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Some doorways are easier to walk through than others. I’ve had some doorways in my lifetime that have been just plain hard to go through, but none that I dreaded more than the doorway into first grade.

I was a very timid child; other than my brother and sister, kids were beyond intimidating to me. I don’t know what I thought they’d do to me, but I had no desire to find out. When my parents visited family friends that had children, I cowered in the living room with the adults. When we attended family reunions at the park, no matter how much I might have wanted to play on the playground equipment, I sat at the picnic tables with the grown-ups where I felt safe. Not necessarily happy – but safe. The walls that I had put up around myself kept me locked inside of a make believe – but real prison.

The day that I had been dreading for months, was going to be here in less than a week. On Monday, the school bus would stop at the end of our lane and I was expected to get on it. I was terrified of what I had imagined would be there in that classroom. I tried to convince my parents that I would do anything they asked if I could just stay home. I clung to my pillow each night as it collected my anguished tears. For the first time in my life, my parents couldn’t fix my insecurities. They said it was a law; I had to go to school.

The school year passed quickly- something I would have never anticipated. By Halloween I knew the name of every kid in my class and even liked most of them. I had gained a best friend – something I had never had before. We hung out together at recess and participated in kickball, jacks, and dodgeball with the rest of our classmates. When I looked back to the beginning of the school year I couldn’t believe I had been so afraid to walk through that door. A lot changed inside of me in those months between September and May. I no longer felt completely trapped inside the confining walls of shyness. It had been a door I never would have wished for, but one that greatly benefited me, none the less.

At the end of our lives, we will all have another door we must walk through. The name plate beside this door will say “Death.” It sounds frightening, but it doesn’t have to be. 1 Corinthians 15:54 tells us that Christ gave up His own life for our sake, and then He rose from the dead. Death has been swallowed up in victory! When we know Christ, we can step across the threshold with confidence and joyful anticipation. The minute we take that last step on earth and step across the threshold into the heavenly realm He welcomes us into His glory. In the words of Max Lucado, “With Christ as your friend and heaven as your home, the day of death becomes sweeter than the day of birth.”

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

I

Aunt DonnaBell taught grade school in the 1960’s. In 1963 she was teaching 4th grade – the same grade I was in at the time but in another school. She was always interested in knowing what my class was doing for projects; hoping for inspiration, I’m sure. One evening when they were visiting, she asked her usual question. I ran to get the poem I had written and illustrated. It would be going to the Pierce County Fair to be judged. She smiled at the picture and then read the poem. I have never forgotten what she said.

“This is wonderful. I wish my 4th graders could write like this.” My head swelled. Coming from a schoolteacher that wasn’t necessarily inclined to compliment, this meant something extrodinaire to a nine year old. I never forgot the compliment nor did I forget writing. My words march on!

In was during those same grade school years that Grandpa and I were fishing buddies. He often drove out from their retirement home in Norfolk, NE with a coffee can full of worms and his green fishing box. I would grab my cane pole and off we’d go to the Elkhorn River that ran through our property. The first time I caught a nice sized bullhead, Grandpa showered me with praise.

“Well…look at you! Now, that’s a beauty.” He patted me on the back and continued to compliment me as he took it off the hook and placed it on the stringer. To this day, fishing is one of my favorite leisure activities.

A few years later in life, my mom worked at the airport as a weather observer. I was a small, timid, and insecure high school student by this time. Mom invited a new employee and his wife to dinner. His name I’ve forgotten, but her name was Mary. It has stuck all these years because she said something that impacted me greatly. My olive colored skin was deeply tanned from the hayfields and I was wearing my best color – royal blue.

“DeLila has a natural charm and is a beautiful young lady,” she said to my mom. I looked at myself a bit differently after that; my self-respect and confidence continued to grow after that comment.

I bet each of you can think of kind words that were spoken to you years ago that helped shape who you are, as well.

Words contain power that we seldom think about – both good and bad. Ephesians 4:29 in TPT sums it up like this: Never let ugly or hateful words come from your mouth, but instead let your words become beautiful gifts that encourage others; do this by speaking words of grace to help them.

Each of these people I shared with you, gave me beautiful gifts and words of grace that encouraged me for a lifetime. Hopefully, there will be those that say the same about us.

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

“

My sons knew I would be excited to receive a gift card from Hobby Lobby (my favorite store) this Mother’s Day so when they didn’t get a “thank you call” back from Mom, Daniel reached out to ask if I had gotten it. Even though he had ordered it to be sent to me in plenty of time; I had not received it. We agreed to wait a few more days but nothing came.

“I’ll check on it,” Daniel said. Later that week, he texted…”They’re not sure what happened but they have sent out another one and you should have it in a few days.”

With the gift card in hand, I found just what I wanted on my visit to Hobby Lobby – a grassy wreath to encircle a small shelf I already had hanging beside the Terry Redlin print in my living room.

