Category Archives: Sara McKeefer

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I posted this on my Facebook page this morning:  Pray for Brussels, for those injured by the attacks, for the families of those who lost their lives, for the rest of Europe, which is on high alert because of the possibility of other attacks, and for our own country that seems to have grown complacent.

And then I got to thinking about 2 Chronicles 7:14, which is the scripture Christians seem to use the most to call the Church to pray for our country. But have you ever read it in context?

The Lord Gives Solomon a Promise and a Warning
After Solomon finished building the Lord’s temple and the royal palace, and accomplished all his plans for the Lord’s temple and his royal palace, the Lord appeared to Solomon at night and said to him: “I have answered your prayer and chosen this place to be my temple where sacrifices are to be made. When I close up the sky so that it doesn’t rain, or command locusts to devour the land’s vegetation, or send a plague among my people, if my people, who belong to me, humble themselves, pray, seek to please me, and repudiate their sinful practices, then I will respond from heaven, forgive their sin, and heal their land. Now I will be attentive and responsive to the prayers offered in this place. Now I have chosen and consecrated this temple by making it my permanent home; I will be constantly present there. You must serve me as your father David did. Do everything I commanded and obey my rules and regulations. Then I will establish your dynasty, just as I promised your father David, ‘You will not fail to have a successor ruling over Israel.’

“But if you people ever turn away from me, fail to obey the regulations and rules I instructed you to keep, and decide to serve and worship other gods, then I will remove you from my land I have given you, I will abandon this temple I have consecrated with my presence, and I will make you an object of mockery and ridicule among all the nations. As for this temple, which was once majestic, everyone who passes by it will be shocked and say, ‘Why did the Lord do this to this land and this temple?’ Others will then answer, ‘Because they abandoned the Lord God of their ancestors, who led them out of Egypt. They embraced other gods whom they worshiped and served. That is why he brought all this disaster down on them.’”

The message is sobering. I don’t think the majority of Americans appreciate ‘sobering’ messages. It’s just not in our DNA, which is more about the good guy winning, getting the pretty girl, and riding off happily into the sunset.

I used to think like a lot of Christians do that America isn’t mentioned in the Book of Revelation, until I read about the church in Laodicea in the 3rd chapter.

“To the angel of the church in Laodicea write the following: “This is the solemn pronouncement of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the originator of God’s creation: ‘I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either cold or hot! So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I am going to vomit you out of my mouth! Because you say, “I am rich and have acquired great wealth, and need nothing,” but do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked, take my advice and buy gold from me refined by fire so you can become rich! Buy from me white clothing so you can be clothed and your shameful nakedness will not be exposed, and buy eye salve to put on your eyes so you can see! All those I love, I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent! Listen! I am standing at the door and knocking! If anyone hears my voice and opens the door I will come into his home and share a meal with him, and he with me. I will grant the one who conquers permission to sit with me on my throne, just as I too conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne. The one who has an ear had better hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’”

Hmm… If John was referencing the present-day Church, particularly in America, then, at the very least, we’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do! And even if he wasn’t specifically talking about the Church today, John’s description should be a little too close for comfort!

Seriously, is there any question as to whether or not the Church in America has grown soft? We ARE the Church! Look around you, and don’t forget to look within too. Have we become as self-obsessed as the society we live in, only concerned about what affects us personally and/or our churches corporately? Do we as individuals and as organized groups of Christians have poor and unhealthy behaviors and attitudes, which, by the way, is the very definition of dysfunctional? Is that perhaps why so many groups of believers have become ineffectual, no longer able to attract people to fill the pews, much less want to know the One who died for them?

Are we more concerned about how we look to the world on the outside than how we look to God on the inside? Are we buying into the lie that looking thinner, younger, prettier/handsomer, wealthier, and even more spiritual—is what’s really important in this life?

For the record, our priorities do matter to God. It really does all comes down to what our primary focus is. What do we put first? Knowing God or knowing others? Hearing from Him or hearing from others? Talking to Him or talking to others? Looking good for Him or looking good for others?

