A Taste of Home

He Lives!

Hebrews 11:1
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

John and I sat down at the table last week to discuss our Easter menu. We'd already had an early Easter celebration with his side of the family at his mother's house last week because she left this week to be with her daughter in St.  Louis. Last Sunday we feasted on ham, fried chicken, chicken and dumplings, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, and more desserts than I could "shake a stick at".

Since we celebrated our early Easter with foods John had grown up with in the south, I knew I had to have at least one dish on Easter day that would remind me of my home.

As we discussed the menu, we decided to prepare a turkey dinner. We aren't going overboard with the side dishes since there are only four of us here at the house, but we will have scalloped potatoes, peas, corn, a macaroni salad, and crescent rolls.

The macaroni salad is a nod to my parents in Cincinnati. Mom and dad would make it, and then it would often be a part of picnic meals at Winton Woods near our house.  It's easy to prepare, and every time I do, I think of my parents. When I taste it, I think of home and the summer days of my youth when I ran barefoot through the hills of the park on a family picnic laughing, playing, and enjoying time with my brother, sister and parents.

When I mix the ingredients together, I often worry about the proportions, or if I am doing it right. However, when I finish, the final product always tastes like home.

I just finished tomorrow's macaroni salad, and it's resting in the refrigerator. As it chills overnight and the flavors blend together, it will be just perfect on the table when we're ready to place it next to the turkey.

Tastes, flavors, smells, sounds are etched in my brain. They transport me to other places in an instant. A train whistle takes me to Farmersburg, Indiana. A certain perfume makes me think of my grandmother. Chicklets gum puts me in church next to mom when I was squirmy during the sermon and she tried to keep me quiet. Same with figs. The first fig I tasted was at Sunday School maybe in the 3-4 year old class when the teacher brought them in to let us taste them.

My senses can take me places I haven't been to in years.

Therefore, how ironic that it is the leap of faith --that which I can not use my five senses for--that will lead me to heaven. 

I am so used to defining the world around me in terms of sensory perceptions. However, faith requires me to trust God and let go of sensory perceptions. 

How do I know God exists? How do I know Christ rose from the grave? How do I know there is life after death?

My physical senses can not answer these questions. Only my faith can.

As my faith in God grows, it becomes stronger and more beautiful. It leads me to a Home that should seem as familiar as the one where I was a little girl running in the woods on a picnic day with a family who loved her.
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Thank you, Lord, for helping my faith grow stronger in you.

An Easter Parable

The Old Church on the Hill

The Former 2nd Prairie Creek Baptist Church

Near Terre Haute, Indiana

Matthew 28:6 NIV

"He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay."

It's THE teacher phone call. The one no parent wants to receive and no teacher wants to make.

Hello? This is Mrs. Durham.

I'm your child's English teacher. Yes. English. I'm calling to follow-up on the progress report s/he brought home from school today.  Yes, ma'am.  Today. Maybe it's in her/his book bag. You might ask her/him to look. Yes, ma'am. S/He received it in Homeroom today.  Yes ma'am I'll wait.

Uh-huh.  I thought s/he might find it there. Yes, ma'am. I'm calling to tell you I updated some grades today, and her/his grade has increased to a 40%.  Yes. I'll wait.

Yes, ma'am, I'm still here. Yes, that's correct. S/He is writing an essay for me tonight, and s/he should be studying for a test over the novel we just read. There are handouts for the novel that are due as well. 

As I was trying to say, with the four-day weekend coming up for Good Friday, I'll be happy to give her/him a printout of all her/his missing work, so s/he can make up the work over the long weekend and turn it into me on Tuesday.

Yes, ma'am. I thought you'd like that idea. Move her/him from her/his friends and assign extra homework, too?  Yes, ma'am that is certainly an interesting thought.

I just wanted to let you know there is still a chance s/he can pass the class even though her/his grade is so low.  S/He is too bright to have not completed her/his work this semester.

I'll even stay after school to help her/him finish the work if s/he will meet with me. I'll do everything I can to help her/him pass.

Yes, ma'am. You're welcome because I am also calling to give YOU hope.

After all, this is Easter Weekend: a time of REDEMPTION and HOPE for ALL of us-- even wayward students.
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Praise our Risen Lord!

What was I Doing?

Thankfully Our Lunch Crowd is not this Large!

Savannah College of Arts and Design International Students Festival

2 April 2011

1 Samuel 9:27 NIV
"As they were going down to the edge of the town, Samuel said to Saul, "Tell the servant to go on ahead of us"--and the servant did so--"but you stay here awhile, so that I may give you a message from God."

Lunch duty is a daily chore I endure each day with two compatriots. We protect the lunch staff from stampeding teenagers eager to storm the buffet lines.

My job is to work logistics inside the lunchroom as my fellow teachers hold back the impatient, hungry students at the door. 

The teacher inside the room with me waits for me to give permission to send small groups of kids to my lines. We have to control the crowd or else we will have "line jumpers," and then two hundred hungry teens will not be happy with us.

