. Deep down inside, I knew I was being ridiculous. So, I said my prayer and set off with my trusty GPS, determined to keep my promise.

My first stop was a large, lovely Goodwill. I've found lots of treasures there numerous times in the past but in spite of enjoying meandering through the aisles, this time I left with exactly one item. A pair of pants for Charles in the next size up that I wasn't sure if I should even buy.

From there, I punched in another thrift store and promptly did one of my directionally challenged deals, which is the reason I use a GPS religiously even though it doesn't take care of all my driving issues. What I did was forget that there are two thrift stores with the same name and select the one I didn't want to go to and assumed the GPS was taking me a different way instead of going the way I was familiar with. Oh well, I'd check out this location for a change.

Let's just say, the Lord didn't arrange that mistake so that I would find some wonderful bargain. I walked out of that store with nothing.

By that time, I decided I should just go to the fabric store and do what I'd come to do in the first place. Pleasantly, my route took me right past another thrift store that I recognized, so I stopped. I added two shirts for Charles to my meager stash.

On to the fabric.

I don't know if the manager of the store was just trying to lure people in their doors for nothing or if all the good stuff had been snatched up by the bolt the previous two days of the sale or what but ladies, there was no fabric on sale that I wanted. None. Nada. Out of sheer revenge on a day gone haywire, I bought some knit pieces that I liked at full price but I couldn't believe it!

It was time to have lunch and regroup, so I did just that over a juicy, yummy Sub. The thought crossed my mind that maybe I should just abandon the rest of my plans and go drop in on my sister who works at a newer thrift store 40 minutes away. In spite of living so close to each other, we rarely spend time together and I'd never managed to check out the store where she works. I'm not good with figuring out what time I need to be where in order to make my appointments, so I texted Chris for his input. When my sandwich had disappeared and no reply had come back, I decided to throw caution to the wind and just do it.

Driving along over this road and that road and then another, I figured it might be just my luck to get there and discover my sister wasn't even working that day but I'd come to far to stop now.

Long story short?

She was there. I had the fun of walking in and surprising her. I got to see what she does and tour the part of a thrift store behind the 'Employees Only' doors. I got to discover how they sort and organize and keep everything running smoothly; it's quite impressive! And I got to chat with her and even buy a few things. I ended up picking up my school children nearly 10 minutes late but all in all, the day that didn't go as I envisioned didn't do some other things either.

I didn't feel blue and discouraged; I didn't feel like the day had been totally wasted; I didn't feel certain I had made the wrong decision and should have stayed home. And, perhaps best of all, I didn't have to be picked up personally.

The Tale Of The New Girl On The Block

To Whom It May Concern: This story has no great moral or lesson. It is written love in heart and twinkle in eye.

Carry On.

-------------------------------------------------------------

There once was a girl born in the hills and the sticks of the South. Her world was a happy, secure one, full of family and friends and close community.

The girl resided in a modest, two-story white house; the only home she knew. Her family attended a small, country church where the fellowship was rich and the sense of belonging strong. Her parents were pioneers in the little mission church; forerunners in it's history, position and story. She knew everyone, everyone knew her.

This was her world.

Years passed and the girl grew up. Opportunities came along the way to gain glimpses outside of her world -- attending Bible school, a year in voluntary service... Always, there was the safety of home to return to.

In the process of time, the young lady met and married a young man. This man chose to join her in her close knit world and they lived happily there, starting their own family and finding their own niche. Time had a way of bringing changes to the woman's community but it was still home; she knew and was known by the history and life of the place.

More years passed and the circumstances in life pointed the little family in a different direction. The woman now found herself in the hills and the sticks of the North (contrary to popular thought, there is such a thing), surrounded by the people and the places that were once her husband's world.

The people were friendly and kind and welcoming. The woman was not a complete stranger but here, there was no history; here, she was Christopher's Wife. Where once the activities of community were as natural as breathing, here they were a constant reminder of not knowing....

Here, you didn't take care of your own food for the fellowship dinner.

Here, there was no quilting on the first Thursday of the month but The Sewing on the second Tuesday.

Here, the ministers had an Opening before the message and Took Counsel at member's meetings.

Here, you heard what people said and had no history to filter it through.

Here, you did not know and you were not known by the history and life of the place.

Here, you joined Christmas program practice and learned all new songs while the rest brushed up on the fruits of years of practice.....

So it was, that six years later the woman found herself standing, once again, amidst this group of singers one night thinking sarcastic thoughts and feeling as foreign as the day she had entered this world. A wave of sadness washed over her as she stood amongst the friendly, smiling people who told her they were happy she was there.

You see, she knew what it was like to be them; the fun, secure place it was to be -- to know all the memories, to share all the history, for all of it to be as familiar as the air you breathe. While the sarcastic thoughts danced through her mind, in her heart she could hold no resentment towards these people; reality is simply a part of life.

Could they have stopped to think a little more what it was like for the newer people in their group? Probably. Was there really anything they could do to erase her wave of sadness? No. Had she done the same thing to countless people in her own life? Definitely. Was it worth being sarcastic and annoyed and never coming back? Doubtful.

So, the woman went her way, pondering these things. And when she had filled her husband's ears and he had laughed heartily (as she knew he would) and said things like "Dose of your own medicine" and "I told you so" (as she knew he would), she picked up her music folder and changed the subject.

One Little Egg And That Treasure In Heaven Thing

Since January's writing spree, the idea of laying up treasure in heaven still colors my days. My husband faithfully runs it by me when I'm dragging my feet about oh, say, going away when I would rather stay in my own cozy house. Or when I'm feeling taken advantage of or when I'm wondering if I should do a project.

I need reminders constantly because I forget. It's not become the lens through which I see life yet. That's pretty evident when you answer a 'blue' text with "chalk it up to storing up treasure in heaven" and a couple days later, when you're the one sending the 'blue' text and the response comes back, "treasure in heaven!" you have to laugh because it never crossed your mind.