We talk a lot about what we’re sick and tired of these days, but I find myself wondering what God might be sick and tired of. I think His list has little to do with ours and is a whole lot longer too. Do you suppose God might be sick and tired of us—so sick of our self-obsession that He’s about ‘to vomit us out of His mouth’? Personally, I think He might be getting close.

There’s only one way to win, to overcome, and it will come when, individually, we Christ-followers are willing to humble ourselves before God, confessing and repenting of our sin, and seeking to please God instead of self or others. It is then and only then, when the spirit of humility invades our hearts that He will forgive us and heal our land.

It’s not as easy as it sounds, because “to whom much is given, much is required.” (Luke 12:48) Are you up for it, every single day of your life and not just for a few hours each week? If you are, this would be a good time to read 1 Timothy 4, especially verses 11-16, because Paul pretty well sets out what we have to do.

“Command and teach these things. Let no one look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in your speech, conduct, love, faithfulness, and purity. Until I come, give attention to the public reading of scripture, to exhortation, to teaching. Do not neglect the spiritual gift you have, given to you and confirmed by prophetic words when the elders laid hands on you. Take pains with these things; be absorbed in them, so that everyone will see your progress. Be conscientious about how you live and what you teach. Persevere in this, because by doing so you will save both yourself and those who listen to you.”

Therein lies the test questions for each of us:
* Am I setting an example for other believers in my speech, conduct, love, faithfulness and purity?
* Am I studying the Word of God and encouraging and teaching others about Christ?
* Am I neglecting the spiritual gifts God has given me?
* Am I focused on what God wants me to do to the extent others notice and want to do the same?
* Am I conscientious about how I live and what that says about my relationship with Christ?
* Am I ‘at it’ for God and ‘in it’ until the end?

We can do nothing without God, but with Him, we can change the world, because with God, all things are possible.

Mark 10:23-27 reads: Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!” The disciples were astonished at these words. But again Jesus said to them, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” They were even more astonished and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and replied, “This is impossible for mere humans, but not for God; all things are possible for God.”

I am assuming that you, too, would like to see our world, and particularly our country, change for the good. It won’t happen by electing a new president. We should know by now what putting one’s hope in a man who promises hope and change produces. The kind of change we really need will only happen as we humble ourselves and put our faith in the Person of Jesus Christ.

It really is up to us.

If you wonder how to be ‘at it’ for God and don’t know who to ask, you will find what you need to begin pursuing the only life worth living at this website: http://www.gospelway.com/christianlife/change_yourself.php

However, please don’t stop there. Ask God to bring Christ-followers into your life who are taking seriously the Great Commission that Jesus gave us in Matthew 28:18-20: Then Jesus came up and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.

I am…

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Wow, this is SO me! Oh, yeah, I wrote it! Ha-ha!

Sara McKeefer's avatarIn the stillness...

I am a white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant, raised in a Quaker family where I heard the merits of the love, joy, and peace of Jesus every Sunday and most Wednesdays for the first 18 years of my life.

I am peace-loving, inclusive, thoughtful because of the gentle people who influenced my life the most. I do not see the world in black and white but in the myriad of colors of those around the world I pray for–the children, mainly, for once I was lost but now I am found.

I am wise to the deceptions of this world, for I have seen them up close and personal in valleys where I came to know the One who loves me like no other. The naivete of childhood was never a luxury I enjoyed because of battles fought to find the child I really was.

I expect from no one but God…

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My brother, Ronnie…

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Leaves set free by rustling winds float down through blue sky to the green carpet below, splashed with crumpled bits of gold, red and brown. Whirlpool-swirls form and just as quickly blow themselves out, adding further evidence of autumn’s glory to the scene outside my window….