I'm in charge of two fast food lines. Every other day chicken sandwiches or hamburgers and cheeseburgers are served on a rotating basis. Cheese pizza is a daily staple as well as fruit and veggies. Fries are also offered on this line.

The students I supervise are to split into two neat lines--a front line and a back line. Two lines. Very simple.

However, what ends up happening is groups of students meander slowly toward me as they socialize with their friends. They ignore my outstreched arm directing them into the line moving forward the fastest, and instead, they bunch up like rafters on the lazy river at the water park at a fork in the road.

I holler over the thunder of their yells, clattering trays, and clanging cash registers, "Move up, others are waiting to eat." They ignore me. 

I try again. "MOVE UP!"  A girl flips her hair off her eyes, so I can see her roll them at me. She fixes her gaze upon me as she announces,  "You don't have to yell!" 

Ugh. 

Eight minutes is all we need to efficiently move these kids along, but they are not to be rushed. Then they complain they don't have enough time to eat. Go figure.

I'm sure God has never felt that way about me before. I'm sure He has never had to raise His voice at me to get my attention to move me forward in life.

As a matter of fact. I know better. 

He has such a sense of humor about it, too.

I'll complain to Him about something (just like a teenager) and then I'll see a car with a smiley face on its window drive by me as if He's telling me, "Yeah, so what--deal with it. I have faith in you. Now stop whining."

I've seen versions of my name on trucks and bumper stickers at just the appropriate moments, and of course, I see rainbows when I need them most.

God does what He can to move me forward. Otherwise, I easily get distracted and unfocused like those teens around food and their friends.

They forget their goal is to eat lunch. 

Sometimes I forget what my goals are, too. God reminds me.
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Thank you Lord for helping me move forward in life.

Beautiful Successes

A Life of Integrity is like a Spring Blossom

Proverbs 10:9 NIV

"The man of integrity walks securely, but he who takes crooked paths will be found out."

I studied the college application and considered the question posed before me: "Describe this candidate in one word."

I paused. Smiled. Easy answer.

I remembered a year ago when she first entered my American literature classroom. She had an engaging smile and pleasant demeanor. She confidently carried herself with graceful poise as she found the desk I had selected for her along the side wall.

She was quietly thoughtful and reflective. As I worked with her during the semester, I discovered her compassionate heart and concern for her fellow classmates.

She also expressed concern for me. She always smiled and asked how my day had been.

She turned her work in on time, her grades were fine, she was not a discipline concern, and her personal conduct was impeccable. If she said she were going to do something, she did it.

She began to stop by to visit me before and after school to talk. She made sure I was all right. She talked about her classwork and other activities she was involved in.

She continued to stop by to see me throughout her senior year. She excelled in her classes. She looked more mature as the year progressed. She was no longer on the brink of beginning her new life, she was actively seeking it.

She approached me this month for the recommendation letters for three colleges. I was honored to write them. She will succeed at any school which accepts her.

I knew the word to describe this beautiful young woman I have watched blossom over the last two years. However, it's a word I rarely use with teenagers.

I took pen to paper and wrote:  INTEGRITY.

The integrity of a person's life shines brightly. Her family raised her with strong religious and moral values, and because she lives these, she stands out among her peers.

As long as she holds onto her life of integrity, doors will open for her as people take notice of her.

I wasn't surprised when she told me less than a week after she sent off her papers, she was offered a scholarship for the college she wanted to attend.

God blesses those whose lives are full of integrity.

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Lord, thank you for letting me be a part of this young woman's life as well as the countless others whom I have taught through the years.

Beautiful Failures

Live Oak with Spanish Moss

Honeycreek, Georgia

March 2011

Psalm 44:26 NIV

"Rise up and help us; redeem us because of your unfailing love."

I sat at the table as my classmates played outside during recess. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I folded and refolded the woodpecker so he would bend and move on the tree to strike it.  My friends already had finished at least fifteen minutes ago.

Mrs. Rothert, my Kindergarten teacher, had already asked me several times to stop working and go outside to play, but I was too stubborn. I didn't want to fail. I didn't budge from my chair.

Even when I was four years old, I was driven to succeed. I didn't want to give up until I fixed the problem.

In third grade we went to the chalkboard by rows to solve long-division math equations. My group was given a difficult problem. The students in the other rows gave up and went back to their seats. I remained at the board until I got the correct answer. I don't like to lose.

The high school debate team I coached for seven years was quite successful for our size and limitations. I had several national qualifiers and one student who placed in a nationally ranked round.

I have a friend, a debate coach, who took his students on trips for "the fun of it."  I told him I didn't understand that concept.  I don't have fun if we don't win. If we don't bring home a trophy, what's the point of competing? 

It's a family joke about my competitive nature. However, the other side of the coin is, when I fail to achieve a goal, it hurts.  I don't like to fail, so when I do, I mope. I become gloomy. I don't handle failure well. 

