Author Archives: sherriwoodbridge.com

Being Still and Knowing Who God Is

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It is quiet behind our house this time of year.  Many aren’t using the pathway that stretches from one town to another.  It is cold outside and it pierces your flesh, leaving you shivering as you stand and wait.  In the silence I can hear my teeth chatter

So what compels me to stand out in the cold wet of winter?

Nothing.

And everything.

I walk the icy pathway.  Barren trees lift their branches high up into the blue of sky above.  This is Christmas morning.

The white bark of the birch tree that stands tall and erect beside me almost glows as the sun radiates its light on trunk and limbs. And I see utmost beauty.  I stand speechless.  It is a beautiful Christmas morning sight.

I have learned many lessons this past month within the silence of the keyboard.  The rattling of keys has been minimal.  Social conversations via internet sites have not been.  The telephone has been in the hands of another and so one on one conversations via satellites and modern technology of a cell phone have been almost nil.

Through the silence, through barrenness of winter – this dark season of life – God has spoken.  A mere whisper perhaps, but He has been there.

One Who lately seemed so terribly far away, still walks beside me.

In silence.

And it is in silence He is teaching…

The faster I walk, the less I see, the less I hear.

The faster I live, the more I am life-less.

I miss the surprises.

I miss the beauty.

I miss the Creator.

I stand on the path and a man on a bike stops.  He asks what I am taking pictures of.  I tell him salmon in the creek.  A woman stops, repeating the same question.  I tell her Downy Woodpeckers.  They both look – one up into blue and one down, into murky waters.  They smile politely and continue on their way.  They can’t see.  They are hurried into experiencing life and in their hurry, they miss it.

I listen to the sounds of birds who are wintering over and have found sustenance at my bird feeders. Filled with black sunflowers, thistle seeds and suet, they sing with thanksgiving before they  dive down for another bite.

This – all of this – a wonderful gift God has given.  Shamefully, I have often walked dark winter’s path and have not looked up into barren branches as those who often pass me by.  To my regret, I have missed the surprises that are hidden for those who have learned to be still.  For those who have learned who God is.

Merciful Father.  Pouring undeserved kindness and compassion upon the head of one undeserving.

Me.

I stand in the cold, warmed by knowing He is gently leading me back.  Back to a fullness in Him. A fullness that once discovered, once experienced – no other can fill.

I stand there, taking in a deep breath of icy air surrounding my face.  As my lungs fill with a cleansing cold, I see it and it sees me.  There, in high limbs a hawk is perched, watching, observing, following me where I move.

I lift the camera and point in his direction and shoot.  He is annoyed and removes his talons from tightly held limbs and takes off into flight. As I stand in stillness, I watch with held breath.  I want to remember this moment forever.

I want to remember this lesson He teaches me.  How His wings protect and shelter us underneath.  I want to remember in stillness there is sight.  I want to remember the undeserved mercy lavished upon me day after day after day.  The unconditional love, forgiveness of sins, and pounding of nails into human flesh against a splintery tree that once stood atop a hill. Nails meant for me, driven into the hand of Another.

I want to remember to live.  Unhurried.  Full of life.  Full of thankfulness.  Full of gratitude and be a grace extender.  I want to live in stillness, knowing deep in my being just who God is in my life.

Hope-maker.  Fear-taker.  Peace-giver. Grace-coverer.  Stillness-trainer.  Life-sustainer.  Soul-redeemer.  Silence-creator. Day after day after day.

From my heart  ~Sherri

Trusting the Great I AM

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“The Israelites groaned in their slavery and cried out, and their cry for help because of their slavery went up to God. …So God looked on the Israelites and was concerned about them.”

Meanwhile…

“When the Lord saw that Moses had gone over to the burning bush, God called to him from within the bush, ‘Moses! Moses!. …Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God. The Lord said, ‘I have seen the misery of my people… and I am concerned about their suffering. …I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.

“But Moses said to God, ‘Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh…

“Suppose I go and say to them,’The God of your fathers has sent me to you’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?

“God said… ‘I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say…

“The elders of Israel will listen to you. …But I know that the king of Egypt will not let you go unless a mighty hand compels him. So I will… strike the Egyptians with all the wonders that I will perform among them. After that, he will let you go.’

“Moses answered, ‘What if they do not believe me? …Lord, I have never been eloquent… I am slow of speech and tongue.’

“‘…go; I will help you and teach you what to say.’