I am a child running down the steep hill at Francis Slocum State Park, my papoose doll flying as fast as I can run in a vain attempt to keep up with the ragged rush of pretend-Indian children fleeing from the settlers who are making their way up the other side of the hill–cap pistols drawn, stick rifles raised in anticipation of the Miami Indians lying in wait for them.

My brother runs out and grabs me, pushing me behind the sassafras seedlings where the warriors, along with their women and children, are waiting to ambush the enemy now cresting the hill. Heart pounding, I press myself to the carpet of leaves, head raised just enough to peer through the tribe’s tangle of skinny legs to see the settlers advancing from tree to tree in a fruitless effort to see and not be seen. Blue jays scream overhead as they move into the small clearing, blind to the pounding hearts that wait, concealed from their searching eyes.

A sudden rustling from off to the side, and they turn as one to see an almost unheard of spectacle–a large doe crashing through the brush across the hill. Laughing in relief, the settlers do not hear the low bird-call signal before the blood-curdling war-cries of jean-clad boys with bandanna loin cloths who surround them, merrily snatching their guns in the gathering darkness.

A call, accompanied by another and another and another echoes up through the woods. “Ronnie Lee… Carolann… Sara… Tommy… Sam… Rita… Time to go!”

“Race ya’,” someone yells. “Last one to the parking lot is a rotten egg!”

Out-distanced, I slow down to walk the last gentle slope and grab the hand of my brother, who is waiting for me.

Ronnie's keepsakesSmall bits of a life gone way too soon decorate a shelf in my bookcase, and it seems so odd to have only these mementos plus a fully complete Erector set that still looks ‘too good to play with’ some 60+ years later as the only physical reminders of my brother. But then I do have the wealth of memories of the kindred spirit I built stone dams with and swam beside in the rain-swollen creek, returning again and again to catch bluegill and catfish at the deep fishing hole in the woods.

Every inch of the farm was our playground. The haymow where every summer we built a hidden fort of bales, secret to everyone but Daddy; the long chain swings in the mulberry trees where we played ‘what if’ on long summer afternoons; the basement where we played roller skate tag in the winter, the bins in the granary where we developed our circus act by walking on the edges of the bins, whether full or empty. We believed in each other’s dreams of traveling as far as it would take to find the families who gave us away and the brothers and sisters we imagined we might have.

My brother would have been 74 today. It’s been 44 years since a crazed wife he moved halfway across the country to get away from hunted him down and shot him. Yes, shot him and then got off scot-free because charges were never filed, even though the authorities thought it should have been otherwise. Perhaps if Daddy had been alive, it would have been different. The news came three days after Christmas that my brother would come home one last time.

The news of his death did make it back to our hometown–despite no announcement, no wake, no funereal words of comfort, just clicking tongues and a prayer before we followed the hearse to the cemetery and watched his casket descend into the earth he loved. I will never forget that day because of the stark reality of my anger because no one there had ever bothered to know the little boy who came to live with us at four years old–a package deal along with me because he needed a home where he would be safe from foster parents who left scars on his head.

So he came to live with us and left this world just 30 years later with no scars that anyone could see. I don’t know what my brother might have been one day; but then I don’t need to, because he’ll always remain the brilliant, kind, savvy boy, with the wry sense of humor and slow smile that he had always had, like that day and many others when we roamed Francis Slocum’s hills.

My favorite thing to do as a child…

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My favorite thing to do when I was a child was to read. During the school year, we had chores to do after we got home from school. My brother and I gathered the eggs and filled the feeders and waterers. I cleaned and cased eggs every other afternoon, and practiced my flute and piano on the alternate ones. We raised as many as a thousand laying hens each year and sold the eggs to Kroger’s, so there was a LOT of eggs to process by hand.

Because I demonstrated early on that I was pretty much hopeless in the kitchen—mainly on purpose because I much preferred being outside—my sister, who didn’t like outside work, helped Mother in the house. That included fixing a hearty meal and getting it on the table by 6 o’clock in the winter or taking it to the field during planting and harvest.

