Sisters?

    Lorraine and I are only two and a half years apart in age. We've always been as different as night and day! We didn't look anything alike as children. I had dark hair and she had light hair. We have many memories of our childhood. I've written about some of them in another story here on this blog. Lorraine was going to be a teacher and I was going to be a mother! Lorraine was ambitious and accomplished both goals.
     It seems that as we've grown older we've also grown alike! Our hair is now close to the same. We've had folks get us mixed up when we've gone somewhere. We've been asked if we're twins if we're at the same place at the same time! It's really quite comical!
     Here's a funny experience we had a few years ago.
     We were together on a train going from Portland to Seattle. There we rented a car and drove up to Stanwood where our parents lived in a lovely senior community.
     We were both dressed for travel. Lorraine had on black slacks and a black sweater with a white shirt underneath, the white collar on the outside. I had on a dark brown pant suit with a white shirt. 
     We noticed the women across the aisle looking at us often and smiling. We'd smile back. Then we decided to go get some coffee and a bite to eat. As we stood up the women smiled even bigger smiles and nodded!
     We thought this was strange but let it go.
     When we went back to our seats one of the women said, "Hello, are you sisters?" 
     "Yes, we are sisters." I replied rather surprised.
     "We thought so!" She said enthusiastically! "What diocese are you from?" 
     "What? Oh, no, we're not Sisters, we're sisters...blood sisters. We're not even Catholic! Oh dear."
     The women apologized over and over, but we assured them it was fine. 
     We've laughed over this episode so many times. We knew we were perfect (!) but we didn't know other folks thought we were! When we told our dad about this experience he laughed and laughed. Being a Protestant minister, to picture his two daughters as Catholic nuns, was quite a funny sight.
     I have deep respect for the Catholic Church as well as my own Evangelical Church. Living according to God's Word, believing that Jesus is the Son of God and accepting Jesus as personal Savior is what matters.

You Want Me To Do What? or A Seed Planted

 There were a few years, when my children were young, that I took care of other children in my home. One sweet little girl was Laura. Her mother, Shellie, was a single mom, a school teacher and guardian of her own teenage brother, Roger.

  Shellie brought Laura to my house every morning and picked her up in the afternoon after school. We became good friends, and visited often.

  After about a year and a half Shellie said they would be moving to Arizona as soon as school was over for the year. I felt bad because I would miss them but knew it was her decision.

  One day as I went about my housework I realized that in all our visiting and talking we had never talked about God or Jesus or church, none of the things that really matter in life. I began to feel like God was speaking to me about this. I didn’t know what I could do about it at this point because she’d soon be leaving.

  One evening I left all my family at home while I went to buy groceries. As I drove I heard a still small voice telling me to go and visit Shellie before I went home. That was ridiculous and I couldn’t imagine why I felt so strongly that I should go to her apartment. Then the thought came that this was a time when I could talk to Shellie about God and my beliefs!

  What? Lord, you want me to do what??? I couldn’t do that. She hadn’t asked me what I believe. We had never gotten that personal in our conversations.

  The feeling became so strong that I began to argue with God! It was evening, she was probably watching TV. No, the TV is off. Laura would be up demanding our attention so we couldn’t talk seriously. Laura is already in bed asleep.  Roger would be there too so we couldn’t have a conversation with just the two of us. Roger is studying in his bedroom.

  I had to drive past their apartment house on my way home from the supermarket. I was driving slowly, still arguing with God. When I came to her driveway...my car turned in! I prayed as I slowly walked up to the door, “Lord, I can’t believe I’m doing this. You’d better be with me! Please tell me what to say.”

  I knocked lightly on the door. Shellie answered it with a surprised look on her face. “May I come in?” I asked nervously.

  As I looked around she invited me to sit down. The TV was off. Laura was already asleep for the night. Roger was in his bedroom studying! There we were, Shellie and me, sitting together in the quietness of her living room.

  I began to explain why I was there. She said very earnestly, “I’ve always wondered what your beliefs are! Please tell me.”

  For the next few minutes I told her about my relationship with Jesus. He is alive and is a living reality within me! He is my very own personal Savior. She thanked me for sharing with her. She didn’t make any move to ask Jesus into her life. But I feel I did what God asked me to do and perhaps, I planted a seed.

  Thank You, Lord, for going with me that evening, for giving me courage, for helping me to obey and most of all, for speaking through me. Please help her, in Your Timing, to invite You into her life as her own personal Savior.

What More Could Any Little Girl Want? (Repost)

     Through most of my elementary school days it seemed that Daddy was gone away more than he was home. During those years he traveled as an evangelist.

       As I look back, I remember the warm, secure feeling I experienced when he was home for a few days, after having been gone for two or three months---a feeling all warm and cozy as I went to bed at night. After all my Daddy was home! What more could any little girl want?

       Always, on the day of his arrival home, excitement ran high. And always, after things settled down to a fairly normal pitch, he would open his big, black suitcase and take out a present for each of us. He never forgot!

