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After I started into grade-school and heard story after story related to sibling relationships, I soon figured out there was something unique about my brother and me. We got along! Dave was three years older than me and I had never been locked in a closet, had a toad put in my bed, ate a hamburger patty made out of dog food, or had my braids tied in a knot while I slept. I couldn’t imagine. I was convinced I had the best brother in the whole world.

It seemed that Dave always knew what to do when I didn’t, and he always had my back. Two incidents come to mind immediately. When I was five he rescued me from the country school outhouse when I accidentally locked myself in. Once I realized what had happened, I had something between a temper tantrum and a panic attack. My screaming and pounding went unnoticed in the distant schoolhouse. The stinky air closed in on me and I could have sworn it was getting darker by the minute in that obtrusive structure. I began to envision my mother’s tears as they found my bones later that year.

Miss Libby, having finished reading class with the mid grades, realized I had been absent for longer than it usually takes to take care of any business. She sent Dave out to check. I tumbled out of that outhouse into daylight, fresh air, and a brother – that had no cape – but looked a lot like Mighty Mouse. He had certainly saved my day as the Might Mouse theme song proclaims. I never forgot it – as you can tell.

About a year after that incident, I again needed Dave’s help. A stranger came to my classroom door (we were now consolidated with the nearby town of Osmond, Nebraska) and asked if he could speak to me. My teacher left the shyest sheep of her flock in the hallway with this unknown man and returned to the others. That wouldn’t happen in this day, but this was 1960 when a person’s word meant something and trust was the norm. This Tom Allan from the Omaha World Herald was very friendly, but I was befuddled by what the quick speaking man was telling me. By the end of the school day, I was nearly in tears with no idea what I was suppose to do. But then, I remembered Dave! I ran to the curb where we always waited for the bus and I poured out my troubling problem knowing he would know what to do. After all – he was in 4th grade.

“We will just go home like we always do on the bus. You can tell Mom and Dad and they’ll figure it out.” I breathed a sigh of relief. We climbed on the bus together and the world was good again. When we burst through the kitchen door – there was the man at our kitchen table. Mom was feeding him donuts and coffee so I knew all was truly well. As it turned out, he only wanted a picture of me and Barney (one of Dad’s old plow horses) to go along with a story my grandfather had suggested.

Over the years, I learned that Dave couldn’t be there every time I had a problem. But, I also learned that our Heavenly Father is there through every storm we encounter. Deuteronomy 31:6 says, Do not fear for the Lord your God goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you. And likewise Joshua 1:9 tells us that God is with us wherever we go.

No matter how bad our circumstances might get, God is right beside us. He encourages us to unload our burdens onto Him (1 Peter 5:7) and then He fights our battles for us. (II Chronicles 20:17)

We have no idea how 2021 will play out for us, but God knows. I encourage you to do what I intend to do – hold onto my hat – stand firm against the winds – and let God fight the battle(s).

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

My husband and I have lived in the country most of our lives, so when it came time to retire, we looked for a small acreage on the edge of town. We took pride in our log home with its large beautiful yard, flower beds, and fenced garden. We had ash trees, apple trees, and a huge cottonwood tree. But, it was yet another place without my favorite trees – blue spruce and red maples.  Nothing seems more beautiful to me than when nature dresses a blue spruce in a flock of white in winter or a maple in a vibrant gown of red in autumn.

As beautiful as our yard was, it took a lot of time and effort to keep it that way. We began to re-evaluate what we wanted in the golden years. We realized that if something were to happen to one of us, the maintenance would be overwhelming for the other. We visited with Jason – a trusted realtor and told him our needs and wants.

Discouragement set in the first week of house hunting. We live in a beautiful area so real estate values are high and things move very quickly – often the same day they are listed. For this reason a contingency is very seldom granted by a seller. Unfortunately, we needed to sell our log home before we could invest in a new place.

We took our concerns to God. But still, doubts crept in each time we looked at a newly listed home in our price range. The professional pictures on the website looked promising, but in reality, these places either needed a lot of work, were smaller than we wished, or were so old the heating bills would not be manageable. Many of these homes seemed dark and dreary and when we would return to our car, we carried these same sentiments with us.  Would we ever find a suitable place that had adequate space and was in good repair? We had hoped to be moved in by fall, but summer was coming to an end and we were no closer to reaching that goal than when we first started looking.

How would God manage to find what we thought we needed within a few weeks’ time and then to provide us with sellers that would allow us a contingency? My mind wanted to believe He could do it, but my flesh was lagging far behind. I reminded myself of all the miraculous examples in the Bible – the Red Sea parting, Daniel’s survival in the lions’ den and Jonah’s in the whale, Jesus feeding the multitudes, not to mention His resurrection. I repeated Psalms 121:2 to myself numerous times – My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. All these things helped keep me hopeful until the next time we looked at, yet, another unsuitable home.

