Find Us Faithful

 I am not a singer but boy do I love to make a joyful noise unto my Lord! The strains of old vocal cords cause an occasional crack in my voice that can cause the dogs to howl but still, I reach for notes that I shouldn’t attempt. This morning I sang ten Christmas carols all in a row that my dear husband had to endure. Full force, “O come all ye faithful”, “Angels we have heard on high” and “Silent Night, Holy Night”, echoed throughout the house. I’m not sure about my husband but I was truly blessed. I love everything about Christmas including the happy music, but as I listen to the lyrics, my heart was blessed. As I finished, “Ten of the Most Popular Christmas Carols” one of my favorite songs came up and I just had to sing it too. “Find Us Faithful. I thought it a suitable song to end with since our faithfulness is rooted in the Christmas songs I had just sung. Angels singing, the holy baby Jesus coming to earth one silent night. O come all ye faithful!

Across the country, the “Nihiser” Thanksgiving will be served with homemade rolls, sweet potato casserole, and of course noodles. Christmas trees will be cut down and decorated or as with us be taken out of boxes to grace our living rooms. Many traditions will be observed in each house of my children and grandchildren that have come down through the years but as our footprints are followed will we be found faithful to the Lord. As each one wriggles their feet into the prints left behind will the perfect fit lead them to our Sovereign Lord?

 

O may all who come behind us find us faithful.

May the fire of our devotion

Light the way.

May the footprints that we leave,

And the lives we live

Inspire them to obey.

O may all who come behind us faithful.

I love the stirring words that precede the chorus about those who’ve gone before us. Those who have encouraged us when we were weary and cheered us when we had lost hope, reminding us of God’s sustaining grace within our hearts. Great clouds of witnesses they call them, those who line the road on which we walk as pilgrims. So let us run the race not only for the prize but those who’ve gone on before. Let us leave to those behind us, the heritage of faithfulness.

The last part of the song hit home with me since we have been looking to downsize and leave our home. Because of this, we have gone through a lot of our things and laughingly say we are saving the kids from having to go through all our junk.

After all our hopes and dreams have come and gone

And our children sift through all we’ve left behind

May the clues that they discover and the memories they uncover

Become the light that leads them to the road we each must find

Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful

May the fire of our devotion light the way

May the footprints that we leave

Lead them to believe

And the lives we live inspire them to obey

Oh, may all who come behind us find us faithful.

In fifty years will “Mom’s Rolls” or “Noodles by Mom” show up on tables across the country as they do now? Years have a way of changing things including favorite dishes but if God tarries, will He be glorified by those who have come behind us? Come All Ye Faithful!

As Feathers Across The Generations

 I have a cup that says, “I’m a writer, what is your super-power?”  Sounds like a confident writer doesn’t it? Well, let me tell you, I am not always confident. Sometimes my fingers dance across the keyboard with haste and purpose, but sometimes I start cold with only a thought, an idea or scripture to lead me and I never warm up. Writing is much like carefully placing your treasure for others to see but not having the slightest idea whose eyes will see it.

Why do I do it? Because I love it and because I believe I have been called by my gracious God to write. I take no credit for the gift He has given me. Whether a million people read what I write or no one but me, I will still praise Him for His favor. And so I write!

It wasn’t until 2010 that I began to write as I sat outside in what I fondly call my prayer chair after my retirement. That is where I heard the Lord’s voice, not audible, but in my heart, as I read scripture, prayed, and sang songs to my loving heavenly Father. Many of the words fell like feathers on my soul as I waited quietly in the early morning. Words given to me by my Father were scribbled down on a yellow notepad to later be fully written as a devotional thought.

It was said among family members that my paternal grandmother, who I never met, wrote many things including spiritual songs and poems. I would love to have some of her writings even the chicken scratchings as I call my rough draft. Though I’m told my grandma Neva, short for Nevada had a hard life, working the family farm, she wrote from a heart of gratitude and praise to God. She and my grandfather Thomas died while my dad was a prisoner of war in Germany. What anguish she must have felt with three sons fighting in the war and one captured and held prisoner for twenty-six months. I’m sure her writing reflected her broken heart.

Maybe my grandmother read of the love written throughout the scriptures, as I have, and just had to write it down. Zephaniah might have bolstered her, as she was told that her God delights, even greatly delights in her. In his love, he rejoices over her with singing. It could be she knew heaven was near for her and wrote of He who sits on the throne in Paradise. Perhaps Isaiah encouraged her with the thought of increased strength for the weak. Could she see in her heart the renewing that would cause her to mount up with wings like eagles? I read a few days ago in Daniel 12:3 that those who are wise will shine as bright as the sky and those who lead many to righteousness will shine like the stars forever.

 As I look deep into the night sky is my grandma Nevada shining for all to see? Did she lead many to righteousness? It will be grand to find out when I see her in heaven. A delightful thought that like a feather lands gently on my soul.