       It's a natural thing to want to share all the days events with the ones we love. I used to store up in my mind all the wonderful, exciting things Molly, my best friend, and I discovered as we played. But, somehow, I never seemed to have a chance to tell Daddy all the things that are so important to a little girl of seven. I still remember the day when it all came to a head.

       Daddy had come home again. My little brother, Billy, was sitting on his lap; my older brother, Richard, and sister, Lorraine, were competing for his attention. I waited for my turn as long and as patiently as I could, but suddenly I could wait no longer. I stomped my foot and shouted, "It's my turn to talk to Daddy!"

       Everyone stopped talking and looked straight at me in complete surprise. I'm still not sure whether I or the rest of the family was more startled. There was complete silence for a few seconds, then Mother came to the rescue.

       "OK," she said. "Everyone be quiet now and let Anita talk."

       But in that very moment, all those big, important, wonderful things I had stored up in my mind to share with Daddy, suddenly became small, and I found I had nothing to say at all. Everyone was waiting to hear what I had to tell, but all I could do was stand there. Two big tears began to trickle down my cheeks. Then Daddy's long arms reached out and folded around me. I began to sob. Tears flowed freely. Then, as he held me close, I stopped crying, and that warm, secure feeling spread through me again. After all, my Daddy was home! What more could any little girl want?

My Own Personal Swami

     This goes back to the 80's. I had a friend from India named Chandana. I loved her name and I loved her. I've lost track of her over the years and I'm so sorry. 
     She invited me to her house one day to meet with a man who was visiting her family. The man was a Swami from India. She told me he was interested in helping the people who were less fortunate. His interest, of course, was mainly India. Chandana thought it would be good for him to hear of what some Americans were doing to help poor folks in other countries. She knew our church had an interest in Haiti and that many, myself included, had gone there to work.
     So I went to visit the Swami. I didn't know what to expect and found him dressed in orange cotton pants with an orange matching cotton long shirt, which hung over his pants. He was barefoot, sitting on the floor, with his legs folded, Indian style. Chandana pulled a chair up for me. Then she introduced us and explained to the Swami why I was there. His English was quite good.
     First of all he told me all about the wonderful work he was involved in, in India. Chandana reminded him why I was there.      
     He asked me questions about Haiti and our  involvement. I tried to answer his questions but they were so cut and dried, I found myself telling him all about Ebenezer Glenn Orphanage in Dessalines, Haiti. It's the most wonderful Orphanage and God is there!
     He made a critical comment to me about Christianity. I explained to him that Christianity is one of the religions in the world but that while I am Christian, I'm Evangelical Christian. There's a big difference, I said. I went on to explain that I have asked Jesus for forgiveness of my sins and invited Him to live in my heart.
      I then told the story in the third chapter of John about Nicodemus going to Jesus at night and asking how to receive eternal life. I boldly said, "Jesus is alive and is a living reality within me!" 
     He told me he had talked to many Christian leaders all over the world and he had never heard anything like that before! He took a paper and pen from his shirt pocket and said he wanted to write down what I had said! 
     He was writing in his own language so I have no idea what he wrote. Our visit ended and I never saw the Swami again. Driving home I knew I had just experienced something very special. The Holy Spirit had done the talking, I was just the instrument! What a privilege. 
     I have prayed for him over the years. Only God knows the result of our visit that day. For a while I felt guilty because perhaps I didn't say enough. But, I've left this Swami in God's Hands. I'm hoping and praying that he studied Christianity in a whole different light and that I'll see him in heaven some day!
     
       

Homesick

     One of my first students as an ESL tutor was a little Japanese boy about six years old, Susumu. He was a delightful boy. We became good friends and he worked hard for me. Children learn to speak a new language so quickly. I worked with him for one hour five days a week, three days at home and two days at school. 
     A friend gave me a map of Japan,  so one day I took it to school with me. It happened to be all written in Japanese! I couldn't read it. I took it out of my bag and before I could even open it out, Susumu grabbed it! He had noticed the Japanese writing. He ran to center of the room, opened the map out full size, spread it out on the floor and laid on it! 
     Then I knew...sometimes he looked so sad, sometimes he looked unhappy. He was homesick! This was as close as he could get to Japan! There he laid on the floor, on the map. I let him lay there. Finally he looked up at me. I smiled. He slowly got up. We folded the map together. We talked about Japan and had a slow relaxed hour. I think he liked that. We bonded that day. 
     The family returned to Japan after their five years with the company here. I've lost contact with them. I pray for their well being and safety. 
     I wish I knew how they are now.

My Friend, Mariko

     I'm having a hard time writing the continuing story of my friend, Mariko, because of the recent tragedy in Japan. I have so many friends in Japan and don't know how to make contact with them.
I'm, of course, praying for them.