I had a lot of fun with this school dress up day business but when it was nearly bedtime and I was still working on details... Well, that's when the "treasure in heaven" text caught me by surprise and made me laugh. It's true though, it really does start at home.

I still struggle with thinking that the 'big things' are really where the treasure is at. Friends of ours recently took in a tiny foster baby with hopes of adopting; I read about being involved with neighbors - striking up conversations over food and fellowship, welcoming children in for a cookie. I get these Noble Ideas blown up in my mind and wonder what I should be doing? And then I realize I'm too chicken to even go ask my neighbor for an egg.

I'm really rather embarrassed to even tell you the egg story but just in case any of you think I have it all together, let me knock that notion out of your mind.

When we were working on our new house, one of my daughters kept wondering, "When will we get to know our neighbors?" I answered her vaguely and thought Big Thoughts of having the neighborhood over for an evening of fellowship some day. Like a friend told me with a laugh at church yesterday, "I do a lot of thinking. If I did everything I thought, I would be a wonderful person!" I am a lot like my friend.

Last week I was making a meal for a church family and halfway in, with multiple dishes in various stages of mixing, I realized I needed one more egg! It was too late to switch gears without really having a problem, one of them being enough time. Four years of living in my mother-in-law's yard - which is basically like living next to a store - had me spoiled. What to do?

I could drive the three miles to my mother-in-law's or I could run to the store or I could call a neighbor and beg. The neighbors next door have been over to see our house and we've gifted them with cinnamon rolls since we moved, so I didn't hesitate too long over dialing their number. But nobody answered.

Well, I'd finish up some things and try again, I decided. My other option was our Amish neighbor down the hill. I was a little ashamed that we had never met them yet and not too excited about having our first meeting be because I needed an egg!

My second phone call still brought no answer, and I waffled back and forth. I really just did not have the nerve to walk up to a stranger's door and ask for an egg. On the other hand, there was the Lord in my ear saying, "You admire so-and-so for her involvement with her inter-city neighbors, the ones on drugs and with horrible home lives, and you can't even go ask your Amish neighbor for an egg?!"

Really now, how silly.

You would not believe the courage it took to go do what I knew I should, all for one silly little egg. Of course, she was the nicest lady you ever met, with four sweet little girls peering at me with shy eyes, and I came away with a light heart and finished my meal.

I don't believe God measures 'big things' with the same scale that I do. I long for Him to keep teaching me, and His faithfulness with something as silly as one little egg makes me confident that He will.

You Never Know

Some days life flows along with all the predictable mundane duties that result from a family of five children. You do laundry and clean up messes and cook meals and wash dishes and scrub dirty toilets and tubs with alarming regularity. You settle fusses and dole out punishments and kiss ouchies and  listen to the ever repeated refrain of "Mom. Mom! MOM!!"

Then there are days when chance collides with circumstances and you find yourself in the back of a stranger's vehicle doing something completely out of the ordinary. If you're on your toes, you might have the presence of mind to snap a couple of photos and turn your adventure into a story before the opportunity passes...or you might nearly miss it, like me.

Last year my girls discovered wild raspberries growing around the edges of their grandparent's property, where we live. They waded through weeds and brambles searching out the tiny little treasures, returning to the house triumphantly with purple fingers and just enough berries to whet their appetites for more. Once, they found enough to turn them into a couple of pies but mostly the meager piles were carefully divided and quickly consumed.

This year, they've been at it again. The berries are just beginning to ripen well and Monday they arrived back inside all hot and sweaty with a nice bowl of them.

But the excitement of the nice bowl of berries was quckly forgotten in the hullabaloo of words.

"Mom, we were down by the road picking and this man stopped and asked us if we're berry pickers? We were kind of scared but we were like, yeah, we're picking these wild ones."

These days one hardly dares to let their children do anything on the road alone, even if ours is a quiet, country one. Stories abound of all the bad things just waiting to happen when we are least expecting it. But this time it was a good thing.

"He said he has a raspberry patch that needs to be picked and he wondered if we'd want to pick it!"

"For free?" I wondered. I'm not a Mennonite for nothing, after all.

"I think so. He said he would stop in here after he talks to the neighbor man and, Mom. If he knows the neighbor man and the neighbor man knows grandpa then he's probably fine, right? Can we go, Mom? Will you go with us?"
Somebody was bubbling with anticipation at this point.

Sure enough, minutes later a red vehicle pulled in and I met the grey haired gentleman on the sidewalk.

"Hello, young lady!"

He clasped my hand and gave it a shake while he introduced himself and explained about his berries that he couldn't get anybody to pick.

"They all say it's too hot to pick em but when I saw them girls along the road I said, there's my berry pickers! If they'll go to that much work to get berries..." he chuckled heartily.  "It's not a big patch but I've gotten five gallons off a there already."

I assured him we'd love to pick berries and he left with the promise to return in 20 minutes to pick us up. When he got back, the two youngest had been sent up the hill to grandpa's and the three of us were waiting with pails and water bottles in hand and shoes on our feet.

We piled into the back of his vehicle and headed off, with him keeping up a steady commentary and us wondering where in the world we were going? He drove right past the lane where I knew he lived but the mystery was soon explained when he told of owning four (or was it six?) farms and that where we were headed was about fifteen minutes away.

We bounced along on a dirt road while he filled us in on the terrible coal company people who he is fighting tooth and nail to keep from ruining the land around where we live. That wasn't the only subject, by any means, but it was obviously one dear to his heart. Talk turned to school and carrying concealed weapons.

"Now are you Amish or Mennonite?"

"Mennonite."

"Which was it that had that school shooting? You know, where they visited the fellow that did the shooting." I confirmed it was Amish. "I just don't know if I could go that far and respond the way they did, could you do that?"

Well, of course. I'm a Mennonite; nonresistant, turn the other cheek. Thoughts can go through your mind in a flash, you know, but an honest answer was what came out of my mouth.