I checked the real estate ads often. A three bedroom home with a two car garage and promising pictures was listed and I called our realtor immediately. We viewed the house that day. It was bright, cozy, had adequate room, and was ready to move into. Against my nature (I like to sleep on things) we made an offer that day. Our realtor convinced the seller’s agent to accept a contingency allowing him fourteen days to get our log home under contract. It was risky – if it didn’t have a contract within those two weeks, we wouldn’t have a new home to go to and yet we’d be contracted with the realty company to continue to have our current home on the market.

Long story short – there are things I miss about our “old” place, (the new rustic hickory cabinets and the stone fireplace) but looking back, I see God’s deep handprint on our new home. He was in control all along and He cared about our desires. He even threw in some extras that touch my heart – a bright and sunny craft room and a spacious, cheery office. No need to craft and write at the kitchen table! How did I know that God’s hand print was in this? Well, he left an imprint in the backyard – the large red maple that shows off in the fall and the huge blue spruce that stands majestically in a robe of flocked white at the first snowfall.

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

FYI – Before I begin my blog this month, I want to apologize that I did not publish an October blog. The reason for this was that my 93-year-old mother fell, fracturing both of her femurs, the largest bones in the body. She required surgery and I was in Kearney, Nebraska with her at the time that I generally publish my blog. I know each of my readers will understand and I thank you for that. My mother came through the surgery well and is now residing at my sister’s home and doing much better than we had imagined. For this month’s blog, I wanted to share a bit more about Mom’s experience this last month. I will call this blog:

Mom’s Quick Response

Life can change in the blink of an eye, or in my mother’s case – in the second it takes to fall. One second standing upright in the dining room of the assisted living facility where she lives, the next second lying face down on the floor, excruciating pain in both legs.

Once the devastating diagnosis was made at the local hospital, Mom took her first helicopter ride (which she wishes she could remember) to Kearney where surgery was performed. The three of us children were with her; well, at least as close as the parking lot. We are so grateful that during this Covid-19 pandemic the Good Samaritan facility allowed at least one of us to be with her, as some facilities do not allow even that. Mom is close to being deaf, even with her hearing aids – another reason we would have been especially distraught had someone not been able to be with her. Having the most medical knowledge of the three of us, I was chosen to be the one that would meet with the surgeon after the surgery was completed.

We all knew the risks of putting our 93-year-old mother under anesthesia, but in this case there really was no other option. Without stabilizing the complete fractures of these two large bones, pain control would have been impossible, not to mention the chance of walking again.

We were relieved to find out that Mom’s vitals had remained stable throughout surgery and she was now in the recovery area. We took a deep breath and relaxed a bit, but we were far from being out of the woods yet. Dr. Wright likened putting Mom’s “old” bones back together as being similar to securing Styrofoam balls together with a toothpick. She would be on strict non-weight bearing status for at least eight weeks. This in itself could set her up for pneumonia, bedsores, and blood clots.

Mom, like 37.4% of those over the age of 90, has dementia. Her most prevalent symptom is short-term memory loss. Because of this we more often visit about things that she’s been a part of in the past rather than what she had to eat for dinner or who might have visited her yesterday.

As I sat beside Mom’s bed in the hospital, I would listen to nurses, PA’s, and practitioners come in to examine Mom. They would generally start with questions to assess her level of dementia at that particular time. Questions like: do you know who the president is, do you know what day it is, do you know where you are. Mom did better than I expected with these questions but one question always stumped her. When the first person to ask her what year it was, she paused for a good minute, then looked at me, smiled, and said, “They want to know what year it is.” Leaning down, I loudly said into her left ear, “Try 2020, Mom.”

“Grandpa Harley’s car license number!” she exclaimed without hesitation. I stared at Mom. Wow…I thought…amazing. Grandpa Harley (Mom’s father-in-law) had died over forty years ago and hadn’t driven a car for years before that.

Later on that day, a PA came in to see Mom. He began running through a gamut of questions similar to the ones the NP had asked that morning. He too, ended the questioning with, “Ruth, do you know what year it is?”

Mom paused again, turning her head toward me with raised eyebrows. I leaned over next to her ear and shouted, “What was Grandpa Harley’s car license number, Mom?”

“2020,” she said, again without hesitation.

I looked at the PA and grinned, “See,” I said, “you just don’t ask the right question.”