     The story continues after Mariko and her family moved back to Japan. We corresponded occasionally. She was growing spiritually. 
     The phone rang one day, Hedeki's voice was unmistakable! He was in town on business! Could we get together for a visit? He didn't have to ask twice! 
     I went to a shop to buy gifts for the family. I knew he'd have gifts for me! We met in the foyer of my church! He had attended the International Bible study class before they moved so he was comfortable meeting there.
     Sure enough, he had gifts for me so we had fun exchanging with each other. We had a good visit and he told me about each one in the family. It was so good to be with him! Then he said, "I must tell you that Mariko is a very good Christian!" I was thrilled. "She wanted me to tell you." I thanked him for sharing such good news with me. Then I said, "But, Hedeki, what about you? Are you a Christian?" 
     "Oh, no," he said, "not yet. Someday I will be, but I'm not ready to yet."
     I became very bold at that moment and said, "But, Hedeki, what if something happens to you, like an accident or sickness, and you were to die. Do you know where you'd go? I'll be praying for you that you'll believe in Jesus." He thanked me.
     A few years after that wonderful day with Hedeki I went to Thailand and had an over night stopover in Japan! I wrote to Mariko and another friend telling them I would be there on a certain day, staying in a certain hotel. I'd love to see them if possible. 
     I bought gifts to take with me and at the last minute bought three instead of two...just in case!
     After a long flight, I arrived in Japan and finally at the hotel. I was greeted by three entire families! I was so glad I bought that extra gift! One friend called another friend, that I had no address for, but I had tutored their children. It was so good to see them too! Even the husbands were there! I've never felt so welcomed in my life!
     What a great visit we had over a meal together! My students had all grown so much! 
     When it was time to say good-bye I took Mariko's hand and said softly, "I'm praying for you."
     She smiled, "Thank you."
     A few years later, I received a note in the mail: "Hedeki and our son are both being baptized!"
     What a thrill to receive that message! I'm still rejoicing! 
     

My Most Favorite Cousin in the Whole Wide World

     When I was girl living in Elk Run Heights, a suburb of Waterloo, Iowa, we lived in an apartment house behind my cousins, Roy and Beulah, and their family, who lived in a big farmhouse. They had six children. Roy's mother also lived with them, we called her Grandma. Part of the time she lived in one of the apartments. We all loved Grandma.
     The apartment house we lived in was actually a new, long, converted, chicken house! No chickens had ever lived in it! It was now made into three apartments. My parents did not like it when one of us made a remark about living in a chicken house! We were in transition and only lived there while Dad and my older brother, Richard, built a new house for our family. It was  just on the other side of a woods. My siblings, our 2nd cousins and I had a lot of fun playing in the woods, hiding out, climbing trees, etc. There was a path going from our apartment, through the woods, to our house.
     Dad had bought the land, for our new house, from cousin, Roy. It was a part of the farm land that went with the farmhouse his family lived in. 
     On this farm was a very large round barn. We had so much fun playing in that barn. Hay was stored in it and we made hideouts in the bales of hay. Then we made tunnels going from one hideout to another hideout! A bale of hay is heavy but when they had to be moved to make a room or  tunnel, it was no problem! I moved many a bale back in those fun years! As I look back I wonder how we managed, to never be hurt, moving those bales around...
     I was in 2nd semester of 5th through 7th grades living there. I attended Elk Run Heights School. My  cousin, actually 2nd cousin, Leroy, was in the same grade and room as I was. We became best friends. We also attended the same church so we were in the same Sunday School class. We respected each other and had a lot of fun together.
     Leroy and his siblings had a pony. One day we were double riding. (The poor pony!) One of Leroy's brothers, Lavonne (now called Chuck), began chasing the pony with a long stick! The pony started running, Leroy couldn't stop him or slow him down! Finally, we came to the fence...the pony stopped!!! Leroy and I went flying! We weren't hurt, except for our pride, but we were really mad. 
     In seventh grade, one day, walking home from school together, Leroy told me he wanted a certain girlfriend. We were at that age... I asked him why he didn't ask the girl to be his girlfriend. He looked at me and said, "Because she's my best friend!" I suddenly knew... We were best friends and neither of us wanted to spoil our friendship by making it more than that. I loved him even more after that day. Best friends.
     Well, my family eventually moved away. We, of course, were still cousins and best friends, but we lost contact with each other.
     Many, many years later...I had my third baby, a boy and named him Timothy Lee. Lee was after my husband's middle name: Leroy. When we decided on Lee I asked Jerry if it could also be after a favorite cousin, Leroy because we had been such good friends as kids. "In fact," I said, "He was my most favorite cousin in the whole wide world!" Jerry said, "Of course we can!"
     One day I was talking to my mother and telling her about Tim's middle name being after Jerry and Leroy. 
     She asked if I knew about Leroy's baby girl? No, I hadn't heard from him in years. Then she told me he had named his second daughter, Anita! 
     Oh! I knew we were best friends! What a thrill! 
     I met her once after she was all grown up. What a beautiful young woman! Leroy also met my son, Timothy Lee, once when Tim was a young boy. 
     Second cousins and best friends...a wonderful combination. A wonderful relationship.
      

