Author: delilalumbardy@gmail.com

My heart plummeted. Where could the electronic tablet be? I searched the house; top to bottom. Not finding it anywhere, I darted to the car and searched it; front and back. It was nowhere. I was sick. This wasn’t just any tablet – it was Mom’s that I had brought home just last week after we three siblings had gotten together and discussed what to do with some of Mom’s personal belongings following her recent death. I had never owned a tablet and it would be portable, yet less strain on my eyes than reading from the phone. But it wasn’t the loss of the convenience that mattered, it was the fact that it was Mom’s.

After my thorough search, I knew in my “knower” what had happened. I had taken it to Wal-Mart hours earlier to get a cord for it. Placing it flatly into the child’s seat of the cart, I tossed my purse on top of it and off I went to the electronics department where I found the cord I needed. I then hurried on to the grocery department with my mind focused on the list in my hand. I had company coming so grocery shopping took me a bit longer than usual – just enough time for me to forget all about the tablet. When I thought back on it, I could not remember taking it out of the child’s seat when I unloaded the groceries into my vehicle. I was more than put out at myself. And as it was, the Samsung cords were all identical. I wouldn’t have had to take it into the store at all. And now it was gone. Kick, kick, kick. I knew the chances of whoever found it, leaving it at customer service was slim. It seems that those considerate endeavors are less and less prevalent these days. “Finder’s keepers” seems to be more the norm.

Oh how I wished God would show up in a big way. You know…like the parting of the Red Sea, or the burning bush, or maybe in a fiery furnace or like when he called out to Lazarus, dead for four days, and his friend comes forth in his tomb clothes. If only He would drop that tablet into my lap! I love all those miraculous Bible stories, but, I’ve learned, that even though He did and can still do these things, He more often chooses to show up in a gentle whisper (1Kings 19:12) throughout the mundane activities of our daily worlds. I think He’s interested in seeing if we notice Him in the little things.

Maybe it’s because my life has been turned upside down and I have sought Him with a deeper and more needful desire that I’m recognizing Him more than I may have in the past. In the last few months, I have recognized Him in the beautiful prayer shawl a classmate sent to me when she had no idea what I was struggling with and the $50.00 that was slipped into a carton of eggs that I received from a friend. Then there’s the supervisor at the Ford Garage that tore up my ticket and gave me a free car-wash on top of it. There was the stranger at the laundromat that gave me a heart warming personal compliment, the friend that sent me a beautiful refrigerator magnet that touched my heart, and the friends from Missouri that went several hours out of their way to stay a night at my house. Where does God show up? Yes, in all of these things….and yes, at Wal-Mart at the customer service desk where an employee hands me a very missed and used Samsung tablet.

God’s out there, let’s open our eyes and our hearts and see Him.

Until, next month, keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

The favorite bowl slipped from my hand and landed with a crash on the tile floor. “Oh no,” I moaned as I stared at the many pieces around my feet. What a waste, a beautiful dish; now nothing but rubbish. I grabbed the broom and swept the remains into a pile, dumping the useless pieces into the trash.

Several years after this incident I read a story about a Japanese belief, that immediately took me back to my broken bowl and the shattered pieces I had thrown away. I discovered that the Japanese have a very different take on what to do with these broken items, especially pottery. Instead of discarding them as I did, they meticulously mend the pieces back together, using silver or gold dust. In this way, they are highlighting the brokenness. They celebrate the cracks and display it with pride – it is now a piece made beautiful by its brokenness. Some people look at it as a metaphor of embracing their own flaws and imperfections. They call this practice kintsukuroi or kintsugi, meaning golden repair or golden joinery. You can check out the amazing process on YouTube.

As I went through a difficult time and my heart felt literally broken, I was so grateful that I knew about this Japanese custom. It brought me much comfort to think I might become stronger and more beautiful in my brokenness – just as the pieces of kintsugi pottery do in the hands of the artists. I could see God as the artist, meticulously putting me back together with highlights of gold and silver. I meditated on Isaiah 43:19. The Lord said – forget all that (the past) – it is nothing compared to what I’m going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?