As I’ve mentioned before, I write my blogs to keep a family history for future generations and to often share a hope in Christ. What I have gleaned from this experience is that only God knows the time he will call us home. When it’s not our time, we don’t go – even when we are 93 years-old and having surgery. He’s in control and I’m happy to give it to Him because He does a much better job than I would.

Thanks for tagging along on my family adventures and until next month….keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

In the fall of 1972 I was eagerly anticipating a new chapter in my life. I would soon be heading off to the University of Nebraska in Lincoln as a freshman – five hours from home. Pound Hall, Room 818 had already been assigned to me. Even though some of the students coming in for their first year requested to room with a friend or an acquaintance, many students allowed the university to pair them up with someone and this is what I chose.  Getting to know (and living with a stranger) would be a good experience in my new chapter of independence.

Sometime during that summer, letters were sent out to future dorm residents, informing us of our soon to be roommate’s name and address. We could now correspond before the actual face to face encounter.  My roommate would be Margaret from Roca, Nebraska. I grabbed the map and located it – a small, rural town just south of Lincoln. We exchanged a letter or two, waiting as patiently as we could for responses. (It was a day or two before computers and email.) I tried to picture what Margaret might be like. Was she tall? Was she blonde? Would she be bossy? Would she keep her side of the room tidy? Would we get along? We did discover through the letters that we both grew up in the country –  Margaret on a farm; me on a ranch. But most things we wouldn’t know until we met and developed a relationship.

July and August seemed to drag, but eventually the day arrived when both Margaret and I bid our families goodbye, promised to write, and headed to Lincoln. Margaret was already setting up shop when I arrived late in the afternoon.

“You must be Margaret,” I said as I plopped some of my belongings on the mattress across from Margaret’s already neatly made bed. (I chopped this up as a good sign that Margaret was not a slob.)

“I am,” she said as she started to chuckle.

I was a bit unnerved as to why Margaret was laughing. I hadn’t done anything except to introduce myself, but it seemed as if that was what tickled her funny bone.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, “but I had it in my head, that with a name like DeLila, you were either going to be black or very sexy.”

Having never thought about this, I was caught off guard, but only for a minute. “I suppose that means I’ve surprised you and you don’t consider me either one!” I put on the best downcast face I could muster. She realized she may have offended me but when I started to giggle she chuckled more. The ice had been broken and we began a journey of friendship which deepened through that new chapter of our lives.

I have not seen Margaret in decades but I still laugh when I think how she had formed this preconceived idea about me. How different it is with God, who knows everything about us from our very beginnings. He, after all, formed us in our mother’s wombs. (Jeremiah 1:5)  He knows the number of hairs on our head. (Luke 12:7, Matthew 10:30) He knows when we sit and when we stand. (Psalm 139:2) Before we speak a word, He knows what we will say. (Psalm 139:4)

I find it comforting to know God knows me inside and out. I have no need to explain to Him (except for my own benefit) why I feel like I do – He already knows. And whether or not those thoughts are admirable or not – He continues to love me unconditionally. (1 John 4:9-10.) There’s no one that knows me (or you) like God does. That should make cultivating a relationship easier because half the work is already done. It’s now up to us to pursue God and learn of His character through the scriptures and the Holy Spirit. Once we’ve taken that initiative there’s no end to where the relationship will go.

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

Although many have not returned to the Rec Center in the midst of Covid-19, I decided the risk was worth it for me. The only exercise I was getting at home was bending the elbow to shovel the ice cream from the dish to the mouth. I was really settling into this “largely waistful” habit each evening and except for the fact that my clothes weren’t hanging right – as in not hanging at all – I was rather enjoying the break. But to my dismay, I had literally killed the adage “no pain, no gain.”  I glared at my bathroom scale as it shouted numbers that proved otherwise.

This week as I sprayed down each machine with disinfectant, wiping away any bacteria I might have deposited and then tossing the rag away, an analogy formed in my mind. This is what God does when we repent of our sins – He wipes the sin away, leaving us with a clean heart to start again – just as if we never sinned in the first place. And get this –  God not only wipes them away, He forgets them!  I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more. Jeremiah 31:34. This is such good news because when we do our part (repent) God does his. God takes our blunders (no matter how bad they are) and heals and restores us. There is nothing I can do that is SOOO awful that God won’t forgive if I ask Him.

I believe God gives us plenty of ways to see his goodness in our every day lives if we look for it. I had wiped down these machines many times since joining the Rec Center several years ago, yet this week was the first time I had thought about it in this spiritual way. Whether it was God pointing it out to me or it was just a heightened awareness on my part, I’m not sure. What I do know is that it encouraged me and reminded me of God’s love and His grace. And that’s a reminder I’ll take however it comes!

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