When I was a girl...

       My sister, Lorraine, and I love to reminisce. You see, we're only two years, three and a half months apart in age and we always played together as children.
     So? Well, back in the 40's we played...dolls or house, school (Lorraine was always the teacher), jacks (we became pros), jump rope (we knew all the jingles to jump to), clamping skates onto our shoes and roller skating down the sidewalk, paper dolls... Oh yes, paper dolls. We would cut clothes from the old Sears catalog, making sure we cut tabs on the shoulders so they would stay on. Sections of toilet paper made wonderful sheets and blankets for their match box beds. Evenings and Saturday mornings we'd listen to favorite radio programs. We had a wonderful childhood. We shared a double bed and were best friends.
     We had a ritual we repeated to each other every night. We both still remember it word for word.
     "Good night, Anita." 
     "Good night, Lorraine."
     "Don't forget to say your prayers."
     "Okay, I won't, don't you either."
     "Okay, I won't. Good night."
     "Good night."
     But we didn't stay children forever... Lorraine became a teenager first. I remember one day asking if she'd like to play house with me. I'll never forget the look on her face. It was one of not wanting to hurt me but yet not wanting to play...or maybe wanting to play but thinking she was too old... 
     Anyway, that was a defining day in my life. She made new friends and went away to a Christian high school. 
     I was also growing up and changing. Dolls and toys were put away. Friends (including boys), cars (even though I didn't drive until after I was married), music, all became my focus. 
     Then college, marriage, children, etc. took all my time and Lorraine's too. She lived on the west coast, and still does, I live in Michigan. I'm ashamed to say we seldom ever communicated. Oh, once in a while we did.
     Now, we're both getting older, and we love to talk on the phone reminiscing about our childhood, sharing with each other about our daily lives, our mistakes in life, our successes, our hopes and dreams, to brag about our grandchildren, etc. 
     When I was a girl life was simple. We didn't have a lot, money was scarce, but we loved what we had. To go back and share our memories is a favorite pastime today. Thanks for the memories, Lorraine...I love you. 

Oh Oh, Someone Is Going To Get It!

     I was on my way to have a cup of coffee with a friend, near Clio, Michigan, when I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a police car with the red light flashing. Oh oh, someone is going to get it! I thought and kept driving. I slowed down a little. I soon looked in the mirror again and saw the same police car, red light still flashing! Why doesn't he go around me, I wondered?
     Then...the thought came through my brain, in slow motion, that just maybe the car he was going after was mine! Oh, I slowed down and pulled over. So did the police car! 
     Oh no, it was me. I wondered what I had done wrong?! I put my window down as the officer came walking over. "Was I doing something wrong," I asked?
     "Do you know how fast you were driving?"
     "Well, no." I said. "Was I speeding?"
     "Yes, you were going 55 mph in a 35 mph zone."
     "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it." I said apologetically. 
     After checking over my license and registration the officer asked, "Are you taking your dog to the vet?" 


     Our little Chihuahua, Pinto, had been lost in our woods for five days and had just found her way back home that morning. Not wanting to leave her home along I had put a little blanket on the seat beside me and she was lying there.


     "Well, no, I'm not taking her now but I may later," I said. Then I picked Pinto up and showed her little feet, cracked and bloody, from running through the woods trying to find her way home. I explained to the officer about her being lost. 
     "Oh, well, I'm not going to give you a ticket this time, only a warning. But please keep your mind on your driving and watch the speed limit." The officer even smiled at me!
     I was so relieved and said thank you, I'm not sure how many times. 
     I went on to my friend's house. I relayed this story to her over coffee and her immediate reply was, "It's a good thing it wasn't a black woman police officer! They are really tough!"
     "Oh, but it was! The officer was a black woman!" I blurted out! We both sat there in silence, mulling this over. 
     I wanted to write a letter thanking her, but I wasn't given a ticket so I had no record of her name. Because it was outside the city limits it would have been a sheriff's deputy. I ended up not doing anything to thank her. I have told the story many times so I hope I've somehow helped the reputation of the black women officers in the State of Michigan. 
     Today is Martin Luther King, Jr day. He is a man I admire so much, before his death and after. I thought it fitting to write this story today. 
     