Nevada Hendren Tyson

February 24,1876-December 30,1943

Light Your Candles And Celebrate

 

I love candles, I love the smell and the ambiance they create. But the fact is I wait for special occasions, like company coming or welcoming my kids when they come home to enjoy the extravagant treat. I sometimes have had to dust off the tops before I could indulge in the dancing flame that flows from the colorful wax. Much time goes by as they lay in wait for that grand occasion.

Because our grandparents were married 100 years ago this year my cousin, Sharon decided that we should have a reunion to celebrate that occasion. I had wonderful talks with this friend leading up to this gathering about everything from our sometimes checkered ancestry to what is important in life. In many conversations, we would finally conclude that we should do what makes us happy in the now and not wait because we never know how much time we have. Her beautiful flame flickered brightly in my life as it always has as she used her many years of living to bring understanding to us both as we took on the cares of the world. As I look back on the last couple of months and the meeting of hearts that took place, I witnessed her flame burst forth in love as we talked about life, death, and what the bible says about heaven. The glorious ambiance that enveloped us both could only be God-given. We shared concerns as well as a love we had for our Savior. We laughed about times gone by and was hearkened to joy by the thought of our Lord. A few days ago this beautiful flame went out here on earth but I’m sure it burns brightly before the throne of our Father.

This morning as I stumbled down the stairs in the black of night for my quiet time with my precious Lord, my mind went to Mary Sharon Ryan my life-long friend the precious blessing the Lord bestowed on me. I lit candles because as my sweet cousin would say, every day is a special occasion and is worthy of celebration. In my mind’s eye, I see her flame reflecting on the streets of gold as she entered the City. I hear the Lord say, ”Well done my good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of the Lord.”

As for me, I no longer say, “Whoever dies with the most candles, wins” I pledge to light those candles in celebration of yet another day God has given me to tell about His unfailing love. Then someday, I will join her in that wonderful place the Lord has gone to prepare for us and my forever friend and I will talk for all eternity.

Mary Sharon Ryan

1940-2021

Hallelujah, she’s home!

Kick The Tires

 We have gone through one of the craziest times in our married lives for the last six months. It all started when we decided to sell our beloved home to downsize. Selling our house proved to be no problem but finding another one has been seemingly impossible. We have viewed big ones, little ones, some in perfect condition and some unlivable without lots of work and money. Our agent grew weary, I’m sure as we toured many houses only to hear, “No, not this one.”

Larry and I differed greatly in our approach to the process. I walked in and mentally began to arrange my furniture in the new abode. It was also important to me to find ceilings tall enough to hold my 12 foot Christmas tree so my eyes were always to the ceiling. Unless it was a glaring problem, I usually felt confident we could fix it. But as I meandered through with glowing confidence that this could be the one, I hadn’t noticed that my sweet husband had slipped outside to see the foundation, eyeball the roof, and survey the property line. His keen sense of smell could tell him immediately if there was a water problem and while I looked for space for my Christmas trees his eagle eye looked for signs of water damage.

Today, November 7, 2021, we have been married 52 years so I should be aware of the many ways he has taken care of our family as well as me. He has always protected us when we might be looking at the wrong things like Christmas trees when we should look at the big picture. God in His graciousness has given this man the strength of wisdom and self-control that has served us through all of these years. While during this process I have, more than once, stomped my foot at the “no not this one” my heart is confident that my stubborn husband will always “kick the tires” so to speak as he raises a prayer to God his constant guide. How can a girl fight that consistency and love that has been the staple for all of these years? Even through the difficulties of house hunting, I love this man with all my heart and trust he is led by an all-knowing God. Happy Anniversary my sweet husband.

Ponderings

 

Ponderings

I have always been a ponderer, as was my dad before me. Dad would spend much time thinking of things and planning things he might do. Since he was an avid fisherman, he often conjured ways to make his fishing more successful even though he was the best fisherman I ever knew. My dad often thought of ways to keep warm on those long winter days when fishing from a hole in the ice. Often he would catch enough fish to have a fish fry in the middle of the fiercest winter. I remember a little “ice hut” he constructed to keep the winter winds at bay and provide a warm place to sit while pulling fish from under the ice.

For myself, even as a little girl, I would sit for hours pondering about many things, but the one thing I remember thinking about for an entire summer was having a grand parade. Of course, I was the grand leader of my colorful caravan, riding a beautiful Palamino with a jeweled bridle and saddle. I dreamed of my cowgirl outfit, also adorned with sequence and flash, not to mention colorful boots with spurs. Sometimes I would imagine unusual animals marching down the street wowing all who watched, like elephants and giraffes. My mind even thought of how I would get these creatures to walk happily in my imaginary parade. I was sure upon hearing, a zookeeper somewhere would volunteer to bring these animals to the event of the century. I could spend hours pondering these things.