“‘But Moses said, “O Lord, please send someone else to do it.’

“Then the Lord’s anger burned against Moses and he said, ‘What about Aaron…your brother? I know he can speak well. …He will speak to the Lord for you.

“…When you return to Egypt… say to Pharaoh, ‘This is that the Lord says: Israel is my firstborn son, and I told you, ‘Let my son go, so he may worship me.’”

And so…

“…when [the Israelites] heard that the Lord was concerned about them… they bowed down and worshiped.” ***

So many people – so often – say God doesn’t care. As I was reading through these chapters this morning, God’s concern for us is painted all over the pages. In chapter two, he hears the Israelites cry for freedom.

He hears their cry for release of the oppression put upon them from the Egyptians.

He hears their cry to be free from bondage.

And, He’s concerned.

So – He develops a plan.

Moses, once a prince in a palace, through various and assorted circumstances, becomes a sheep herder in the dry, hot desert. While wandering with these wooly rams and ewes, he comes upon a bush that is on fire. He watches. And he watches. And it doesn’t burn up.

“Dude, this is totally illogical,” he cries out. “Simply illogical.” After all, how often do you see bushes that are burning in the desert and refuse to burn out? It’s not like there’s an overabundance of bushes in the desert to begin with and this specific one drew him nearer.

As Moses approaches, God calls to him. “Moses! Moses!” And Moses says, “Here I am.”

Then God stops him. “Don’t come any closer. Take off your sandals, for the place you are standing is holy ground.” At that moment, Moses hides his face, because he is afraid to look at God.

Then the conversation begins. God has an agenda. He has allowed Moses to live the first forty years as a prince of Pharaoh’s palace; the next forty as a shepherd in the desert; and now, God has called him to be the deliverer, the savior – so to speak – of the Israelites. And what is Moses’ response? I’m a nobody. What if they don’t believe me? Can’t you send someone else to do it?

Uh, no Moses. This is the plan – God is sending you.

Moses finally got his way, but not before ‘…the Lord’s anger burned against Moses.’

Can you imagine going from hearing the voice of God, standing before God and then – experiencing His anger? Like Moses, we so often oppose God’s plan – His will – with our ‘what if(s)’, ‘but(s)’, and our ‘are you sure(s)’, that we end up disobeying, ignoring, and distrusting Him.

If we truly believe that God is who He says he is, “I AM WHO I AM”, that should leave us desiring to obey and be submissive to His will. Seeking to trust Him completely. Seeking to be attentive to what He is saying to us. His “I AM WHO I AM” should be so important to us that we remember Him from generation to generation, as He requested, as “I AM”.

However, we get lax in our relationship with Him and forget just how who He is. Moses was afraid to look at Him. Moses felt inadequate before God, not thinking perhaps that if God called him to a task, surely God would equip him. Even having taken off his shoes after being told he stood on holy ground, Moses couldn’t wrap his mind around the truth that the One he was conversing with was the great “I AM”. The One who hung the stars in the heavens. The One who created every drop of water, every grain of sand. And because of his inability to trust God, God’s anger burned.

Yet – God still used him. He had to have a sidekick – his brother – but God still used him and continued to use him.

Moses went to the elders (as God had commanded), told them what was going to happen and they bowed down and worshiped the Lord. The great “I AM” had seen their misery and heard their cries because of their slavery and now they worshiped the God of their fathers and they had hope restored. A hope of being delivered from the Egyptians.

Did God care? Of course He did. Does He care now, when we are a people so selfish and sinful? Of course He does. He hears our cries – when we voice them. He is concerned when we are oppressed. And – He desires our worship. Most of all – He desires our worship.

So often we rely on signs to tell us of God’s power and God’s worth instead of relying on the fact that He is sovereign and can be trusted. Instead, shouldn’t our response then be – to worship the great “I AM” and to bow low before Him? Surely, it should be.

From my heart,
Sherri

***New International Bible, excerpts taken from the book of Exodus, chapters 2-3.

Season of Thanks

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I give thanks, look up into the sky and can’t help but wonder – why would a God so mighty, so pure, so holy – love me?

Me – full of small doubts and large fears, endless mistakes. Yet – You love me still.

I give thanks for love when I’m full of doubts and I’m full of fears and I’ve made endless mistakes and it’s difficult seeing past my limited focus. I give thanks when the storms rage. Growing in grace comes in every season. Winter must come before spring. My life needs the rain as well as the sunshine.