Being Rejected

     I was hungry and our picnic lunch wasn't ready yet. So I was looking through a box of snacks when I saw a note with my name on it! I picked it up to read...  It was signed by one of the girls in the youth group. 
     I was attending school in South Dakota. My parents moved from Des Moines, Iowa to Winona Lake, Indiana, so I went to Winona Lake for summers and Christmas breaks. I didn't know the kids real well in the youth group but I had been invited to go to the state park with them. I was looking forward to a fun day and making new friends. 
     Then I read the note... "I'll ride to the  state park in any car and with anyone but not with Anita Williamson!!!" I was shocked and I panicked. I didn't know I wasn't liked... What should I do? I could walk off and never return. Yes, that's what I'd better do. Just walk off and keep walking. We were miles from home but that didn't matter, I couldn't ride home with this bunch of kids anyway. Why was I invited? Why had I said yes, I'll go? 
     The worst part was I did end up riding to the state park with the girl who had written the note! I thought it was strange they had me sit in the front seat...they were keeping us separated! I barely knew her. Oh, what should I do? Why didn't she like me? We didn't even know each other.
     I began walking but as I walked I thought about the commotion I would make by walking off and not returning; about the youth workers and the kids looking through the woods; about my parents and the worry I would cause them; about the state police being called and a search for me. 
     I couldn't stand these thoughts. I finally turned around and walked slowly back. Lunch was now ready, everyone was eating. No one asked where I'd been. I knew no one cared. 
     This park had horses and trails for riding. In the afternoon some decided to go riding. Well, I love riding and would never turn down an opportunity. 
     As they were choosing horses and riders there was one horse that was not picked. He was a beautiful horse but rather frisky. 
     I was the last one so I was given that horse. I wish I could remember his name. 
     We suited each other. I felt unwanted and knew this horse was unwanted. We had a really good ride and I had someone to talk to. I told the horse all about my day, my feelings, my disappointment. My need for a friend. I thanked him for being my friend. 

God Had a Better Plan

     Abigail raised her hand and said, "Ms Anita, we don't want lessons!" 
     I was in Thailand for my first time. I was quite excited. I was there to minister to field worker's kids (Missionary kids). These were field workers who work in creative access countries and who come out to a week long retreat to refresh, requip, and recommit themselves to work in such, often primitive, countries.
     By having someone to work with the children gave these deserving field workers a time to attend seminars together as a couple rather than one having to stay behind with their children. I felt privileged to have this responsibility of being a care giver to their beautiful children. I arrived excited and well prepared. 
     There were about twenty kids from age five years to thirteen years; quite an age range. There were only three of us kids workers. Two were college students and myself, in my 6o's! One of the college girls was to care for the babies and preschool children. The other was in charge of handicraft for my kids. I had no helpers, except the Lord.
     The first morning we were all together in the little house that was ours to use. By all together, I mean, babies, toddlers, school kids, and parents who wanted to see who was going to be with their kids that week, and just what I planned to do with them!
     It was total mayhem! Everyone was talking, babies were crying, toddlers running all over. I was ready to scream!!! I finally asked the college student, over the babies, to please take them to their nursery so I could get started. She looked hurt but did as I asked. Parents slowly began walking out to go to their own meetings.
     Finally, it was just the kids and me... We began to get acquainted, giving names and telling favorite things to do. I, very excitedly, began to tell them of the plans I had for the week. I said I had lessons all prepared for them and we were going to be learning some really interesting lessons.
     Abigail raised her hand and said, "Ms Anita, we don't want lessons!" 
     Josiah nodded in agreement and raised his hand. "We're home schooled and have lessons every day. This is our vacation week, we don't want lessons!" 
     "Oh, I see," I exclaimed. "Well, I'll have to think about that." 
     I don't remember the rest of that first day. It's sort of a blur! 
     I do remember the first night...! I laid in bed and cried out to the Lord, "Oh, what am I doing here? I thought I was following Your will! I'm the wrong person to work with these kids. They don't want lessons, they don't want me! What am I going to do?  Lord, help me!" 
     I became very ill. I was so dizzy and felt like if I moved even one hand I would throw up. I just laid there and wanted to die.
     Somehow, some time, I fell asleep. I woke up in the morning feeling fine. As I prayed that morning, I again told the Lord of my predicament, but not in the desperate way I had in the night. Somehow, I felt the Lord would be helping me. I knew He would be helping me.
     After breakfast the kids and I met in our house. They were all eager to tell me details of their lives. I listened intently and also told them some things about myself. In our sharing, because of the age range, I had to make sure the younger ones had time to talk too. 
     As we were sharing, the door opened and in walked a teenage boy about 14 or 15. Before I could even ask what he wanted, he asked me if I could use some help! 
     Oh, thank You, Lord! I truly believe the Lord sent him!
     One of the activities I had taken with me was a set of batons to use in a relay race. The Lord seemed to be telling me this was more than just a game. This was a lesson for them to learn. 
     We began talking about their lives as mk's (missionary kids). They mainly felt it was their parents work. 
     Here is where the Lord had me introduce the relay race. We divided the kids in two groups. The buddy system was established here and continued all week. Each younger child had an older kid as a partner. 
     Then Randy and I explained how a relay race worked. It takes cooperation, alertness, steadiness and loyalty of each player to make it to the finish line. 
     As we talked about their lives in another country and their parents work, their own friendships with kids of another culture, the concept of the relay race fit in perfectly. What a lesson for me as well! 
     The first day the race didn't go so well. But we worked at it all week, and by the end, they were all good relay racers! ...and they understood their purpose in living in another country and how they were a help to their parents work. Each one is important, no matter what their age.
     So no lessons, as such. But we were all learning lessons all week! When we finished one activity I would send up a prayer... "Okay, Lord, what's next?" Ideas would come to my mind that I knew came from God! My lesson plans remained in my suitcase.
     We had a wonderful week together. I will never forget those kids, their honesty with me; Randy, whom we both felt was led by the Lord to come and be my helper.
     I can do all things through Christ, who gives me strength. Philippines 4:13

I Love You...