"Well, I'd like to think that's how I would respond but if it came down to it and that was my children, I have a feeling it would be a lot harder than I think."

"That's right. That's exactly right." He seemed pleased with my honesty.

We finally came to a few tumble down buildings amongst waist high weeds and he turned into a narrow driveway.

"Here's where you start wondering if you're getting kidnapped," he chuckled.

I laughed and told him I wasn't too worried.

We bounced along a bit further, and came to a stop. To our left we saw an overgrown berry patch that someone had obviously planted at some point in time, judging by the fence around it. We climbed out with our pails and he showed us the best place to pick.

"Whatever you pick in an hour you can have!" He told us. And we set to work with a will.

The sun was hot, and the berries? The berries were beautiful. Nothing like the tiny little things the girls had been picking at home! These were bigger, and much more plentiful.

Picking berries must have taken all of the old fellow's concentration because the stories ceased and we picked in silence. Except for a few mutters of "Ouch" here and there, and him assuring us that we should feel free to trample down the brambles in our way, the only sounds were berries being dropped into buckets.

I'm not sure how long it took us but we soon had the top part of the patch picked, which was all he wanted done as his brother was coming in in a few days and he wanted to save the bottom of the patch for him.

The air conditioning felt awfully good as we situated berry buckets and got ready to leave.

"Are you in a hurry?" he asked me, as he turned his vehicle around.

I assured him we weren't, thinking maybe he had some other errand to run on the way home.

We turned left, instead of right, as we left the narrow lane and I had no idea where this road would come out. But I wasn't too concerned. All the back roads around here connect to places you'd never dream of and, sure enough, we eventually came out to a place I recognized. The only puzzle was, at the stop sign where we should have turned right to go home, he again hooked a left and I watched with interest to see where this would take us. Maybe he needed gas?

Understanding dawned when he pulled in at a little, country drive-in and wondered what we'd like? A rootbeer? An ice cream cone?

It was then that I finally had the presence of mind to recognize a good story when I saw one. As we drove away, with ice cream cones in hand, I grabbed my phone for a hurried snapshot to prove that this all really happened.

We have other things to prove it, of course - purple fingernails, scratches on our legs, delectable raspberries to turn into desserts, and a new friend who's red vehicle we will recognize and wave at when he drives by. I hope the next time he needs berry pickers he comes straight to our door first thing!

I told him to stop by that evening and I'd give him some crumb cake but he insisted he wanted us to have it all.

So we went ahead and enjoyed it ourselves.

And so, that is how the old saying proved true -

You never know what a day

will bring forth.

The Rest of the Tooth Story and Other News

Well, the tooth drama is past for now....at least we hope so!

I spent my weekend taking pain pills around the clock, which kept my pain dulled most of the time. I was worried about Monday, and dreading what lay ahead but was finally so ready to have it over with that it didn't seem so bad.

On Saturday I called the higher powers of Joe's Tire Shop and asked if a worker could be sent over from another store on Monday to take Chris' place. How could they refuse an emotional woman, I mean, really? They nicely agreed to do that and the sun shone a bit brighter after that.

I'll cut the story short and save you the drama.

Turns out, the oral surgeon agreed with the first dentist that the offending tooth was my molar with the large filling, rather than my wisdom tooth. Turns out at the ripe old age of 37 if your wisdom teeth haven't given you any problems yet it's highly likely they never will. Basically, if I wanted to remove them, I could; if I decided not to, that was fine too. Turns out I didn't need surgery or being put to sleep. They numbed me up, removed my molar, and let me go.

So far, I'm doing great. No pain to speak of and no swelling. I feel like doing nothing but laying on the couch and I can't wait to chow down on a good meal but otherwise, doing great.

       ---------------------------------------------------

In other news, Chris has been hanging drywall!!

With his right hand man helping,

The place will be looking different in no time at all!

I can't tell you how exciting it is to see this happening. I confess that when it comes to building/remodeling projects, I am a terrible unbeliever. This makes actually living in The House On The Hill seem possible!

In closing, we have a confirmed bookworm in the house. The oldest two like to read but this one? This one pulls out a book, intending to go outside and play, and ends up sitting in a kneeling position for the next several hours, 

R E A D I N G.

She becomes oblivious to the world around her and has to have her name called twice and doesn't even notice someone taking a picture right in her face! 

Makes me want to curl up with a good book myself.

Happy Tuesday to all. May all your complicated wisdom teeth extractions be turned to a simple molar removal!

A Very Long Story Without A Moral

It all started Tuesday night with me laying in bed saying, "Please. Don't tell me I'm starting with a toothache!"

Wednesday morning I went about my business and I most definitely had something going on with my tooth. Called my dentist and found out I couldn't get in any time soon. There are two dentists in that office, so I called again later to see if I could get in with the other one. Not any time soon but she'd let me know if there was a cancellation. 

Wednesday night rolled around and the pain kicked in with a vengeance. You moms know this drill well, it always does that at night, right? I went to bed having made the decision to show up at the dentists office when the door opened in the morning. "If you're there, they have to do something." Said the wise man at my house.

That night was a living nightmare. Ibuprofen didn't begin to touch the pain. I googled 'how to ease pain from toothache' and tried different ideas. The only thing that helped at all was swishing saltwater in my mouth. That gave me about ten minutes of blessed relief. I spent from about 9:30 pm to 2:00 am swishing saltwater, laying with eyes closed, checking the time and repeating. Sometime after that the pain eased and I slept.

You have to understand that the very thought of walking into a doctor's office and 'being there so they have to do something' is enough to give me a bellyache right there. But I marched in the door at 8 the next morning and told them my sob story and they, very sweetly, said they would see me and I was soon in the chair having x-rays taken of the offending mouth that wasn't even hurting at the moment.

She studied my x-rays, and determined that my left bottom tooth that has about an 8 year old, very deep filling was the culprit. It would need to have a root canal or be extracted but neither could be done that day. I was sent on my way with a prescription for an antibiotic and pain pills and a dentist appointment 3 weeks down the road.