Through heartache and tears, the soil becomes fertile for growth. During the growth process, I find refuge in His care.

Safety in His arms.

Peace resting in Him.

There, under His care and protection, I wait for dark, hovering clouds that boldly threaten storms, flooding, devastation – there I wait with Him.

It is in the sitting at His feet, in the waiting and trusting that my tears are wiped by the palm of His hands. It is in the trust that causes me to be still. It is in the still, quiet wait that teaches me calm.

He says Go, it is safe and I will be with you. And so I go.

Hesitantly, I take a step and as I do, spring awaits. Earth the once stood bare, without life, now stands in royal grandeur, it barrenness turned to beauty.

Where dark once reigned, warmth now resides. Tiny hopes for life, once called buds, are now beautiful blooms with a sweet fragrance that drifts through the garden. Blossoms of bright hues are scattered by Your hand.

Every bird beckons me with its song of magnificence. Each buzzing bee joins in at His orchestrated command.

Tree branches lift their foliage in praise. New life sprouts for all to see. New life fills every nest and together, creation shouts praise to its Creator.

Once I have walked the road of a new spring, it is only a matter of time before the cycle is evident to all and a new season is upon me. Vibrant, healthy life, with the rains of the spring and the warmth of summer, will begin to die again. The cycle now resumes.

Seasons must change, winds must blow, storms must rage. It begins when leaves fall, giving way to the coming winter. Yet it is in their silent death, a beauty I see. Their vibrant colors sing out praise to their Creator. It is in the crunching and smashing, the scrunching and mashing of fallen leaves that once brought shelter from the scorching sun that now bring delight to Your children.


As they are pushed away from their branches above, they clear space for the new life that will follow in step. History will repeat itself once again with the cycle of life. Change comes, though no human eye can see. It is before the silent, unseen miracle I worship You.

You have taken this life, like branches once bare, and breathed the breath of new life into the old and barren. Embraced with grace, chains fell away like dead, dry leaves on a blustery day. Storms of darkness blew with the pelting rains of winter and You held me close. I feared no evil. No storm took me captive. I did not drown.

Again You took me to Spring and have gave to me fragrance as perfume. The stinging, pelting rains of winter did not keep me from You, but drew me close, caused me to wait, to trust, to grow, to bloom.

I have learned from You in hard times. I have found shelter in Your care. I can walk in the darkness, for I have found your comfort and safety in that place.

My God, I give thanks to You now, when thanksgiving comes with ease. When the skies are clear and the sun bathes me in its warmth, I praise You. I give You thanks then, in the season where life gives way to change, and light turns to darkness, having learned that in the cold, in the pain of life, You have held me close. Close is where I want to stay.

This season of celebrated Thanksgiving, I thank You as others do – for joy, being a part of the living, obvious blessings of this holiday. Food, fellowship, memories and more.

Most – I thank You for taking me – soiled, shattered, broken and bruised – me, who only someone You could make new. Once lifeless, in pain, lost, and alone – I praise You, my almighty, all-powerful, omnipotent God, and give you heartfelt thanks. For all you’ve done, for the gift of hope, for restoration, for making me whole again. It is my whole heart that You alone have won.

The flowers of spring that bloom with beauty. The autumn winds, the falling of leaves. The cold chill and storms of winter. The wonder and new life of spring. There is a purpose for everything, for everything a divine and greater reason.

I give thanks now. I will give thanks again. For You have remained so faithful to me. Over and over. Again and again.

From my heart,

Magical Moments

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Last week I had the grand privilege of taking my 3 1/2 yr old granddaughter, Boo, to see her great grandparents, Gigi (Boo’s name for her great grandma) and Papa. What an experience in so many ways. I always love the trip itself – whether by jet, automobile, train… I’ve never gone there by train, I’ve been on a train ride once with my grandmother from Los Angeles to Seattle. It was an adventure and another story…

This trip was by ‘aircraft’, as Boo says now instead of ‘airplane’ because that’s what the pilots called it over the speakers in the planes. Anyhow, Boo’s mom and dad said she could go with me, my mom and dad graciously paid our way north, and we were there a little over a week.

I brought some dress-up items for her, as that is one of her favorite pastimes. She dressed up in her princess dress and tutu and fairy wings and went fishing down at the river. At one point in the trip, Papa teased her about her wings, saying to her that she was nuttier than a fruitcake. Matter-of-factly she replied to him, “I AM NOT A FRUITCAKE. FRUITCAKES CAN’T FLY. FAIRIES FLY AND I AM A FAIRY.”