       I was talking, on the phone to my parents. We were ending our conversation when my mother suddenly said, "I love you, Anita."
     Dad quickly added, "Yes, we love you."
     I was silent for a moment...what did they say? "Oh, okay, I'll talk to you soon." We hung up and I just stood there. Did they say I love you? Yes, I think they did! It was the first time I'd ever heard them say that to me! 
     Oh, I knew they loved me, but they had never told me before! 


     Even as a child I knew Mother loved me. She had a way of showing me, I guess she thought she didn't need to tell me. I'm guessing that was the way she was raised.
     She worked so hard as a young wife and mother to provide clothing and food for her family, a husband who traveled and four young children.
     Money was so scarce. She sewed pretty dresses for Lorraine and me. We'd go to the seed store and pick out the feed sacks with the prettiest patterns. She always added lace around the sleeves and collars, making our dresses so special. She loved us.
     Sometimes she was allowed to go through the missionary box of used clothing, because Daddy was an evangelist and traveled most of the time. One time she found an adult coat that still had some good wear in it. She took it all apart and made, for me, the prettiest and warmest coat I'd ever had! I loved it and can still see it today! My mother loved me.
     She raised chickens and rabbits so we'd have meat to eat. 
     There was a children's evangelist who came to town and we loved going to hear him. He told us his life story. He had been left on a door step in a basket, when he was a tiny baby! He had no idea who his real parents were. One thing he told us, children, was to always give our parents a hug at night before we went to sleep. I took him seriously and tried to always give Mother a hug every night. She hugged me back. I knew she loved me.
     
     Now, I was in my 60's, they were in their 80's, and they both said, "Anita, I love you." I thought about it all day and all night. Could I say I love you back? I love them. Why shouldn't I say, "I love you."
     I told my children, "I love you," every day as they were growing up and now when we talk on the phone we always end our conversation with I love you. Why couldn't I tell my parents? 
     A few days later we were talking on the phone again. We loved talking and sharing with each other. It was time to hang up and Mother said, "I love you, Anita." Dad added, "I love you, too."
I swallowed hard and said, "I love you, too. Both of you." 
     After that it became the thing to say. "I love you." I'm so glad we can say it now, after all these years. I don't know what happened to make them realize they needed to say it, to tell me. 
     Dad is gone to heaven now. Mother and I talk on the phone about once a week. We always end our conversations with "I love you." 
     I love you!
    

Jesus Loves Me

       I was at a Winning Women Retreat in London, Ontario, Canada. The speaker was excellent. the work shops so relevant, the music was beautiful. What a wonderful weekend away for me and for the other thousands of women who were there. 
     One of the singer's was an outstanding soloist. The last day as she began to sing her solo, Jesus Loves Me... a hush fell over the entire arena. This I know... for the Bible tells me so...
     Suddenly, from one of the balconies, sobs were heard. They became louder and louder. I, along with all the other women, turned to see who was causing this disturbance.
     Sitting alone, was a rather robust black woman sobbing uncontrollably. She, alone, identified with the black soloist, as the words penetrated to the very depths of her soul:  Jesus Loves Me, This I Know...For The Bible Tells Me So. Little Ones To Him Belong, They Are Weak, But He Is Strong...Yes, Jesus Loves Me...
     