I filled my prescription and was rather annoyed with the silly tooth which wasn't even giving me a twinge of pain. How silly to be annoyed.

I went to bed Thursday night with my mind full of all the things I had failed to accomplish that day that needed to get done on Friday. There was a fundraiser Spaghetti Supper for school Friday night, see, and I still had to make 4 pies and cut up a bowl full of lettuce...

Friday dawned and I got the children off to school and had started my to-do list when the pain hit. Well, I had pain pills now so down one went. You would have never known I took one. I am not even kidding. I soon resorted to my friend, the salt water.

I rolled pie crusts and swished salt water, chopped lettuce and swished some more. I texted my sister, the nurse, and asked if I could take more ibuprofin? I baked my pies and swished some more.

By lunch time I was desperate. I called the wise man at work, who can always work miracles and fix things, for advice. The gist of it was, "Look up some dentists. Walk in and demand help."

I googled dentist's offices and decided to call, swishing salt water before pushing the green button. The receptionist listened to my sob story and said she could get me in at two thirty but she, of course, couldn't promise anything more than an exam and I'd just had one of those the day before!

I got off the phone and frantically called the first dentist to see if I could have my x-rays transferred. "You will have to come in and pick them up because you have to sign and release form." Oh please.

The wise man looked at the time and said, "Go. Now. You can make it." 

I finished making peanut butter pies while this was all going on. Grandma was in town so I called my sister-in-law and asked her to pick up Charles. I didn't even look in the mirror, ladies. I grabbed shoes, purse, phone and keys...oh, and my cup of saltwater and a bowl for spitting...and I left.

By the time I walked in the door of the first dentist to get my x-rays, my stomach was churning, whether from stress or the saltwater I had accidentally swallowed while I swished and made phone calls, I'm not sure. And, would you believe it, the tooth quit hurting.

I raced on to the next town and dentist's office, calling ahead to say I was running late, then calling the wise man to give me directions along the way. "At the third stop light, turn right. At the next light make a left and then another light and make a right and you'll see the office on the right."

Okay, no problem. Except there were a few problems. At the light where I needed to turn left, the car in front of me just sat there. Then, as I watched in disbelief, a lady got out and informed me, "My car just died." She retrieved her baby and diaper bag and crossed the street to the nearest store. She was probably as close to tears as I was, although by that time I didn't even hardly flinch. I just got in the other lane and did what I needed to do.

The only other problem was that I couldn't find the dentist's office. I drove slowly along until I knew I'd gone too far and then turned around and drove slowly back the other way...and then turned around and, Aha! It was on the left, rather than the right.

I walked in the door and up to the counter and there I broke down. Seriously. Had to stand there and get myself under control. 

The receptionist wasn't at all phased. She took me straight back to a little private office and as I walked in the door, I saw on the counter a gift bag with a card that had my name written on it. I looked at in confusion and for a split second I tried to imagine how my husband had managed to pull this off, then I heard her saying, "As a new patient, we have a little gift for you and a card from the dentist..." 

She proceeded to sit down with me and go over my paperwork, filling out my answers on the computer. She left me there briefly, then escorted me back to my chair. There, she introduced me to the nurse, "Hannah, this is Bethany. Bethany, this is Hannah and she is going to be taking good care of you today..."

I was just amazed.

Every last person I saw there treated me that way! I understand completely why every single one of their 70 reviewers online gave them 5 stars. Their service was extraordinary.

Hannah sat down with me and asked me some questions to help ensure my visit was a good one. "When it comes to your teeth, are you more concerned about comfort or about making everything look good?" "Do you prefer hearing detailed explanations or just the main points?"

Turned out, the doctor felt quite certain my pain was not coming from the tooth with the 8 year old filling. He felt pretty certain the problem came from my wisdom tooth which is laying almost sideways and putting pressure on the tooth next to it and, after a more detailed x-ray, we could see is also on a nerve.

"What you need removed is that wisdom tooth, not the tooth beside it. In fact, had you gotten that tooth removed, you would probably have still been experiencing pain."

They got me in with an oral surgeon for an appointment on Monday and before I had ever left their parking lot, had sent off my detailed x-ray and the oral surgeon's office was calling me about price estimates.

I came home, took a shower, and hauled my crew off to the spaghetti supper. As of now, I'm staying on pain pills around the clock and praying the wisdom tooth decides not to wiggle around anymore. I'm blocking out my fears about Monday, although I'm desperately praying we figure out some way that Chris can go along with me to my appointment. It so happens that next week 2 employees at the tire shop are on vacation but I've done about all the brave things I can handle alone, so I'm hoping something can be worked out.

This story has no moral and no real reason to even be told. Except maybe to elicit sympathy and prayers and to remind us all of the difference a few touches of personal care and respect for those we come in contact with can make. I know I, for one, can take some lessons from the Woodlawn Dental Center.

Amen.

He Cares About Me

A couple of months ago, when the grey clouds hovered over my head and I would lay in bed at night with the blackest of thoughts on my mind.... On one such night as that, I lay there thinking, "What is wrong with me? I need something. Maybe a women's retreat or something? Last year the ladies at our church had one and I missed it. They said they were going to do it again, I wonder when that was?" Since I couldn't sleep anyway, I looked up the event on fb to see when it had been and imagined how encouraging such a thing would be.

Fast forward to about two weeks ago.

One day I received this message from a friend: "Would you be interested in attending the Women's Conference at Gospel Haven on March 11 & 12? Look up Joy in the Journey at Gospel Haven (Facebook page)"

I looked it up and excitement started stirring inside me. I'd never been to any kind of a women's...anything. I always seemed to hear about it too late or it was too far away or I didn't have the nerve to pursue it. Here was an invitation put right in front of my face, to a place close to home where I could easily overnight with someone I knew and Dorcas Smucker was a speaker? Surely this was a God thing!