And I did see it. There was evidence that He was doing just that. Just as he had knitted me together in my mother’s womb, He was now knitting my wounded heart back together with His golden threads of love, compassion, grace, and meaningful words. Special qualities within myself that had lain dormant surfaced and I experienced personal growth in areas that had never been tapped before.

I’m not one to buy things for myself, but when I found a kintsugi necklace in the shape of a heart, I felt an urge to purchase it. I wear it nearly every day to remind me that brokenness is – not only repairable – but capable of making one better than before.

If you’ve experienced traumatic heartache, brokenness, or devastation of any kind, I encourage you to adopt this Japanese thought process and let God work to make you better than you were. By his mighty power at work within us, He is able to accomplish infinitely more than we would ever dare to ask or hope. Ephesians 3:20.

Until next month – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

I know that it’s not always popular to talk about death, but, it’s quite certain and we probably should talk about it more often than we do. And if we look, we can often find blessings in the midst of it.

Since writing my last blog, my dear mother has passed away. We had watched as her quality of life had slipped slowly away over the past six months. At 93 years old, we are very grateful for all the years we had with her. But, oh…how we would miss her sense of humor and her special laugh!

The family gathered around her hospital bed at the home of my sister. Mom had not been responsive for several days and now her breathing was changing with longer pauses and more shallow breaths dominating the rhythm. It seemed inevitable that she would breathe her last before the hour was up. Her daughters and granddaughter stroked her pallid cheeks and held her hands, hoping it was comforting to her. We bent down and whispered our last heartfelt goodbyes, telling her it was okay to go to Jesus. Our words were spoken in earnest, but that didn’t make it easier for us to let go. The oldest great grandchild who just lived down the road and saw Grandma Great often, clung to her aunt for comfort. The three men in the room – men who usually don’t struggle with words -had little to say. Tears wound their way down cheeks as each one thought of their own special memories and absorbed themselves into their own personal grief.

As self absorbed as we were, there was one that looked beyond himself. An angel it seemed, disguised in the body of a child. As if anointed, seven year old Micah with glassy eyes of his own, made himself as tall as possible (or maybe that’s how I saw him) and powerfully began singing “Jesus Loves Me.” The quietness was broken and gentle smiles replaced tears. What began as a solo turned into a choir. The peace of celebration had begun! How could we not rejoice when Mom was about to enter into the greatest kingdom ever? With childlike faith, Micah understood this quicker than us, perhaps.

As the week went on and we prepared for Mom’s service, I knew that the one thing I would always remember about this time was the boldness and faithfulness Young Micah portrayed that day. It was stamped in permanent ink on my heart.

In the light of fellowship following the service, I asked Micah what he wanted to be when he grew up. “I want to be a team roper like my uncles,” he said without hesitation. I suppressed a grin behind my hand. Proverbs 16:9 tells us – We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps. It could be that Micah will become a team roper, but as Micah walks with the Lord, it might not happen that way at all. God may have other plans, but whatever those plans are, we can be assured they are the best plans possible because God loves His creation (us) and desires to complete us with what He knows will most fulfill us. In my mind I can see him as Pastor Micah – after all, he did a topnotch job of ministering to a family that needed it.

Until next month, keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

The boys and I were clashing heads. I don’t remember what about and neither do they. Many many seasons have passed since that summer day. I have a feeling the two young instigators had employed the “push Mama” button one too many times. My exasperation tank was full to the point that I had stepped out back to regroup. This was long enough for seven-year-old Daniel to write a detailed note on the back of a used envelope before he and his five-year-old brother, Caleb, would run away. They cautiously escaped through the front doors with their plastic grocery sack of supplies before I reentered the house from the back.

The first thing I noticed after crossing the threshold was that the house was as quiet as a church sanctuary on Monday. A welcome change, but not necessarily a good sign. I spied the note on the kitchen counter and thought it odd that Daniel didn’t just holler out the patio door if he wanted to tell me something. (The length of the note that covered the entire back of the legal sized envelope would have required some effort from a boy his age.) Once I stepped close enough to read it, it became evident why he had chosen to write his message rather than speak it. Caleb and I are moving to JC’s (Daniel’s friend down the country road) until you are happy with us again. Oh dear, those boys were adept at two things – pushing their Mama’s buttons and melting her heart – all in the course of the same morning. What a precious note! He even provided the four digit phone number to JC’s house. I would later tuck the note into a safe page of my scrapbook (where it still resides.)