Upon Being Available Part 2

     The neighborhood Bible study was going well. Robby was still nursing but the women didn't seem to mind and he was a good baby.
     One day the phone rang, the voice on the other end said, "You don't know me but I heard that you have a Bible study and I'd like to know if I could come..." 
     Not even knowing who she was I said, "Sure, we'd love to have you."
     She then told me a little about herself. "My name is Lu. I'm a grandmother and a retired school teacher. English was my subject in a middle school. I've attended church all my life but I don't know anything about Jesus! I recently had a cardiac arrest and I was afraid to die! May I, please, come and learn about Jesus?"
     Was I hearing correctly...was I dreaming? No, this was real.
     Lu came the next Tuesday morning. She was delightful and so eager to learn.  She came every week that year and came back again in the fall when we started up again for another school year.
     One day, as I was picking things up and getting ready for the women to start arriving, I had a strange feeling come over me. Only one person would come today...it would be alright. 
     Sure enough, one person came...Lu. We began as usual with a short prayer. She shared with me more about her personal life. She had been a smoker since her teen years and now had emphysema. She was on oxygen most of the time. She didn't know how to approach God. She feared Him. She wasn't sure what to believe. We read the 23rd Psalm and I gave her the book, God's Psychiatry by Charles Allen. Then we read the 3rd chapter of the Gospel of John, about how to receive eternal life. 
     The next week she came back with a new countenance about her. I asked her if she had prayed her own prayer. Her answer, with a big smile, was "Yes, I did!" 
     Several months went by, we continued meeting every Tuesday morning with the whole group. We all became very good friends.
     One morning the phone rang again. Lu was in the hospital. We had special prayer for her. 
     On Mother's Day of that year, Lu went to be with the Lord. She had another cardiac arrest and died of emphysema. Her husband and children said she died peacefully.
     There is no doubt she is with Jesus. What a privilege was mine to have known her. How I thanked God for the privilege of having a Bible study for women. 
     Oh, what I would have missed out on if I had not obeyed His promptings. Now, don't take me wrong. I believe she would have found the Lord by some other means...but, because I was obedient I had the privilege of being instrumental in her spiritual journey. 
       

Granddad

     The phone rang at 7:30 AM. Granddad was not expected to live more than a few hours. My heart cried out to Jesus to take him by the hand. 
     Granddad was a wonderful person, so in love with life. He was born in Ireland and came to the US as a young man. He never lost his delightful Irish brogue. After retiring he and Granny moved to 17 wooded acres which bordered a river. Deer roamed freely and birds ate from his outstretched hands! The garden vegetables and flowers thrived under his tender loving care. Winter times one could find Granddad and Granny in the most remote corners of the world as they become 'world travelers'. Now Granddad was about to go on his very last journey.
     Alone in my kitchen I cried out loud, "Jesus, don't let Granddad die alone. Please, take him by the hand." How I longed to join the family gathering to be with him during his last few hours.       
     But...I wasn't a member of the family. My heart ached. You see, Granddad did not know Jesus personally. 
     For months now I had prayed for him and with him. Surely my prayers were not in vain. Surely he would not die without acknowledging Jesus as his personal Saviour.
     Granddad and I had a special kind of friendship between us. A smile formed as I recalled my first hospital visit to him several months earlier when he was in 'just for tests'.
     Granddad lay sleeping with his hands folded across his chest. Without making a sound I slipped into the room. Granny and I smiled. I knew she was happy to see me. Suddenly, without opening his eyes, Granddad said to his wife, "Mam, do you suppose Anita will come to visit me?" Granny and I looked at each other in surprise and I said softly, "Well, I thought I might come to visit you today." His eyes opened and then closed. As they opened the second time a big smile spread across his face. His hands reached out for mine as my heart reached out to God.
     The tests were completed. Granddad had cancer and could expect to live six months. Over the years I had asked God to give me the opportunity to talk to him about Jesus. But I knew there were opportunities that I had let slip by. So the next time I went to visit him I asked God to allow me to see Granddad alone and to have him be awake and alert. My prayer was answered. 
     We visited a few minutes and then I asked if I could pray with him. He took both my hands in his and held them tightly as I prayed a short prayer of thanksgiving for such a wonderful friend as Granddad and to please relieve his pain and to reveal God's love to him. I smiled shyly at Granddad. Neither of us spoke. He simply looked intently into my eyes and an even deeper bond of love formed between us.
     Weeks went by...then months. My concern and prayers grew stronger with each visit. I always prayed with Granddad and always there was that same intent look deep into my eyes. But Granddad was getting weaker and the pain was becoming more intense. Time was running out. I knew Granddad would have to pray his own prayer, but I didn't know how to tell him.
     I shared this with a minister friend. "What am I to do next?" I asked. "I feel so inadequate." He listened and then ever so kindly said, "Anita, you've got to be aggressive. Don't worry about what others will think. Just do what you know you must do. God will take care of the rest."
     Our talk was on Saturday. My next visit would be on Monday. I was determined to have a good talk with Granddad on spiritual matters and introduce Jesus as his personal Saviour.
     Now it was Monday morning and I had just gotten the phone call saying Granddad was not expected to live through the day.
     What is time? Even though I had known he was dying, my mind couldn't comprehend the finality of death. In my scheduling I needed more time. Why today? In fact, why did he have to die at all? Why, God? Why? In my humanism I began to question God.
     Then I felt God's presence surround me. Suddenly I felt compelled to go to Granddad! What was it the minister had said on Saturday? "... be aggressive." Never mind that I'm not in the family. Never mind that it's not visiting hours. Don't worry about his family being in the room. Just go to Granddad.
     I tiptoed into the room. Family members smiled at me. I put my hand over Granddad's. I told him who I was. I didn't know if he could hear me. Death was so near. Could he see? Could he hear? Was he aware of those in his room? This was my first close contact with death. My heart ached.
     I began to pray...aggressively, out loud. "...help Granddad to repent and believe that Jesus is his own personal Saviour. Please, take him by the hand." 
     I looked at him again. Reality began to strike me. I had failed. It was too late to introduce him to Jesus. Too late to offer him the most wonderful gift of all, the gift of eternal life. I had tried...but I had failed.
     It was time for me to leave. Yet I lingered holding his hand. How I longed for some sign that he had prayed his own prayer, some assurance that he had asked Jesus to be his own personal Saviour. There was nothing more I could do. I must leave now. I felt so empty. I looked at Granddad one last time...
      He was looking at me! Yes! That same intent look, deep into my eyes! The same look he gave me every time I prayed with him. Perhaps I had failed but Jesus never fails.