After supper when there was no field work to do, Dad would read the paper at the kitchen table, while we did our lessons. I rarely had much homework, because I would hurry and get most of it finished at school so I could read before going to bed. My favorite place at school was the library. The one at Converse School was a tiny one, tucked into a little alcove above the principal’s office. I think I read practically every book and most of them multiple times! At the beginning of my sophomore year, the new, consolidated school at Oak Hill was finished, and the library was huge. The reading selection had swelled, but I missed the hominess of the little library and knowing where every book’s place was.

In the summer, my usual well of books dried up, as Mother almost never bought books for us and only took us to the library in Converse when she had to research something for a talk for one of the clubs she belonged to. I loved going there with her even though I knew I wouldn’t be bringing any books home with me. I remember thinking it very odd that my mother was an English teacher yet we couldn’t check out books from the library. I realized as I got older that Mother was not anti-reading–she was just pro-work! However, I learned to ‘make do’!

For quite a few years, Grandma Powell bought us a book for our birthday—Bobbsey Twins for me, Nancy Drew mysteries for my sister, and Hardy Boys for my brother, but we all read each others’. I confess I also regularly raided the bookshelves in our living room, which were off limits, because Mother wanted the books to remain new looking. By slipping an old book into one of the new jackets, I could squirrel the book away until I had read it and returned it to its shelf.

Now, in case you think I was deprived, I did have The Farm Journal, the Prairie Farmer, McCall’s and Life magazines and the Saturday Evening Post to read, in addition to the Marion Chronicle and Peru Tribune. And read them I did!

I confess I’ve downloaded a few e-books, but I found the actual reading of them a somewhat disconcerting experience, since more than once I reached for the upper right corner in an effort to turn the page! So, from time to time, I shop the online, used bookstores and delight in purchasing five books for less than the price of one at Amazon. I do have a healthy collection of bookmarks just begging to be used, and, really, what else can you do with a bookmark other than put it in a book?

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll just remain ‘old school’ when it comes to my favorite pastime. There’s just something about the aesthetics of a book in hand that cannot be duplicated by anything other than a real book with real pages–and preferably a biographical novel or series that bears reading more than once.

Note: The Converse Library is one of 3,500 in the US funded by the Scottish-American businessman Andrew Carnegie. The community has always been very proud of its library, which is in the neo-classical style. Carnegie’s story at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carnegie_library is really interesting, especially the symbolism of the stairs and lamppost common to the libraries. The list of Indiana’s Carnegie libraries—and pictures of many of them at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Carnegie_libraries_in_Indiana reveal the dates and amount of the grant awarded for each town’s library. I find it sad that a good number of them have been demolished.

It’s time to grow up…

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How many more mornings do we have before the curtain drops and another ascends,
before life as we know it is no more, and things that are not are called into being?
How many sunny days are left before threatening clouds materialize on the horizon,
their advance as much a certainty as the Book lying here beside me foretells?
How many more nights before we have breathed our last on this good green earth
that has sheltered, nurtured, and given us much more than we ever dreamed?
How many mornings are left to praise Him for the beauty of the dawn?
How many days remain to love others as He loves us?
How many nights will there be before there are no more?

It’s time to grow up, I hear Him say,
to lay aside the video-game mentality and just grow up!
I wonder what the result would be if every Christ-follower
would work as diligently winning others to Christ,
as they do in playing meaningless games that do not add
but, instead, drain meaning from their lives.
I know what would happen.
They would bear the incorruptible fruit that no fire could touch.
Yes, it’s time to grow beyond the desensitizing appetites of this life
and mean it when we pray, “Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done!”

Snow, keep falling…

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It snowed all day today, but I’m not complaining. We’re supposed to get snow in Northern Indiana, especially in February, so in my mind we’re right on course. Yesterday, though, I was complaining. It was not about the 17 inches that fell Saturday night and Sunday but the condition of US 6 on Tuesday.