I peeked outside and noticed that both bikes were gone. These boys had wasted no time to get down to business. Traffic was minimal on our road and the boys were conscientious bike operators so I didn’t worry about them that way. It would take them a bit to ride the two miles to JC’s and using up some of that excess energy might be good for all of us. I called the number Daniel had left me and let JC’s mom know she could expect the boys soon. “Let the boys stay awhile and play,” she said. “JC needs a distraction, too.”

The desire to run away doesn’t always stop once we’ve reached adulthood. I’ve considered that sort of solution just about every time a very difficult crisis occurs. Unlike Daniel, I would make sure I left no destination and no phone number.

Ahhh…if it was only that simple to leave our responsibilities behind and isolate in our miseries. Somehow, we have to find refuge another way. I’ve never taken to drugs or alcohol, shopping or gambling to numb the pain; which by the way leaves us with only a worsened headache or broke. But I have taken to the sweet words of the LORD that loves us. God is my refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble. So I will not fear, even if earthquakes come and the mountains crumble into the sea. Psalms 46:1-2.

He can be your refuge, too, no matter what you are going through. He’s a big enough God to handle it – the same Big God that created the world in seven days is patiently waiting to hear from your heart.

Until next month – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

My sixteen year old son and I heaved the big black trash bags into the back of the pickup. We had already loaded the wooden chair with the broken leg and the fallen branches of the cottonwood tree. After I was content that we had collected every last piece of castaways from the garage and house, we were ready to take the load to “the pit.”

We lived on a sugar beet farm and “the pit” was just that – a deep dirt pit. It reminded me of the buffalo jumps the natives utilized in the 1800’s to secure their food. Instead of bison, this pit was the final destination of anything not wanted on the farm. Worn out furniture as well as appliances, tree limbs, rusted wire, general garbage – you name it…went into the pit. It was our rural version of the city dump.

Daniel, having recently obtained his driver’s license, took on the job of driving whenever feasible – or not. He slid into the driver’s seat as I resigned myself to the passenger seat. We rounded the grove of trees that hid the pit. My son maneuvered the pickup around to face the road and began backing it up into unloading position.

Quicker than “two shakes of a dead lamb’s tail” (as my father would say), an overwhelming dread and uncontrollable feeling of fear came over me. I dove for the passenger floor board; curled into fetal position, hands and arms covering my head. But, the crash never came.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Daniel implored, in a concerned, yet perplexed voice he seldom used. It was the first moment of realizing I had a fear of unprotected edges. I climbed sheepishly onto the seat, my eyes moist with relieved tears. Daniel was still staring at me like I had lost my mind and I wasn’t so sure I hadn’t.

“You were scared we were going to go off backwards – into the pit, weren’t you, Mom?”

Still speechless, I nodded. Daniel reassured me that we were still several feet from the edge and when I got my sea legs beneath me and checked – he was right. I had had no reason to worry.

A few deep breaths later, I attempted to refocus on the job at hand. I looked down into that pit. So much trash! Had we really crashed and lived to tell about it, we would have had to climb through all “the muck and mire” to get out.

There are all kinds of pits we can get stuck in. Pits that are hard to climb out of – maybe addictions, depression, relationship battles, a financial crisis, health issues, spiritual warfare, and so many more. Is there anyone that can help when we are desperate? Yes, there is! Take a look at Psalms 40:2. He also brought me up out of a horrible pit, out of the miry clay. And set my feet upon a rock. And established my steps. No one knows this better than a recovered addict, a convicted criminal, an abandoned spouse, a rejected child, a bankrupt CEO, or a dying parent, that has put their trust in Jesus.

With Jesus, there is always hope. It’s never too late to let Him be your guide. Take His hand and let Him lift you up, out of whatever pit you might be in. If you’re not sure how to do this, find a Christian friend or pastor to help you. Planting your feet upon the Rock of Jesus is the first step to walking away from that pit of despair.

Until next month – keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.