I eagerly texted Chris and asked him if he thought I should go? What followed was one of those complicated husband / wife series of misunderstandings where this feeds on that and he heard one thing and she heard another and I'm not even going to attempt explaining it. Suffice it to say, the result was a hurt wife who made the decision to lay the whole thing down and not bring it back up again. I determined to give it to God and leave it there. After all, if He wanted me at a Women's Conference He could make it happen, right? 

It sounded good, and I did it with the noble intention of being the respectful wife I long to be but it drove a wedge between us.

Days passed, and the Joy in the Journey facebook page indicated that registration was full; my little dream was fully dead and the wedge was still between us. One day Chris and I were driving along and some comment he made brought up the hidden issue I was still battling with. We hashed and explained and shook our heads at each other. I came away with some new insight on how to ask my husband questions, I'm not sure what his take away was - complete exasperation maybe?

In light of our conversation, and because I still held a secret hope that maybe God really did want me at a Women's Conference, I snuck onto Joy in the Journey's fb page and sent them a message wondering if they ever have cancellations? They replied that they didn't usually have many but they could add me to a waiting list of 15 if I liked. That sounded less than hopeful but I said, why not? And prepared myself to chalk the whole experience up to learning some marriage lessons.

The conference was to be held Friday evening through Saturday, March 11 - 12. Saturday morning, soon after 7, I was still laying in bed scrolling mindlessly through facebook and thinking about the day and how I really should get up, when a message notification popped up. "I have a last minute cancellation for the conference today, would you still like to come?" ?!?! Twenty minutes later I was on the road, still rubbing sleep out of eyes that had not yet returned to normal size.

I had plenty of time to think on my hour and a half drive. I concluded that even if the day was terrible - if I felt like a fool in the middle of hundreds of women I didn't know and was too tongue tied to talk to; if the speakers were pathetic, like I've always secretly thought most women speakers are; if Dorcas Smucker turned out to be nothing like the woman her writing portrayed her to be - it would still be worth it. 

God cared about me.

Oh, I knew He cared. But it was as if He had reached down, in the midst of my mistakes and failures, to place His hand on my shoulder and say, "You trusted me and I care about you."

My drive also gave me time to recover from my shock enough to wonder what I had gotten myself into?! I fleetingly wondered if a day of shopping at all the stores I was passing wouldn't be a better option than walking all alone into a church packed with strangers but the thoughts were never really serious. How could they be when God had shown His care so clearly?

It was a good day....no, an Amazing day! I discovered a friend in the sea of strangers and she took me under her wing. The speakers were excellent - I've decided there are more decent women speakers than I once thought. And Dorcas Smucker was everything her writing portrays her to be, only better! Hearing her speak and having the opportunity to shake her hand and give her a hug was certainly the highlight of my day.

I made the drive back home with a splitting headache and spent my evening doing laundry that hadn't gotten done and preparing for a Sunday School class that I should have spent more time on. I was tired and my head hurt and it was the weekend of turning our clocks forward but my heart held a glow. 

He cares about me! 

To each of you, on this Monday morning, let me offer this hope: He cares about you, too. 

New River Gorge

We went on an excursion Saturday. It was a classic, Chris Eicher brand of excursion -- throw out the idea of doing something in passing several days in advance, then decide the night before that, yes, we're going and then keep the children in suspense on the particulars until we get there...

I won't tell you how I had my Saturday all planned full of Important Stuff already and how much I didn't even want to go on an excursion. I won't tell you how hard I struggled inwardly before I chose to see the love and accept the gift; we won't go into all of that.

I will just tell you how I saw a man who decided, "You know what? House building is important but it's not going anywhere. October days to do something with my family? They're disappearing fast. Family is more important." How could I refuse all the love wrapped up in a gift like that?

So we went.

We got up, and we got dressed and we headed out into the chilly morning on an excursion; which is all Chris would tell the children about where we were going. We finally looked the word up for Jennifer, who desperately wanted to know what an excursion was.

We drove and we drove until some people were sure we would never get there. But we finally did arrive amongst the beautiful mountains of West Virginia.

We took a little hike down a bunch of steps to see what we could see...

To the left we saw the incredibly deep gorge and the tiny little bridge that used to provide access across the New River. To the right we saw the amazing new bridge that cut the time of crossing the gorge from 40 minutes to just a couple of minutes.

Then we climbed back up all the steps...

And drove down the winding, narrow road

Across the old bridge and on to more sights to see and good food to eat on the way home.

It was well worth laying aside all my plans for Important Stuff to spend a day with these people that I love!

.

Thrift Stores and Hit Singers of the 80s

I am blessed to be married to a man who doesn't mind shopping.

 Groceries, clothes, thrift stores...
 you name it,

He's really probably more of a shopper
 than I am!

I had the privilege of riding along with Chris the other day to pick up some things for the house. We stopped at a couple of thrift stores and ate out and discussed all manner of subjects an just generally had a great time.

I must admit that we do go for different things when we shop at thrift stores.

At the first store we stopped at, Chris met me at the cash register with an impish grin.

He knew I would have a fit.

He hit the mother lode of hit Mennonite singers of the 80s in that store!

Oh my lanta.

Check out the dresses...

 Not to mention the shirts...

He found them all, let me tell you.

The beards...

And the no beards...

Gospel Express...

And the all time favorite Schwartz's...

I must say, at 10 cents a piece it was some very cheap entertainment!

To any close friends and relations of these Golden Oldies -

No offense. At all.

And to all of you present day CD makers -

Here is what you have to look forward to.

Some 30 odd years from now a man with a gleeful gleam in his eye will snatch up all your hit albums for 10 cents a piece at some obscure thrift store. He and his wife will probably pick fun at your carefully planned outfits and your cutesy scarfy deals and will almost certainly howl with laughter at your elaborate song endings and fabulous bass. Such is life.

Now if you will excuse me, I have a stack of tapes waiting to be listened to.....