My daughter had warned me on Monday that the streets were pretty bad, but it was now 24 hours later, and SR 13 through town was mostly clear. However, that was not true of US 6, which was an integral part of what I considered to be the only sane route to Goshen yesterday, that is, unless you had 4-wheel drive, which I do not.

If you know me well, you know that somewhere in my DNA is the Emergency Preparedness gene, which is my explanation for being quite near if not over the top when it comes to preparing for virtually any life-threatening scenario, including snowstorms/blizzards, floods, tornadoes, electromagnetic pulses, and other catastrophes.

However, my son, as he will attest, has not one smidgen of the EP gene. Case in point, he informed me yesterday that he had just taken the last of his daily prescriptions that morning. So… I sucked it in and headed out to Goshen, sure that 6 from SR 13 over to 15 would be a breeze. I could not have been more wrong.

As I gingerly descended the slight hill to the intersection where I would turn left onto 6, my 69-year-old heart sank and my hands whitened as I instinctively gripped the wheel at 10 and 2. Stretching in both directions were lines of cars and trucks slowly rumbling over a washboard of snow as far as the eye could see.

The road for lack of a better term consisted of a frozen, inches-thick crust of ice and snow, eerily reminiscent of an Ice Road Truckers episode. Thinking that surely it had to get better, I turned anyway; and after what seemed like an interminable length of time during which it did not get better, we reached the blessed black top of SR 15, which was clear all the way to Goshen.

Did I complain? Did I ever! I went over every excuse under the sun that the highway department could possibly offer for US 6 being in such bad shape–wind out of the north, frigid temps, snow 1-2 inches/hour, not enough plows, not enough salt, drivers calling in sick, unnecessary stops at coffee/donut shops. As my litany progressed, my son had the good sense to intermittently agree, probably because my focus was on the highway department’s shortcomings and not his.

When I turned north onto 15, I was thanking God, Jesus, and my angels for getting us there without incident. Of course, at 20 mph, it would have been pretty difficult to have any kind of incident other than a healthy skid. The return trip was much easier, because at least we had a track that reached the pavement. I have to admit that the greatest improvement, though, was in me, as evidenced by unhindered praise all the way home.

All day today, as I’ve gone about my normal tasks, I’ve been glancing outside at gently falling snow, and more than once praising Him for engineering my circumstances yesterday to remind me today of just how blessed I am, especially to not have to go anywhere the rest of the week.

Snow, keep falling just outside my window
where birds flit and squirrels sit,
the red and blue of feathers and reddish-brown fur
the only splashes of color in this gentle landscape.
Snow, keep falling, taking me back perhaps
to forefathers’ memories of hearth and home
left behind to travel west to this fair land of lakes
where homesteads were carved from hardwood forests.
Snow, keep falling, we are still a hardy lot
who love this land that feeds the world,
yet no more than our souls, freshly inspired
by the sacrifices of those who’ve gone before.

The Prayer Posse…

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A note from a friend who I and eight other women across the country have been praying for came the other day on the heels of my asking God for ‘blind’ faith, which is the kind of faith that doesn’t look at circumstances but is totally focused on what God already has said.

It’s blinders on a horse that I see in my mind’s eye when I think of blind faith, probably because we share the road with a lot of horse and buggies in our part of Northern Indiana. Blinders serve a purpose. They keep the horse focused on the road ahead and prevent him from being spooked by what’s happening on each side of him. Blinders also make it easier for the horse to get to the destination, because all he has to do is (1) focus on the road ahead and (2) respond correctly to the driver’s voice and reins.

Blind faith is like that. It looks neither to the left or right and is not sidetracked by negative reports or feelings. Neither is it diminished by preconceived notions or perceived danger, but is a faith based wholly upon God’s Word. In fact, blind faith takes God at His word about asking and receiving.