     Granddad died at 4:30 that afternoon. While death always leaves its sting, there is reason for rejoicing. No more sickness. No more pain. And he did not die alone. For I believe Granddad reached out and put his hand into the Hand of Jesus.

What More Could Any Little Girl Want?

       Through most of my elementary school days it seemed that Daddy was gone away more than he was home. During those years he traveled as an evangelist.
       As I look back, I remember the warm, secure feeling I experienced when he was home for a few days, after having been gone for two or three months---a feeling all warm and cozy as I went to bed at night. After all my Daddy was home! What more could any little girl want?
       Always, on the day of his arrival home, excitement ran high. And always, after things settled down to a fairly normal pitch, he would open his big, black suitcase and take out a present for each of us. He never forgot!
       It's a natural thing to want to share all the days events with the ones we love. I used to store up in my mind all the wonderful, exciting things Molly, my best friend, and I discovered as we played. But, somehow, I never seemed to have a chance to tell Daddy all the things that are so important to a little girl of seven. I still remember the day when it all came to a head.
       Daddy had come home again. My little brother, Billy, was sitting on his lap; my older brother, Richard, and sister, Lorraine, were competing for his attention. I waited for my turn as long and as patiently as I could, but suddenly I could wait no longer. I stomped my foot and shouted, "It's my turn to talk to Daddy!"
       Everyone stopped talking and looked straight at me in complete surprise. I'm still not sure whether I or the rest of the family was more startled. There was complete silence for a few seconds, then Mother came to the rescue.
       "OK," she said. "Everyone be quiet now and let Anita talk."
       But in that very moment, all those big, important, wonderful things I had stored up in my mind to share with Daddy, suddenly became small, and I found I had nothing to say at all. Everyone was waiting to hear what I had to tell, but all I could do was stand there. Two big tears began to trickle down my cheeks. Then Daddy's long arms reached out and folded around me. I began to sob. Tears flowed freely. Then, as he held me close, I stopped crying, and that warm, secure feeling spread through me again. After all, my Daddy was home! What more could any little girl want?

Between Teacher and Pupil

        Growing up I was very interested in other countries and people from far away lands. So, as a young mom, one of my favorite things to do in our church, was to promote missionaries and mission fields. I used various means of getting the kids to become interested in people of other lands.
        One year, in particular, I promoted a reading contest, among other things. The child who read the most 'mission' books would win a prize. There were two age groups. At the end of the time period I asked the kids to report to me the number of books or pages (I forget which...it was a lot of years ago!) they had read.
        I'll never forget one little girl in the younger age group who came to me and shyly said she had read ...!  I was very surprised and questioned her: "Are you sure it's that many?" She nodded yes.
       My mind went into a, not knowing how to respond, mode. Should I ask her mother? No, that would show I didn't believe her or trust her. Should I ask if she was telling me the truth? No, that would show I didn't believe her. Should I question her again? No.
       I looked at her. She was looking up at me with determination in her little sweet face. I decided to believe her, even though, I doubted her number.
       When the prize winners were announced, my little friend came forward so proudly. She had won first place in the younger age catagory...and was way, way ahead of the second place winner!
       Her family moved away and I lost contact with her. She grew up, went to college, got married, and finally one evening at our family camp, as she and her husband were out walking, she saw me.
       They came over to our camp site and, after introducing her husband to us, asked if she could talk to me. We walked a short distance away.
       "You may not remember this," she started. "But when I was a little girl and you had a reading contest for the kids, I won."
       I nodded and said, "Yes, I remember."
       "Well," she said, "I didn't tell you the truth. I lied about the amount I had read. I knew it was wrong but I wanted to win so badly."
       "Yes, I remember that too," I replied, "I knew you couldn't have read that much, but I didn't know what to do. So I decided to believe you."
       "I need to ask your forgiveness, even though it was a long time ago."
       "I forgive you. I actually forgave you at the time." We hugged then, knowing all was right between God and us.


       Now some of my readers may think I did the wrong thing in letting her get by with a lie. But there is something about a relationship between an adult and a child that is very fragile and can affect the child for the rest of his/her life. I would rather have her know that I trusted her, believed her, even loved her, than to show her my distrust by questioning her, going to her mother, or accusing her of lying.
       Today we are very good, trusting friends.