The Prayers You Never Prayed

Prayer can be a controversial subject. Sometimes you pray and something happens and you figure well, it probably would have happened anyway. Then, sometimes you pray and pray and nothing happens and you wonder why you are praying because it's not like we can twist God's arm anyway, right?

Before you get all into the theology of prayer, let me just tell you - I'm not here to talk about either of those subjects. I'm here to talk about the prayers that you never even prayed. You know what I'm talking about? The things that you need but you never really got around to asking for and, lo and behold! The need is provided before you ever even asked and you almost get goosebumps because God really does care about little old you.

In case you don't know what I'm talking about, I have two stories for you:

Jennifer has been begging for a bike. She learned to ride a friend's bike one evening, and ever since that's all I've been hearing. It isn't that I didn't want to give her a bike. I even did some searching for a second hand one but when none crossed my path, I kind of shoved it to the back of my mind and went my way.

Well, last week I did a quick grocery run one morning. I was trying to hurry and I debated whether I should stop at Goodwill (you already think you know where this is going but it's even better than you are imagining!). Since I had a bag of stuff to donate, I decided to make a quick stop.

Bikes were the furthest thing from my mind that morning; I didn't even look in that area of the store. I did a quick scan of some clothes racks and found a couple articles I decided I couldn't do without, made my purchases and drove around to the back to drop off my donation; next stop, home.

As I hopped out to press the doorbell in the back, my eye caught sight of 3 or 4 bikes propped up beside a dumpster. Bikes! Those things promptly had my full attention. From what I could see, there was a tiny bike, a medium girl's bike and one or two boy-ish looking bikes.

"Are those bikes over there going to be put out for sale soon?" I asked the lady who came to the door and took my bag.

"I think those are some that aren't worth selling," she told me. "Dry rotted and not good anymore, you know." I nodded and explained about my little girl begging for a bike and how I hadn't seen any second hand ones lately. "We do get them," she explained, "But they get snatched up pretty quick." She paused for a moment, then added, "Let me go look at them."

She trotted over to the dumpster, gave the bikes the once over and came back, "They look nice, actually," she told me. "I'll go ask him about them if you want me to."

I wanted her to!

She was back in no time. "He's gonna clean those up and put them out before long," she informed me. "Probably just be 2 or 3 dollars," she added in a conspiratorial tone.

I wondered if I could just take the one I wanted and clean it up myself but she told me that would get them in trouble. She hesitated a minute, then leaned in and said quietly, "I'll just take it in and clean it up real quick and you can come around and get it if you like."

I thanked the lady profusely and hopped back in my van. I drove around the store, re-parked, and hauled Charles back inside to claim my bike. I imagine my eyes looked just about as starry as Jennifer's did when she walked in from school and saw a BIKE parked in the living room; a pink and purple bike, just her size. Isn't God amazing?

Then, there is the story of the treated lumber.

As most of you know, we are in the process of building a house. Anyone who has ever tried such a thing knows what it takes: time and money. Since we don't have much extra of either but far less of the one, Chris spends lots of time hunting down good deals. He is, most definitely, his mother's child when it comes to good deals; if there's one to be had, he will find it!

Chris spends his time these days squeezing in as much work at the house as he can. He's trying to get the outside of the house done before cold weather comes and they get too busy at the tire shop to take time off. This means that some days he gets up early and works at the house til 11 or 12 then finishes the day at the tire shop, and some days he does it the other way around.

On this particular day, he went in to the shop to start the day, then headed off to Lowes later on to pick up a stack of treated lumber for the lovely, large front porch he is working on. He had spent some time before hand checking prices and Lowes had a sale on the lumber he wanted.

Chris often meets up with customers from the tire shop when he's in town and that morning he recognized the man who was walking into Lowes at the same time he was. They exchanged friendly greetings, and the man wondered, "So, what are you doing at Lowes?"

Chris explained what he was building, and that he needed some treated lumber. "Oh? What kind of treated lumber?"

"Well," Chris told him, "I'm looking for 2x8x8s and 2x6x8s."

"I've got a bunch of 2x8x10s out at the house."

Chris pointed out that he really just needed 8 footers. "No, no, you don't understand what I'm saying!" The man shook his head. "Come over here and let's see what those 2x8s cost." They were $7.67 a piece. "I'll sell you all you need of my 2x8x10s for $5 a piece," he offered.

Turns out the guy had gotten some oil and gas money and was using it for a little re-sale business. When Lowes had close out sales or items they wanted to move out of their store, they would call him up. He would buy the stuff for a super reduced price, then re-sell it and give others a good deal. Til it was all said and done Chris was headed home from the man's house with a pile of all the treated lumber he needed for his porch floor at a greatly reduced price.

I ask you, what are the chances of those two men walking into Lowes at the same time on that particular morning? Pretty small! Not only did he get the lumber he needed that day at a great price, it's very likely the man will have other things we will need later on in our building project.

I think, like us parents, God enjoys supplying His children's needs. And I like to think, just maybe, He takes particular joy in surprising us with answers for those prayers we never even prayed.

Our first night at The House On The Hill

I grew up in a house with no a/c. In Arkansas the summers were generally very warm and our upstairs bedrooms would be sweltering. My mom had the perfect answer for a miserable night spent with a fan that only blew the warm air around: sleep outside!

Mom loved to sleep outside. In a hammock, on the picnic table, on the roof - it didn't matter where, just so you could enjoy the cool breeze and listen to the night sounds. It was not uncommon to slip out the tiny upstairs window onto the flat part of the roof, unroll a sleeping bag and enjoy the cooler air and spectacular stars. It was also not uncommon to sneak back in through the tiny window in the middle of the night when a fan blowing warm air seemed like a better option than a hard-as-a-rock sleeping surface, but it sure made good memories!

We were not a camping out family but I remember numerous girl's sleepovers on the concrete slab behind our church across the road. You have to understand that had we slept in the much softer grass, we would have run the risk of numerous itch inducing insects - ticks and chiggers being the main culprits.