  • “God is not human, that he should lie, not a human being, that he should change his mind. Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?” Numbers 23:19
  • “Again I say to you, that if two of you agree on earth about anything that they may ask, it shall be done for them by My Father who is in heaven. For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst.”  Matthew 18:19-20
  • “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.” Matthew 7:7-12

For quite a few years now, I’ve been a part of a small group of women in various states with whom I share prayer concerns and who share their prayer concerns with me. We know that until there is an answer, we will be faithful to intercede on behalf of that person. Awhile ago I was about to send a prayer request out to the group, and the Lord brought to my mind that we are like a posse–a prayer posse, if you will, who joins together to rescue the good guys from the bad guy with our intercession.

When a prayer need is made known, I email or private message the others; and just as it was in the Wild West when people came together to respond to a crisis, we agree together to pray for that person’s need. Like the sheriff of old who oversaw the efforts of the posse, the Holy Spirit provides us with the guidance we need as we pray.

I know that sounds pretty simplistic, but isn’t that what we do when we intercede for people? Incidentally, I shared that with the posse, and one of them has already formed another prayer posse. Isn’t it just like God to plant an idea and then duplicate it to bring healing and encouragement to people?

Just think for a moment what would happen if everyone who reads this were to reach out to fellow sisters and brothers in Christ for the express purpose of praying in agreement. It could be for one another or for people they’ve never met–people who, just like them, know they need something… but may not know the Someone who’s in the prayer-answering business.

Christ-followers get their prayer instructions from Jesus, as recorded in Matthew 6:6. The New King James Version puts it like this: “But you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly.”

I really like that passage in The Message: “Here’s what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace.” That says a lot, doesn’t it?

I have found that for me the most powerful intercession occurs when I am in agreement with women who are committed to praying individually and separately for a particular person or situation. That kind of prayer does not have the distractions that comes when others are present; and it is no less powerful either, because everyone is in agreement.

Perhaps the greatest blessing of praying in secret is that you come “to sense His grace”–God’s unmerited favor–in your life. There is no other way to explain what happens when we go to Him alone in prayer, other than we know we have been in His Presence, the wonder of which often lingers throughout our day.

The coolest tool in the toolbox to assemble a prayer posse is the Internet, because you can email/private message prayer needs/answers with no delay to wherever in the world members of your posse live. It’s not even necessary that everyone knows each other, since one person is the message relay person.

I think the reason Jesus tells us to pray in secret is because, first, He knows how prideful we can be, and second, He knows how insecure we can be. Think about it. Usually in any group, large or small, there will be one or two dominant people, who just naturally talk the most; and there will be those who are there but never say a word. It’s no different in prayer groups.

Have you ever been in a small group situation with a person who is first out of the gate 95 percent of the time when a prayer need is mentioned? The well-meaning person generally prays at length, as in really long prayers, leaving everyone literally prayer-less as he/she finally hits the homestretch and finishes up. It may seem humorous afterwards but it’s irritating as it happens. I’m pretty sure that if God only needed one person to do all the praying, no one else would have shown up.

Now, back to my friend. I received a private message from her that the prayers that we had stood together with her in faith, believing, were answered! As I read her words of praise to God and ‘heard’ her joy, I felt like dancing!!!

I’d like to encourage you to ask God for blind faith, built on these words, “Hath God not said?”! You have no idea the difference it will make in your prayer life. And, if you feel the tug of God on your heart about forming your own prayer posse, there’s no telling the difference it will make in a whole lot of lives!

Happy prayers to you!  (Remind you of anyone?)

Just a bit of encouragement…

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Sometimes you just need to laugh. Like me. Right now. After responsibly warming up the car for 15 minutes since its 17° out, I pulled carefully out onto our icy road and proceeded approximately 1/6 of a mile toward town before the car just up and quit! Pfffftt! Just like that, no power! SOoooo, my son canceled his appointment. I canceled my appointment, and we waited for my wonderful almost-son, who is married to my wonderful daughter and the father of my three wonderful grandsons, to rescue me, which he did by towing us back home and then offering me some words of encouragement, which, by that time, I direly needed. The tow guy will be here in a bit to take my poor car to my mechanic, who hopefully will find nothing major wrong with it other than maybe the fuel filter. And, if I’m lucky, I’ll get it back before I need to be in Goshen tomorrow afternoon.