The other day Boo was singing and when I asked what she was singing, she replied, “I am singing a song Jackson wrote.” Jackson is her favorite stuffed dog. Jackson is a she. Jackson uses the computer to write down her songs.

“What’s the name of her song?” I asked Boo.

“I Broke the Table.”

Hmmm… that Jackson is one smart puppy, writing such profound songs with just fluff for brains. Maybe there’s hope for me…

Today was Boppa’s birthday. I put Boo down for her nap and ended up falling asleep beside her. About ten minutes into my nap, she wakes me to tell me that she’s done with her nap and that she was going to go out to the other room but she’d come back in a few minutes to check on me. “Uh, no – you’re having your nap.”

Her agenda was much different. She insisted her nap was over and that I could “just fall back to sleep and I’ll (Boo) come back in a few minutes and check on you.”

Uh, no again. She finally settled down and slept a good 2 1/2 hrs.

I love when she wakes from her nap, as she’s so cuddly. We usually rock a bit and then she’s ready to face the afternoon head on with a mind full of ideas of what to accomplish until it’s time to go home. Today it was helping Grammy set the table for Boppa’s birthday dinner.

Boo takes birthday parties very seriously. She picked out a card for Boppa with a silly, strange looking cat on the front and every time she’d look at it, she broke out giggling.

I sometimes think God puts silly, nonsensical things like that in our days to make us laugh, but we are so intent on being busy that we miss it, thereby missing out on the laughter and the joy in it all. We take life much too seriously. Life was meant to live out loud. To enjoy to its fullest. Somehow, we miss that all too often. After all, how many times have you seen a fairy with a tutu fishing?









His,
Sherri

Can A Murderer, An Adulterer, A Manipulator – Really Be Called ‘A Friend of God’?

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David.

A man after God’s heart.

You’re kidding, right?

A schemer. An adulterer. A coveter. A murderer. A manipulator. A liar. This kind of person was known as a man after God’s heart? As one of the greatest kings of Israel?

David is most well-known as the author of most of the Psalms in the Old Testament. However, David had a colorful past, which undoubtedly is the reason he is able to put so much feeling, honesty, genuineness, and transparency in his words. The reader can identify with much of what David feels throughout his words because of one thing alone… he shared his heart with the world.

I often feel guilty about saying certain things to certain people. Sometimes you wonder just how much you can share. You may question whether or not you can really trust this confidante you may be sharing with. You may not share because you feel like saying anything personal is wrong, for whatever reasons.

What if David had never shared? What if his story had never been written? What if he felt that he was a burden to others by needing a listening ear?

I realize David may not have been in control of what got written about his life, but God did and he allowed every little bit to be exposed. A shepherd boy. A slayer of giants. A king. An adulterer. A musician. A murderer. Repentant. The list is endless. How did all these qualities become so ‘public’?


David was transparent. Who else knew the intimate details about his affair with Bathsheba? How he had stood on his rooftop alone, coveting her for days, perhaps weeks, as he watched her bathe in eyes’ view?

Facts must be researched and proven to be just that – facts. The Word of God is infallible and so we must believe that the words upon those holy pages are precise. And we believe them to be so. So, a man after God’s heart messes up big time and it’s recorded for all to read in centuries to come.

But – what if the Bible had left out David’s story? And Moses’ story? And Saul, who later became Paul in the New Testament?

I believe we would be a withdrawn, miserable people if there weren’t others who have gone before us and messed up in one way or another. People who then became unafraid to talk to others about their shortcomings, their falls – their sin. People who spoke of their darker side, merely for the sake of coming alongside another and with wisdom from their own personal experience, in order to encourage and support another.

What if there was no one else to talk to about the divorce you’re going through because for some reason, you believe you shouldn’t talk about things like that? Or addictions? Affairs? A deep, dark secret?


If David’s life had never being shared, consider the comfort, support, hope, and encouragement that we would have missed. Encouragement from another soul who received redemption and grace and was saved. And we can receive comfort because of David’s life because his failures, as well as his triumphs, were shared.

If you’re going through a divorce, struggling with a relationship in general, in a situation you don’t know how to get out of – find a trustworthy source with a listening ear. A friend is usually the best choice, but an impartial counselor may be helpful as well. Don’t let your secrets kill your spirit. There is someone who will listen because they’ve walked the road you’re on already and they can listen with wisdom and understanding. But we must be willing to share.