I am still a ponderer! But now, it is God’s voice that I strain to hear. To some, my ponderings seem nearly as far off as my elaborate plans for the parade. They may seem crazy or impossible, but I know the God who knew me in my mother’s womb and made plans for me even in my old age. So Jeremiah, though he thought himself too young instead of too old, sent a message to me this morning as I pondered my age and my work yet to do here on earth.

The Lord said to me, I knew you before you were formed within your mother’s womb; before you were born, I sanctified you and appointed you as my spokesman to the world.

O Lord God, I said, “I can’t do that; I’m far too young (or old). Don’t say that, he replied, for you will go wherever I tell you to go. And don’t be afraid, for I the Lord will be with you and see you through. Then He touched my mouth and said, “See, I have put my words in your mouth! Today your work begins.”

Jeremiah 1:4-10

You need not worry about my pondering; it includes not one elephant, though it might seem slightly lofty for an old gal like me. But remembering that God touched my mouth with his words and said, your work begins, I go forward.

Someday, instead of an elaborate parade, I will have a grand entrance as the Bible describes in 2 Peter.

For in this way there will be richly provided for you an entrance into the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. 2 Peter 1:11 ESV

The Spot

 

“The Spot” was a place on the lake near us that many people went swimming when I was a kid in the fifties. When summer did not offer any relief from the sultry afternoons in central Illinois, you could see carloads of people heading for this fun destination. Unfortunately, there was no air conditioning except in the dime store uptown to escape to and hide in until the onslaught of blistering temperatures subsided. Sitting on a blanket on the bank, parents kept a watchful eye on those they brought, usually their kids as well as the neighbor kids. Bobbing heads were everywhere to the point that I’m sure it was hard to keep track of everyone, and eyes strained to keep up.

I remember one such day in my life that I could well have been a casualty of this chaotic scene. I couldn’t swim but walked happily to the warm water with the crowd that was already splashing about with great fun and laughter. Myself, bobbing with the waves, did not realize that I was getting out over my head. My little toes reached to touch the muddy bottom, but in vain, I realized that the safety of the more shallow water was several feet toward the bank. Among so many, no one noticed that I could not keep my head above water that I was in great danger of drowning. I kicked and sputtered to no avail for quite some time until my toes finally touched. I don’t believe I ever told anyone until now about that scary time in my childhood, but the movie reels in my head relive it once in a while when I see happy people bobbing in the water.

Sometimes as we struggle alone to touch the bottom to right ourselves, no one notices our struggle. Just one among many in the sea of humanity, we try desperately to get back to the shore from where we have drifted. Subtly yet indeed surely, we begin to see God far off. Alarmed at first, we head back that way, but the pull of worldly cares lures us away. As I, we sometimes innocently drift, not paying attention to our attitudes changing or our good habits waning at the call of other things. Our head bobs under time and time again, threatening our spiritual well-being.

Peter turned his back on Jesus and denied he knew him three times; earlier that evening, our Savior predicted that Peter would do this very thing, but added, “So when you have repented and turned to me again, strengthen your brothers.” Luke 22:32

So turn towards shore to the waiting arms of Jesus and rejoice as those little toes touch solid ground. Then strengthen a drifting brother or sister.

Walls!

 Walls Give Up Your Laughter

After living in our ‘little bit of paradise” home, we are going to move. The papers will be signed in a day or two, and then our home of twenty years will belong to someone else. Our reasoning is proper in selling it, though very hard to hear those words we spoke to ourselves. “We are getting too old to take care of the grounds and the ever-present maintenance on the aging house.” So as I go from room to room, reminiscing about the glorious times we had here, “I find myself crying for times passed.

Walls, I plead, give up your laughter. I know you have noted each laugh around a card game; you have preserved the glorious enjoyment from watching happy grandkids playing with cousins and, of course, the pleasure of new baby giggles. Remember the contentment we found here within the walls that surround us. Walls do not hoard within your timbers, nails and paint the precious memories that made this old house a home.

Is there a moving box big enough to hold them all? How can a mere box hold the gentleness of a breeze or the closeness of a walk to “The south forty,” as Larry dubbed the grassy pasture that we gazed at from our bench? How do you pack away sorrow? Is there any way to gather grief? Does the laughter of loved ones who have passed still echo within the confines of these walls? Can the tears be noted that fell to the floor as the Lord counted each one and held us through many storms of life? Yes, walls give up the tenderness of these memories, give up the gentle moments even now as we remember.

As I moved from room to room remembering, the love that abides here, I concluded that these walls have heard and seen laughter, but so too has my grateful heart.

The old bridge that brought love to our door carried stores of the stuff that memories are made laughter, tears, and praise for the Precious Lord that allowed these walls to contain it all.