Observations and Hope

It's our turn.

Our month, in our small town church, to be "in charge".   Time for me to set communion and for my husband to usher...

There are 20 of us on a "good" Sunday....if we have visitors, we may get close to 25....

We each have our own place - waiting for us like an old friend.  Welcoming us each week and excited to see us if we've missed a Sunday or two....  Okay, so there is some moving around between my in-laws and our family every once in a while....it depends on who is "in charge" that month.  :)

But this last Sunday, we had the last pew....the clock above our heads ticking quietly and the most perfect view of the alter, as we are at the end of the aisle.

And then it struck me.... HARD.  

With my children not in attendance (and mind you, they are the ONLY children in our church) because of sickness and such, I was the youngest member....

ME...who just celebrated turning 41 last week....

I thought to myself, "This is crazy.....how much longer can this church, this house of God, continue?"

I sat in the back pew and took inventory of all my brothers and sisters in Christ...about their stories that are untold....about their lives and what they've seen.  I sat in awe of what I was seeing...

From our Pastor....who 41 years ago was ordained, started his ministry in the town 20 miles NW of us  (in my hometown) and never left.  He is our interim Pastor.....he joined this little church back in the 1980's....pretty long interim.  :)  He drives the blacktop road through the hills, avoiding deer, and sees the seasons change every Sunday.  And we are grateful.....

To our organist, who unless she is visiting children and grandchildren, sits at her helm just in front of and below the Pulpit.  Behind her are our oldest members who sit side by side after all these years.  They have seen this church evolve almost from the beginning.  I sit and watch them....finding comfort in the sound of the oxygen tank helping him breathe and I wonder if they hold hands during the service.

Then there is the mother and daughter who also have the roles of janitor and bookkeeper.  They share the same pew sitting just a couple spaces apart - we have the room, so why not?  :)  I think about all they have done together over the years.

Last but not least on the Pulpit side are my in-laws.  The Elder of the church and his wife.  Married 17 years this last week.  Married in this very church that we call home.   This is the pew that changes occupants depending on the month.

On the Lectern side is a vast openness in the front....we are Missouri Synod Lutherans and don't like to be TOO close to the front.....  :)

But then we have another newly married couple.  I had the good fortune to sing at their wedding....also in this very church.....both lost spouses but found that God wasn't done with Love for them.  They will be here on and off through the winter...

Behind them sits another "founding family", usher/treasurer.  Sometimes this pew varies a bit if kids are home from college....it's nice to see them as they grow up.

And in the very back pew, the very same we are sitting in this Sunday, sit two women.  One who has battled cancer and one who comes in and sits quietly for a few moments of reflection before the service starts.....and the two whose voices I hear besides my own during hymns.

This is us.....a body of Christ.....small, but mighty.


I worry about us.  This group that works together to keep our doors open...  who all take turns at various tasks. But then I remember....

For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”  Matthew 18:20

I worry less.....and listen more.  Listen to Pastor talk about how we are God's children...heirs to the kingdom of Heaven.  Sinners stuck in the mire of the everyday earthly life but filled with hope of Eternal Salvation. 

And then comes my favorite part (well, besides the singing)......communion.  The part where we split into two groups - Pulpit and Lectern and stand at the alter with heads bowed and hands out....

waiting.....

waiting for the wafer.... the snap it makes when I bite it.....and I see His body broken by the nails

waiting for the wine....the taste of it as it hits my tongue....and I picture Him on the cross, bloodied

The tear falls....just one....and not every time I take communion, but today it can no longer be held in.

I receive the blessing....

And I know I am saved.....

I bow before the alter, turn and place my small goblet on the tray and look at the faces of my brothers and sisters in their pews.

We will survive. 

We have stories yet to tell...

And for that, I am thankful.

Tales and Fortresses

I'm not much of a talker....

Okay, let me clarify before everyone's jaws hit the floor.

I talk.

A LOT.

I'm Dutch and Irish so my talking doesn't just stop with my mouth, it extends to my hands,
and if you're in close proximity to me and I'm excited about what I'm talking about, there is a very good chance you may be a "casualty of my conversation".  :)

My heritage affords me the ability to spin tales. I love re-telling stories I've heard through the years from various family members. I love hearing new stories and remembering all the details so that I can pass them on to the next generation or just to a neighbor who might want to hear something funny or interesting.

But don't ask me to tell you about what's going on with me.
You'll get the bright smile, wink, and light-hearted response of, "Peachy Keen, Jelly Bean."            

No matter what.

I'm not much of a talker..... About Me..... About My Worries..... About my short-comings....

It's not that I think people wouldn't care or that there is already enough anxiety in the world without my contributing to it...

It's just that I've always been the counselor.      
Not the counseled.

And somewhere deep inside of me there is a wall that surrounds the fortress of my emotions like an old Irish castle moat.