God will not condemn. He will not strike you with lightening. Remember David. And remember – he was a friend of God.

His,
Sherri

Counting Blessings

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Today I woke up (not such an uncommon occurrence). Today the sun was shining. Today the skies were blue. Today I got dressed, went outside, and began watering.

Today I went back in the house, assessed the situation of cleaning and said out loud (no one else was home) “God – I can’t do this today.”

I was referring to the condition of the house. You see, it’s a mess. The floors need mopping, the carpet needs vacuumming, the dishes needed washing, the laundry needs laundering, the bathrooms need scouring, and if I were really, really ambitious, in my list there would include window cleaning as well. However, I didn’t feel ambitious. You see, if I were to do all of that cleaning (which I would do and have done), that would mean I’d have to pick up one-thousand, eight-hundred, and forty-seven items in order to do the floors, the carpets, the dishes, and so on.

One-thousand, eight-hundred and forty-seven miscellaneous items including, but not limited to – unpaired socks, gasoline receipts, paper clips, loose change, paint infested shirts and shorts, sleeping bags, coats, half-filled glasses of some kind of soda, juice, or water, pens, pencils, books in each and every room and so on. You get the picture… Blessing or curse?

I left my son home alone while I took a jaunt down to Arizona to visit my doctor. Upon my return home, I walked in the back door, put my purse on the washing machine, saw my son who was standing with his head out the back door (the cell phone reception is much better that way), heard him say to the unidentified person on the other end, ‘Hang on a sec’, while he mouthed to me, ‘You didn’t call and tell me when you’d be home or I would have cleaned up’. I bet you’re getting a much clearer picture now…

So, after having just ended a very long, eight-hour drive, I went straight to the restroom, without getting mad. You see – I prepared for this moment, expecting the very worst and to be quite honest and giving my son some credit – it really could have been worse. There could have been 1,947 pieces of what-not strewn across the floor.

I came out of the bathroom and you know what I did? That’s right. I got in the car and went to the park to take pictures of birds.

That was four days ago. I don’t know what happened to him as a child. Somewhere he missed Housecleaning 101 when I taught it to my children in the summer of ’89. I will have to credit him with the fact that he was only two years old and his brother had a four year jump on him and his sister almost two years. Still, I repeated that class several times each week but I never realized he was failing. He missed the lecture ‘Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness’, as he was at his best friend’s birthday party where he was duking it out at a re-creation of the Peter Pan (Hook?) food fight. Some very bad lessons learned there but one of his fondest memories. He also missed the lecture on ‘Do Unto Others as You Would Have Others Do Unto You’, with an emphasis on cleaning up after yourself. I am not sure where he was that day. Perhaps at the overnighter where he lost his camera, wallet, whatever. Something is always missing.

Back to the present…

It’s been four days. I know my son is busy working. He works hard. He gets up at 6:30 to be at a job by 7:30 and usually doesn’t get home until close to eight o’clock at night. He is tired, hungry and most days I don’t recognize him as he’s wearing more paint than what he probably used to cover the house he painted that day for a client. However, doesn’t he realize I have more important things to do than pick up over a thousand things that belong to him, just so I can get to the bottom and clean? After all, there are birds waiting for me to photograph.

Not very long ago I would have stood there and sobbed over this matter. Today I just said, “God – I can’t do this today.” You know what God had to say to me?

You can’t count my blessings today?

Ouch.

I can’t count blessings if my mind is on the things of this world, like being frustrated over things. I can’t count blessings if I am bitter and angry, for my mind is on me, myself, and then there’s I. ‘I’ always says, I shouldn’t have to do this. ‘I’ has a pride problem. But, you know what? I is right in one respect. I shouldn’t have to do this because my grown-up son is a big boy and big boys clean up after themselves and so you know what ‘I’ did instsead? That’s right. I grabbed my camera, grabbed a bottle of water, and went out into the backyard to take pictures of birds. You know why? Not because I was running from the mess. I’ve been there – done that. I went outside to take pictures because I was looking for blessings. And I found what I was looking for.

I am learning that when we look for blessings precious ‘joy’ gifts from the Father, we will find them. Not because we’re running from something, but we because we are running towards God and some days, we just run faster.