I'm saying all this so you will understand why, when I saw the nice, flat surface of the upper story of our new house all nicely nailed in place, it was only natural for the thought to enter my mind: "We should sleep up here some night!"

Most of our children had no idea what it's like to sleep outside and they were immediately all over my idea. They certainly weren't going to let me forget that I had mentioned it nor let me get out of doing it!

Well, it's been rainy season around here, so we waited and we waited. Finally, last Thursday night promised to be a clear night. We couldn't wait much longer than that, because plans were to put the rafters and plywood up come Saturday and then we wouldn't be able to see the stars. So Thursday it was.

In typical Bethany fashion, I really wasn't sure anymore that this was such a great idea but there was no turning back now. So, I gathered the paraphernalia and we set out for the New House (as Charles calls it) soon after 9. We dragged our gear up the rickety ladder and set up camp. Me being me, I had opted to take stacks of blankets rather than borrow sleeping bags. I'll just be honest: I didn't want to explain what we were doing.

Chris and Isaac stayed at home in their comfy beds. I really didn't blame them. They needed to get up early to get things ready for the work day at the house on Saturday.

We set up our blankets and pillows and roasted marshmallows over candles and squished them between shortbread cookies. We read stories about Uncle Mark's recent trip and played "I'm thinking of somebody". I told all about sleeping outside when I was growing up and before we blew the candles out I did my best "Crooked Mouth Family" rendition. They were duly impressed.

The clouds were covering all the beautiful stars we'd hoped to see, and Ohio doesn't have nearly the after dark chorus of insects that Arkansas has but it was still fun to crawl under our blankets and settle down for the night in the great outdoors.

I hadn't reckoned with several problems with my great idea. #1. Ohio summer nights are much chillier than Arkansas summer nights. #2. My bones are a good bit older than they used to be. #3. Ohio has very heavy dew.

I probably dozed off for awhile but it wasn't a very long slumber til I woke up and made some discoveries. #1. My feet were FREEZING. #2. Plywood is Hard. Really Hard. Especially when you're heading for 40. #3. Everything was soaking wet.

The one redeeming discovery was that the clouds had cleared and the stars were absolutely amazing. So I looked at them for awhile. Then I gazed around at my house to be and tried to decide what kind of curtains I should put at the windows and which furniture might go where. When that finally lost it's charm, I gave in and checked the time: 2:30. Oh brother.

I tucked my head under the blankets and tried to forget that my feet were FREEZING. Then I turned my bones the other direction to see if plywood felt any softer on my left side. I contemplated the effort it would take to get everybody down that rickety ladder in the dark. I considered the idea of moving my old bones to the soft seat of the van.

Shall I cut the suspense and make a long story short?

Eventually, I had Jasmine awake with me and about 4:30 we decided the effort of trundling everybody down the ladder in the dark was worth a couple hours of sleep in a soft, warm, dry bed. So we got up and we came home.

And that was our first night at The House On The Hill.

To tell you the truth, I would probably do it again.Those stars were really beautiful, and I have some great ideas for curtains for my windows! :)

The Impact on a Life

There were a host of them on the playground that day, children of all ages and sizes. I watched them, running here, jumping there - active, enthusiastic, energetic, busy little souls. And impressionable; so very very impressionable! Have you ever stopped to consider the many people and situations and circumstances that have impacted your life? Have you ever paused to reflect on what all it is, exactly, that has contributed to making you who you are?

My husband was born in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. The first three years of his life were spent there amongst the friendly, down to earth people in the community where his dad taught school. One family, in particular, welcomed their little family with open arms. They became like second grandparents - babysitting their children, helping them with work projects, basically accepting them as one of their own.

Over the years that tie has not been broken. Several weeks ago a member of the family in Pennsylvania passed away and our little family made the 4 1/2 hour trek for the funeral. I watched with something of a quiet awe as my husband stepped back into a segment of his past. People he hadn't seen for 20+ years stopped to shake his hand and re-acquaint themselves with "Marvin's son". Stories and happenings that hadn't been spoken of or even thought of for years re-surfaced and memories were stirred. I marveled at the impact on the life of a young child!

Around the same time we traveled to Arkansas for a week end. We ended up spending every precious minute of our time with family, but I felt the tug of the places and people that impacted my early years. It was there that my impressionable, young mind was shaped and influenced, and no matter what other situations and circumstances come along in my life, nothing can ever change the impact of those years.

More recently yet, we were in Virginia to be part of the 50th Anniversary Celebration at Faith Mission Home. Fifteen years ago in March I arrived at Faith Mission, a shy bundle of nervous excitement and apprehension, to begin a year of voluntary service at the home for mentally handicaped children. My year of working amongst God's special children left it's mark, and as I sat at the reunion, amongst the crowd of over 700 people, I marveled at the impact of one place upon so many!

It was there that I watched the host of enthusiastic, busy little children. As I watched, I wondered,"What will it be that will impact all these impressionable little lives? Will it be somone new they meet this very week end who takes an interest in them? Will it be listening to the resident's program that will leave it's memorable mark?"

You never know what might leave it's mark on the impressionable young lives around you. The smile that you flashed someone's way, the swing rides you gave with the "under dogs" and "under cats", the story you took the time to read, the little hand that you stooped to shake, the testimony you gave of what God has done for you....... Whether we realize it or not, we are shaped by the people and circumstances we encounter along life's way. The smallest thing that you may have done without a thought might very well end up making an impact on some life!

Love and Respect

We were driving along through town a month or so ago when a billboard caught my eye. My head jerked up and I craned my neck to see. "Did that say Love and Respect Conference??" I asked the man beside me.

"What did it say? He wondered.

"I think it said something about a Love and Respect Conference April 17 and 18 at some 'Evangelical Friends' church or something like that?"

I didn't have to say anything else. Way back in 2005 or 6 I bought the book Love and Respect by Emmerson Eggerichs and my eyes were opened to a lot of things I had never accepted as truth before. Here was a man who said everything my husband had been trying to tell me, plus some more, and I couldn't pass it off as....well.... "just my husband" anymore.