Deep Murky Water...

Scary High Wall...

Dark, Wooden Drawbridge Closed Up Tight...

Unpenetrable.

Created over time and circumstances.


"Guarded" is what Mom calls it.  

Although I have GREAT friends who are always there for me, there are very few that I will begin to lower the drawbridge for...

Fewer still who have gotten to step foot on it....  
and even fewer still who have made it safely into the fortress.

But there is another fortress that I know.  A "mighty Fortress".   Described in a song I've sung for many years...

"A mighty fortress is our God. A bulwark never failing. 
Our helper He amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing.
For still our ancient foe, doth seek to work us woe.
His craft and power are great,  And armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not His equal."

"Did we in our own strength confide, Our striving would be losing.
Were not the right Man on our side, The man of God's own choosing.
Dost ask who that might be? Christ Jesus it is He.
Lord Sabaoth His name, From age to age the same.
And He must win the battle."

He is my counselor. 
He is my comfort. 
My hope.

While I may be guarded with some, I can't be guarded with Him.  It's not possible.  For even when I don't have the words He already knows.  There is no "cubby hole" (which I'll tell you about some other time, I'm sure - because it's a FANTASTIC story) I can hide in where He can't see me. 

So I talk....or sing. 

Mostly I sing when I am on my knees with Him.   (His gift to me)

He listens.....and, I hope, smiles....and my spirit feels lighter.  

And the moat isn't quite so murky, the wall not so high and the drawbridge lowers a little.

And when I run into you the next time, I'm honest when I respond "Peachy Keen, Jelly Bean!" to your inquiry.

Today someone I know is walking the streets of gold before I feel they should be.  Stress.... possible heart attack....or was it broken hearted.  Was she carrying the burden of everything by herself?  Did she suffer that same affliction of being guarded?

I am hopeful this person who is seeing Heaven first hand with Jesus as her walking companion isn't guarded anymore.  I hope she is walking with her eyes opened and her heart full.....and I hope Jesus reminds her that He was listening when she thought she was only talking to herself.

Godspeed   B.

Small Town Pride

I'm a small-town girl.  Farm raised, corn fed, mulberry stained feet, wave to everyone girl.

I tried for years to be a city girl.  I lived in the suburbs, did the "baseball" mom thing (my kids didn't like soccer), dressed the part, but it never quite fit like mulberry stains. 

My city friends (those not transplanted from rural Iowa) could never understand why I rolled the windows down when we would happen to pass a freshly cut alfalfa field....to me that was better than smelling some crazy coffee concoction.  :) 

Claustrophobic is a word I often used to describe my suburban life.....neighbors maybe....MAYBE... 10 feet away from me.  I loved them, but still longed for space.  Growing up with a 240 acre playground, even a acre lot is confining.

So, after 14 years of marriage and different cities, my family moved back "home", to NW Iowa (and I have to ask....Have any other Iowan's reading this ever noticed that we in NW Iowa are the only ones in the state to give our location when asked where we're from?  We don't just say Iowa....it's always NW Iowa.  Always makes me smile). 

We pulled our kids from five and six hundred kid grades to 40 and 50 kid grades and re-opened the grocery store in town. 

Not easy days, but gratifying. 

I'm not claustrophobic anymore.

This weekend my "adopted" home town (which is only 30 miles from my family farm and actual hometown) is having its yearly celebration.  It is a weekend of fun, family and a chance to pause and reflect. 

There is such pride in the preparation of the park area - from the setting of the stage for the band, the slowpitch softball fields, horseshoe pits & sand volleyball area, to the trimming of the trees on the parade route and the primping of the yard where the parade registration takes place.  Particular attention is paid to the yard as it's mine.  :)

It makes me smile to see community (-noun, a social group of any size whose members reside in a specific locality, share government, and often have a common cultural and historical heritage) in action. 

To make the noun a verb.  Heartwarming.  Awe-Inspiring.  Proud.

Whoever grew up in a small town knows what I'm talking about....   Hometown Pride 

As every generation passes, the pride changes a smidge, but it's still there.  From the "old days" when each town had their own baseball team and an arch-rival neighboring town team, to the years I remember well with school pride mingling with town pride - one in the same actually as our schools defined our towns (don't let anyone put the Tigers down or there would be consequences).  Nowadays it's much harder in the rural area, with once long ago rivals now joined as one school district, to have that same sense of individual pride, but we are adjusting and adapting (and now as a Rebel - made up of about 7 towns - you'll get that same look from me you would've gotten 20 years ago if you put us down). 

So these town celebrations bring some of that back.  Class reunions.  Family reunions.  Smiles on the kids' faces as they lean as far as mom will let them from the curb, watching with anticipation for someone on a float in the parade to throw them candy. 