Blessing #457:

Blessing #458:

Blessing #459:

Blessing #460:

Blessing #461:

Blessing #462:

Blessing #462, my dear,lovable, crazy son who skipped out on housecleaning to spend time and ‘ride horses’ with his favorite 3-year old:

May you find a wonderful blessing from God today.
~Sherri

I’m Requesting the Honor of Your Opinion

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I am entering a photography contest, contributing four different photos, representing four different categories. Would you help me out by voting for your favorite in each category, which will help me to determine which ones to submit (I’m undecided and thought this might help!)… You can leave your 4 numbers in the comment section. Thanks so much!

*****For the category of birds:

#1

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#2

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#3

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#4

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#5

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Votes to date: 4

#6

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Votes to date: 8

*****For the category of blooms:

#7

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#8

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Votes to date: 7

#9

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Votes to date: 4

#10

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#11

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#12

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Votes to date: 1

#13

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Votes to date: 1

#14

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*****For the category of butterflies:

#15

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#16

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Votes to date: 4

#17

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Votes to date: 8

*****And… for the category called “Just Kidding Around”:

#18

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#19

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Votes to date: 5

#20

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Votes to date: 3

#21

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Votes to date: 4

Thank you so much!
~Sherri

Ten Reasons to Read ‘One Thousand Gifts’

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I have recently come across a book that I firmly should be in everyone’s hands. There aren’t many books I would recommend so highly, but this one fits my criteria for what makes a book ‘recommendable’.
- It has to be in English, and have an appealing cover (I’m a visual person)
- It deepens my walk with Christ in some way
- I want to keep reading and never put it down
- Before I am even half way through I realize this is a keeper – my name goes in – it doesn’t get loaned, sent to the thrift store or sold in a yard sale
- I go out and get a copy to give to someone(s) who will be blessed by it
- In my recommendation, there is nothing that will embarrass me in its content
- It is encouraging and inspiring
- It touches me emotionally
- I can’t wait to read it again
- I think about it all day long

‘One Thousand Gifts’ by Ann Voskamp. It’s been out about a year (perhaps a bit less) but it is absolutely refreshing. Ann takes us through some of the heartbreaking moments of her journey in life, as well as those that were filled with joy. The places where she learns anew the gift of thankfulness and how it literally transforms her life.

Written almost like poetry, it is easy to read, quick to absorb. But take your time. You won’t want to miss a bite.

A little secret…
To obtain the transformation Ann talks about, you will need these three tools: a pen, a notebook/journal, and eyes – wide open.

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it!

Writing for Him,
Sherri

That’s all I’m going to tell you. It is a bestseller, so it may be in Costco (or similar) at a discounted price.

Welcome Home, Neva

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Life begins. A squirming bundle of skin, filled with a will and spirit all its own. Drinking from the breast of the one who bore it, it begins to stretch and grow. It cries. It squeals. It is silent and looking. Looking here. Looking there. Everywhere it scans shadows that come into view. Everywhere light filters in gently and brings blur into focus. The squirming bundle grows more.

The squeals turn to innocent screams that stem from rubber running against pavement as she follows a ball in play. Screams of joy. Screams of a win. Screams of fun. Screams of pain as innocence hits pavement and blood gushes from a wounded knee.

A doctor’s visit. Another kiss on the knee. A bandage is applied and pulled over top of an owie and another kiss is given. Carried out in the arms of love, the once squirming bundle is almost too big to carry. Big enough to milk the cow, big enough to gather hens’ eggs, big enough to argue. Not so big to hold, not so big to kiss goodnight, not so big to set straight.

She comes home from school. Excited about her ‘A’ in chemistry, excited about her upcoming role in ‘The King and I’ and more excited that her very first crush will be playing the role of King Mongkut of Siam. Shortly after, dreamed up kings and future queens are left in the dust for college where she meets true love and shortly after receives her degree as a nurse.

It could have been like that, I suppose, if you change a few details. But the reality? She gives her love and gentleness away every day. She touches lives she will never know were healed through her hands. Lives that were lifted by her spirit. Lives that were comforted by the words carefully chosen and mouthed by her lips. Like the fragrance of the flowers in the garden she tends, her roses, dahlia and delphiniums, lilacs, lavender and more – the scent of her character is remembered in the minds of those she has touched.

With all the busyness, with all that is called life, where is this contentment that she yearns to lie down upon and call home?

She lives through the hardships of life. Death has shadowed her with grief countless times as she has walked the halls of her ward. Tears have wet her cheeks more times than she can remember. Cries of pain have echoed in her mind more than she can forget.