I actually went so far as to record most of the book on tape so Chris would listen to it and see what he thought. I re-read the book several years later and let the truths change me in deeper ways. I forget which year it was that we planned to attend a conference at a local church in Arkansas, but bad weather cancelled the event and we never went. After we moved to Ohio a couple from church was showing the videos and we planned to join the group but it ended up not working out.

All this to say - when the billboard caught my attention, it didn't take Chris long to gather the information, register online and send me the email with our registration ticket that said we were going!

You know how it is when you've always wanted to do something but it never worked out, and when the opportunity actually comes you wonder if you really even feel like doing this anymore? Maybe that's just a Bethany trademark, I don't know, but that's how I felt. "It probably won't even be that great and there are so many other things going on that weekend..." I'm embarrassed to admit that I also entertained these thoughts, "We know all this stuff already, it's not like we're going to be hearing anything new!"

To be honest, we didn't hear a lot of new things. But we did hear a lot of things that were good reminders! I think my favorite part about the experience was spending quality time discussing the whole thing together. We gave each other "grades" on how well we do with our love and respect toward each other. We expressed our appreciation for the areas where the other does especially well at meeting a certain need. We discussed why so many people miss the "respect" half of the equation and what it has done to our culture. In short, we renewed our commitment to each other and doing our marriage God's way!

It was also fun to watch my husband listen to a speaker address the topic of marriage in such a way that left him with practically no fault to find, but that is neither here nor there...

Dr. Eggerichs is an extremely talented speaker. He has the amazing ability of weaving stories and illustrations into his speaking in ways that bring his points home and make them come alive. I was blessed by his passion for truth. Not many would have the courage to stand in front of crowds and share a message that is so contrary to our culture and warrants such disdain! I sat and listened and wished we could have brought all our friends and acquaintences with us to fill that auditorium to the max -- imagine how this message could change the world!

If you want to hear a message that has the potential to change your marriage, check out the website at loveandrespect.com and find a conference going on at a church near you. It's worth putting forth the effort to make it happen! And even if you think you've heard it all already, there's always room for reminders and renewed commitment and quality time spent with your spouse!

Preparatory Service

We sat in rows, almost thirty of us, all neatly dressed, all a bit tense and shy. Preparatory service, they called it, for the Communion service coming up in a week and a half. We had come expectantly, timidly, perhaps even reluctantly, with our nerves and our weaknesses highlighted in our minds, and now here we sat, rows of women, invited to share our hearts.

I sat on the back row, my mind a scramble over words that wouldn't line up neatly. My emotions were on edge and the tears wanted to well in my eyes for no apparent reason though I fought them desperately, wondering how in the world I would get anything out past the lump in my throat? My eyes wandered over the backs of heads in front of me, we were a mixed bunch for sure -- white hair here, young, youthful faces there, tired, mom faces sprinkled throughout, middle-aged ones with streaks of grey.... there were stylish women and staid, old style women and every stripe in between. Two things we shared in common: we were all women, and we all had a story.

Actually, underneath it all we were more alike than different. Behind the styles and the hair colors, beneath the stages of life and the varied backgrounds, beyond the outside and under the surface we were really not so very different at all. All of us had struggles, many of them the same ones! Maybe they came out in different ways, maybe they showed different faces, but mostly there was no new struggle amongst the lot of us.

Our men gathered in their own rows in the basement, and as the evening progressed and we heard them dismissing well before we had made our way through the stories, I wished to be a mouse and observe the differences. Somehow I doubt there were quite as many tears in the basement but I doubt there were quite as many laughs either, and I'm pretty sure it's safe to guess there weren't quite as many struggles and raw feelings shared either.

We women have a lot of struggles. Let's just be honest, we do. More than our men. (Argue with me if you like but you might as well admit it!) And we carry this unreasonable fear with us that probably nobody else struggles quite in the same way I do. We put up our fronts, and we dress in our "Sunday-go-to-meetin" clothes and we try to pretend we've got it together because it sure seems like everybody else does! If you would ask us we would say, "Oh, no! I know everyone has their struggles. I know nobody is perfect." But still, our actions prove the fact that we seem to carry a secret fear that they might be!

I sat in the rows last night, and I opened my mouth and spoke - my insides a bundle of nerves and my voice all quavery and my eyes teary. My words were jumbled and I said things I hadn't planned to say and I was more than happy to have my turn behind me. But I learned from those rows of women! I identified with the moms struggling with parenting and the ones fighting to find a balance amongst all the voices of social media and the young girl who just started dating. I found security in the words of the older women who have been in my shoes and are now in challanging stages of their own. I found comfort in the expressions of another's grief; wisdom from the mom's with children older than mine. And I wondered, why do we dread this? Do we dread sitting down and having a good heart to heart talk with our best friends? What would happen if we sat in these rows more often and took the time to bare our hearts? What if we all became best friends? What would happen with a church full of best friends??

Knowing women, too often might end up being more detrimental then upbuilding, but still....it made me think. We need to hear each other's hearts. Many of our preconceived ideas, our pride and our fears, our secret jealousy and comparisons, could be put aside if we were given more chances to see past exteriors and into hearts. Or, maybe it's a personal choice. Maybe it would happen if we would each choose to allow others to see past our own exteriors more often!

I'm glad I sat amongst those rows last night. Glad each woman showed up with their nerves and their weaknesses, glad that we opened our mouths even though not a one of us would have claimed to feel prepared. Life is messy. We live in a broken, hurting world. While we are here, we need each other. We need to cry together, laugh together, hurt together, rejoice together, share together, as we hold hands and encourage each other onward. And, when the glorious day of our Home Going arrives, I hope to be amongst those same rows of women as we all receive the promise of Malachi 4:2 "But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings. (No more broken world, Halleluia!!) And you will go free, leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture." NLT