Oh, we still have our issues - the "coffee shop" gossip, the broken families, the once flourishing mainstreets with more empty store-fronts now than full, the five churches that combined might fill one building on Sunday morning, the poverty.....

But for this weekend we come together as a community.  We shine ourselves up and put on our best duds and show off how great OUR town is.

I'm proud to live here.  To raise my kids here.  To do my part to keep rural America alive.  So that my kids can someday tell others about the pride THEY had in their hometown.

Happy Tall Corn Days Sioux Rapids......  :)

Weary and Worn

As the 3rd, and the baby of three girls, hand-me-downs were a staple of my life.  My mother may disagree and say that I'm imagining it, but I disagree. 

My two sisters are nine and five years older than I am.  In some ways it was amazing....I had cool older sisters with cool older friends and then when they graduated, I had all of Mom & Dad's attention (not to mention my sisters' rooms + mine) and felt very much like an only child.  The downside of them being that much older?  It was like having two other mothers some times....and I got their hand-me-downs.

Most of the hand-me-downs were still fairly in style for spanning a decade - we lived in rural NW Iowa for goodness sake... fashion trends didn't catch up to us quickly.  Some were Sunday dresses - and I looked forward to those...others were school clothes and still some others were designated play/farm clothes because they were the most weary and worn. 

I can remember Mom sewing eyelet around the bottoms of the legs of my blue jeans because I had grown taller and money was a little shorter.  For years I despised eyelet.....with a passion!!  That eyelet singled me out as someone who couldn't afford new - who had to settle for weary and worn.  (In fairness to my mother, I did get my share of new clothes but it's funny that I can't remember them as well....maybe they didn't make an impression on me....huh....interesting....)

There is a lesson in weary and worn....

And I've learned it as I've become a mother on a budget.....

And as I grow daily in my Christian faith....

I am weary and worn....

and there is nothing shameful about it. 

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.    Matthew 11:27-29
 
I think there is blessing in being weary.  If I look hard enough and step past the self pity I can see blessing. 
 
Blessing in being weary because I have three jobs that keep me running and put food on our table and clothes on our backs...
 
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.   Isaiah 40:28-30


Blessing in being weary because I have two healthy teens who are active and keep me on my toes...
 
Blessing in being weary because I am overwhelmed with responsibility because I can't say no....
 
Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. 
Galatians 6:8-10


Blessing in being weary because another friend is battling for her life but has a tremendous faith....
 
My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word.  Psalm 119:27-29


 
Yes....I am learning that there is no shame in weary and worn....in fact, I think I can look good in weary and worn....
 
For in being weary and worn - that's where my Savior finds me and comforts me and reminds me that eyelet isn't a bad thing....it's just a piece of material.  And honestly?  No one even notices.....
 

Smiling with your eyes....

Smiling with your eyes...it sounds a bit like the line from "Bull Durham" (one of my favorite movies, by the way) where the female lead tells the pitcher he needs to "breathe through your eyelids". I laugh everytime I hear that line. So comical it is to me, yet I tell people to smile with your eyes...do the people I tell that to, think THAT is comical?

I like to look at people's smiles. I'm not a smile stalker, it's just something I've done my whole life.

When I was a child, hiding behind my mother (I used to be quite shy around strangers), I could read a lot in a person's smile. Were they nice? Did they like little girls? As I grew into a teen I began to read with different emotions - That girl is so "two-faced". Did she really just smile at MY boyfriend like that? That smile is so fake...I wonder are they hurting inside like me?

Over the years I've perfected many smiles. Some good and some bad.

The "so excited to see you" smile.

The "Wow! That's amazing" smile.

The "thank you for the kind words" smile.

The "you're the best dog/cat a girl could have" smile.

The "someday you'll get yours" smile.

The "you done good, kid" smile.

The "just passing in the grocery aisle and look up" smile.

The "Oh Lord, help me...I can't let anyone know how broken I am" smile.


Each one has it's own place in my day to day existance. Some I'm not so proud of - they speak of the sinner in me.....but.....

But my favorite smile is the one that involves my eyes. The one that reaches down into my soul and radiates outward. That smile is my true smile. My signature smile. The smile that says to the recipients, "We have connected, and for that I'm glad".

Smiles are very telling. And the stories can be amazing yet painful at the same time.

When I am old and gray(er) I will be proud of the lines around my mouth and eyes. Botox? For this face? This canvas God has given me? Each crease - large or small, every age spot I will hold up as a trophy to the race I have run and the life I've lived and the smiles I have shared with those I love and those who I just see in passing.

So smile with your eyes.


Radiate.


Be the person God created you to be...and maybe you'll spark a smile in another person that pushes them to be the person God created them to be.



Light in a messenger’s eyes brings joy to the heart, and good news gives health to the bones

Proverbs 15:30