I never finished the woodpecker in the tree in Kindergarten. I could never make it bend and hit the tree like it was supposed to. Forty-six years later, I still remember sitting at the table, lost in frustration, trying to glue and fold colored paper, while feeling like a failure.

Thankfully, God redeems the failures of my life--all of them--from the trivial to the serious.  If only folding a woodpecker into a tree were the worst failure I've had! But no--there are bigger ones than that. 

God has taken them all into account, redeemed them, and through His grace, turned my failures into victories.

When I look back over the course of my life, I can see where my "failures" (or "mistakes") actually turned into beautiful blessings because God's hand touched my life.

Whatever God touches is perfect. He doesn't fail at anything.  
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Dear Lord, Thank you for redeeming my failures and blessing my life. 

A Little Blue Bird Told Me

I Would Have Found this Blue Bird!

Peacock, Cincinnati Zoo 2007

1 John 4:7 NIV

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God."

I looked around my backyard for that blue bird but couldn't find her. She had to be flying over the house somewhere, hovering, spying, listening to my conversations with my brother and sister. 

I tried to stay out of trouble before we went to Farmersburg, Indiana, but it's hard for a six year old to be good. No matter what I did, that doggone, rotten, blue bird would beat me there every time and tell Grandpa everything I had done.

I loved Grandpa. He was a kind man, strong-shouldered and big-hearted. He dropped out of school in third grade and worked the coal mines in Dugger to help support his family when his father died of cancer in 1910.

Grandpa spent years in the mines. He worked alongside his older brothers. He was the youngest son of thirteen children.

Grandpa lied about his age to fight in WWI with the 1st Division, 18th Infantry of the U.S. Army for General John J. "Black Jack" Pershing. 

Grandpa was a doughboy. Fought in every major battle and was reported "Missing in Action, presumed dead" in the telegram that arrived home on the farm in Dugger.

Instead, he had a pistol in his hand and just enough life in his wounded body that lay in a crater shell with other injured American soldiers to order the Germans searching for the dead and dying to carry them to the nearest Red Cross station.

He went through surgeries and leaches until his wounded leg healed, and he rejoined his company in time to fight some more and to march across enemy lines into Germany.

He returned home at the end of the war having earned the Purple Heart, the Occupation of Germany medal, and the Silver Star.

He was a brave man. I didn't know about his war heroics. He didn't speak of his war experiences to his family.  He was just Grandpa to me. The scar on his leg was obvious, and he had to tell us about how he got that, but otherwise, his previous life before we were born did not matter.

However, I didn't want to disappoint him, so when he pulled me up onto his lap and told me what the blue bird had whispered to him about my antics, I was incredulous.

How could that bird know so much about me?  If I could only have a talk with it! I would straighten it out!

Grandpa chuckled at my amazement, then hugged, and kissed me. His cotton t-shirt smelled like a mixture of sweat and sweet tobacco. He wasn't supposed to smoke (Granny didn't like it), but whenever he went into his workshop, he filled up his pipe, lit it, and puffed away.

When we'd head back home to Cincinnati, I'd look for that crazy blue bird following us. I never saw it. 

Maybe Grandpa had a direct line to God instead. I'm sure God kept a good eye on me, too, in those days. 

In fact, I know Grandpa was on good terms with God. He read the Bible every morning when he woke up--the first thing he did. He may have only had a third grade education, but he had read the Bible from front to back more times than I have with my Masters in English.

I'm certain Grandpa still watches over me, and he doesn't need blue birds any more to tell him what I'm up to. 

But whenever I see blue birds, I think of my Grandpa, Cecil Raymond Butler.
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Lord, thank you for watching over my life and for blessing me with people who have watched over me and loved me.

My Refuge

Garden Maze

Wainwright House

Rye, New York

October 2010

Psalm 62:8 NIV

"Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge."

I watched The Secret Garden when I was young.  Mary Lennox was a spoiled girl who grew up in India. When her parents unexpectedly died of cholera, she was shipped back to England to live in her mysterious uncle's gloomy 100-room mansion.

Her aloof uncle didn't want to interact with her, so she was left on her own to roam the mansion's grounds. She discovered a stone wall, covered in ivy, with no door. The brother of the house maid told her about a secret garden on the other side of the wall.

The two of them discovered the key to a door in the wall.  They found the door, opened it, and walked in.  In the meantime, Mary located her crippled cousin, Colin, in one of the rooms of the mansion. He was also a spoiled brat.

She wheeled him into the garden, and they began to restore the garden to its former beauty.

As the children brought new life to the garden, the pain of their bodies and souls began to heal, and they grew as beautiful as the garden.

As I watched the movie, I thought how wonderful it would be to have a secret hide-away, a refuge from the world.

As an adult, I hide, in a sense, from the world when I come home.

Unless I have to go out, I don't. I spend time with my family, or I write or read. I'm so busy at work, I need to refresh myself each day. 

I need time to meditate and be with God. 

I don't have a secret garden like Mary and Colin, but I do everything in my power at home to spend time with God and to ward off the worries of work and the world.

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Lord, thank you for the refuge and peace you bring me each day.