She lives through the joys of life. Bringing the squeal of the new, two-fold, seeing it repeated once again with the birth of her granddaughters. Beautifully they grow, at the feet of her wisdom, by the unconditional love of her heart.

She buries her husband and with another fistful of dust to dust, a few years later – she buries her son.

She smiles as a great grandson emerges from the womb and screams life anew. Digging dirt holes and driving metal trucks, he is the music in her spirit. He is the joy of her heart. He is the savior of the moment. Dawdling in the garden, he snips with her the old life to make way for the new.

Home – is it here amidst the buds and the blooms? Is it in the sweat that drops upon the earth as she tills the ground? Is it inside the multitude of boards that stand erected in the distance, holding treasures of the past?

She knows when to be quiet, she knows when to speak. She discerns the ways about her and stays sheltered in the wisdom of her God. She lives His words and gives what she learns. Those that know her are blessed.

Her body, now aged, summons life to stop its circle and as the ends of the sphere near completion, she lays quiet upon her bed, silently bidding farewell to the shadows of the past is ushered into the holy presence of her Prince.

This moment. This joy. This feeling of rebirth – this is what she has lived for. This is the contentment that can’t be found in earthly dwellings or savored relationships.

This is the moment. This is the joy. The end of the race. This is what pain and sorrow fight for.

He reaches to take her hand. She steps from the old and into the new. With His arms she is welcomed. Through His lips he whispers, “Well done.” With His hands He places a crown upon her head.

She is home. She is finally home.

How Do You Say Goodbye?

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A dear friend of mine went to the hospital. My dear, dear friend had routine surgery. My dear, dear, dear friend was on the operating table when they discovered her body was full of cancer. That was last Friday. Today is Monday. She is not expected to live past this evening.

And still, she smiles. She jokes. With a little less life, a little less breath, she smiles and she jokes and she tells the doctor to get back to work because she has nothing to do but wait for her eyes to close. She smiles because she knows when her eyes close, they will reopen to the face of her long-awaited Prince.

I told her to tell Jesus that I want a yellow house, just like the one her and I and another friend use to go to for lunch and pie. Always pie. Always a la mode. Always. Sometimes we may not have wanted the soup or the sandwich (rarely), but always the pie. As you can sense, it was good pie. Two slices of pecan a la mode and one slice of sour cream and raisin a la mode. Warmed just a tad bit.

One day we went flower picking. Bright pinks, yellows, reds, purples. Petals of practically every color of the rainbow greeted us as we pushed open the wooden gate to her friend’s backyard. A backyard of dahlias covered the bare dirt and stood up to six feet tall. She snipped and clipped blooms while I snapped pictures of every one I could. We laughed. We talked. It was one of the highlights of my life. A bright summer day.

I used to work in a church office. Someone received a bouquet of beautiful red roses and I had to deliver them to the recipient. How I wished they had been for me. As I rounded the corner going back to my office, my dear, dear, dear, dear friend was there. She was holding a green glass vase full of deep and light purple lilacs that she had clipped in her yard and brought to me. The fragrance seeped into my soul and refreshed my spirit. She was my angel that day. She loved flowers as much as I did.

She will be Home in a few hours. The angels must be setting the table as I write. They are probably humming as they go – excited by the near arrival of my dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear friend. We who are left behind however, weep the loss of this saint. This one who frowned upon gossip and never said an unkind word about anyone. This one near 80 years old, who giggled like a little girl. This one who had the gift of encouragement and sent handmade cards regularly and often to cheer others up. This friend who, when there was a need, did what she could. This one I call Neva. This one the Father calls Beloved.

I shiver when I look up into the sky and think this could be the moment when Christ is standing at the gate, welcoming her home in His arms. I thank my God that two weeks ago I made the time to sit with her while I was in Idaho and share lunch. Her and Vivian. Just like old times. Two of my very favorite people.

There was no pie that day and the Yellow House has closed. We found another place to dine and the fellowship was just as sweet.

My dahlias are blooming. When I look at them I think of Neva. When I look at them from now on, I will remember Neva. Her smile, her spirit, her giggle, her generosity, and her ability to bring sunshine into the lives of so many others.

I will miss you so much, Neva. But I know that someday I will see you again. And when I do, while Vivian enjoys her sour cream and raisin pie, we’ll enjoy some ‘heavenly’ pecan pie – a la mode, of course. And the fellowship will be so sweet.