Now, before you suggest it, YES, I could get a new car, but I have no plans to until this one dies, and I’m pretty sure that won’t be for awhile since my car only has 60,000 miles on it. I KNOW it’s 15 years old, but my cherry red Crown Victoria has sentimental value. You see, it was my mom’s car that she drove until she was 98. She bought it when she was 96 when she got a flat tire on her three-year-old car and my uncle jokingly told her it was time to trade it in! So, she did, and I’ve been benefiting from Mother’s purchase ever since she passed away at 102.

Let me tell you, that Crown Vic rides like a limo! Besides, it gets a respectable 22 miles to the gallon, which is a lot more than those gas-guzzling SUVs get! I have noticed that my car seems to be getting longer, but then I realized it only seems that way because cars are shrinking by the year! Pity. If they keep it up, they’ll be the same size as my riding lawn mower, but I digress.

In a nutshell, I am thankful, not that the car is out of commission but because I’m not! I can look out on this blue Indiana sky that does not have even one cloud on the horizon and thank God that I have a car that needs fixing, let alone a wonderful family, friends who laugh and cry with me, a church home that never ceases to amaze and inspire me, a warm home, pets that irritate the stew out of me one minute and climb in my lap the next, and just way too many blessings to even count!

I guess my message to all of you is hang in there, and while you’re hanging in there, be thankful for what you do have and encourage someone else to do the same. Wow, that’s pretty cool…you can pay it forward without a cent in your pocket! There’s something else I’d like to say, and this is it–if you need help, ASK! I might still be sitting smack dab in the middle of the road if I had not asked for help. Don’t let pride stand in the way of not only your blessing but the person who will be blessed for helping you. Got it?

Three fathers…

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If I could, I would weep tears of loss
for the father I never knew.
Did he have a gentle heart,
the one who waited there that day
when I was whisked away to somewhere else?
Bereft by unexpressed love,
he asked her a simple question
as she waited to take me home.
“What is your name?” he said,
and heard the name his child would have.
He followed the rules that kept me a stranger,
but there are no written rules anymore,
just hindrances to my knowing
what he felt that day
when the child of his heart
became someone else’s property
because of the recklessness of youth.
I will know someday the man who watched me go
from that stark place, where lives begin and end,
into the weathered hands of another
who would love me as he longed to.
Now, three men await my going home–
the one who gave me life,
the one who gave me joy,
and the One who gave me peace.

I am…

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I am a white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant, raised in a Quaker family where I heard the merits of the love, joy, and peace of Jesus every Sunday and most Wednesdays for the first 18 years of my life.

I am peace-loving, inclusive, thoughtful because of the gentle people who influenced my life the most. I do not see the world in black and white but in the myriad of colors of those around the world I pray for–the children, mainly, for once I was lost but now I am found.

I am wise to the deceptions of this world, for I have seen them up close and personal in valleys where I came to know the One who loves me like no other. The naivete of childhood was never a luxury I enjoyed because of battles fought to find the child I really was.

I expect from no one but God, because I learned early that He is the one who will never fail me or leave me like the orphan I once was in a storm of others’ making. I am a child of my Father, whose sons and daughters are my brothers and sisters for whom I pray.

I am unapologetically me, unabashedly His, and unqualifiedly a champion of all that is right and good in this world. I am spiritual, comical, political, thankful, and careful, because once a long time ago someone saw me as salvageable.

I can be long-winded at times, but I am a good listener. I want to talk sense into those who do the same destructive things to themselves over and over again, all the while knowing the outcome will be no different than it was the first time.

I believe that God has the ability to change the lives of those who choose to believe in Him, and I believe that God will protect the right of those who choose not to believe in Him. I believe that I am proof that God is no respecter of persons and can change anyone.