Three weeks later, I was surprised and delighted to find another Hobby Lobby gift card in my mailbox. I chuckled to myself, wondering where this original card had been hanging out these last few weeks. Always loving a good bargain my mind immediately went to this thought – “what a wonderful extra blessing!”

A few days later my thoughts again returned to the gift card. I began to contemplate what I might purchase at Hobby Lobby on my next trip to Rapid City. And then, another thought… one I hadn’t invited… weaseled it’s way into my head. What if I had given a check to a friend and they came to me saying they had lost it. Because I trusted this friend, I wrote them another check, knowing they would destroy the first one if they later were to find it. Ouch! I tired to rationalize it away – Hobby Lobby is a big corporation…they’ll never miss it. Maybe this was really meant to be a blessing for me. Who wouldn’t do the same thing? None of it worked. Hobby Lobby might not be what I consider a “personal friend” but I do appreciate their Christian values and their policies. The least I could do was to do what I would want someone to do for me.

This situation reminded me of how effortlessly we can be tempted and then proceed on to justify the action. I came so close to placing my foot in the land of compromise without another thought. For a brief time, I hadn’t even wondered how God would see this. I am reminded of Psalms 24:4-5. Only those whose hands and hearts are pure….will receive the Lord’s blessing and have right standing with God. There is no comparison between having God’s blessing on my life and having new decor on my walls. Aren’t we fortunate we have a Holy Spirit that speaks words of wisdom to us and guides us on the right path when we walk in His ways?

Until next time…keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

With Mother’s Day barely in our rearview mirror and Father’s Day on the horizon, I admit I’ve caught myself reflecting on days gone by. I find that I do that quite often as the days of my childhood were some of the best. I like to park there frequently and these holidays give me another great excuse to do just that.

Mom went to her heavenly home three years ago; dad ten years ago. They were best friends since five and six years old. Just this week, I heard the story how they came through the back door of Grandma Esther’s house, holding hands. Ruth at six years old announced quite adamantly to Grandma Esther, “we’re engaged.” It had to have been one of the longest engagements in history, but sure enough, in their early twenties they made good on their oath and were married in the little Methodist Church in McLean NE where they had both been confirmed together years before.

A year after they were married, my brother Dave came along. Three years later, I was born and six years after that, Connie arrived. I’ve been contemplating what might have been the greatest influential factor that this couple utilized that contributed to giving us those great childhood memories. We weren’t rich, well traveled, or surrounded by extended family. In fact, just the opposite. After Dad would milk the few dairy cows we had, Mom would separate the cream from the milk. The cream we hauled to town and sold, gave us the means to afford our Sunday trips to church. As far as traveling – we once took an eight hour memorable trip to Wisconsin to see Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila. Memorable because none of us have forgotten how we continuously chewed bubblegum to plug the hole in the gas tank. And extended family? The closest were more than three hours away so and we didn’t see them nearly as much as we would have liked. No…we can’t pin a badge on any one of these things as the reason for a pleasant childhood.

As I pondered this, one word kept coming forward in my mind – predictability. If there was one thing Mom and Dad were, it was predictable. They knew what they could expect from each other and they conveyed to us kids their expectations of us as well. Even if Mom and Dad didn’t agree on something, they could expect that the other one would stand by them. They had that ever-lasting stability that served them well through sixty plus years of marriage. I’m sure they had some disagreements at times, as all marriages do, but their commitment to each other and to us was unwavering.

As kids, this predictability brought safety and security. We didn’t have to wonder how our parents were going to react to situations. They were as steady as Nik Wallenda on his walk across Niagara Falls. We didn’t cause trouble in school; if we were to try that, we could expect it wouldn’t go well at home. Predictability. We knew if we had any extracurricular activity that the public was invited to – they would be there. Predictability. We knew if the neighbors called and needed help, Mom and Dad would be leaving. Predictability. We knew if we knocked the mirror off the Rambler at the mailbox, we’d get a talking to. Predictability. (I only did this once.) Most of all, we knew, no matter what happened – whether good, bad, or ugly – our folks would be there to walk through it with us.

Yes, I think that’s what I liked most about my childhood. There was no need to fear the unknown – we always had at least an inkling ( and most of the time a good idea) of what was ahead. This predictability wrapped us in a snug blanket of security. I doubt my parents realized how much that meant to me. I wish now that I had told them.

How I wish every child could be so fortunate. But of course, that’s not the case. This month as a good friend and I were traveling in search of the northern lights, she pointed out a bar we passed. “My mom used to load us six girls in the car and bring us here. We would stay in the car for hours while she went into the bar. We never knew how long she would be in there.” The only predictability these young girls had were that their mom would come back to the car impaired.

Thank goodness for the parent we can rely upon when we can’t rely upon our own. Psalms 68:5 tells us that God is Father to the fatherless. He promises to do what a parent is designed to do, but for whatever reason can’t or won’t. I like to personalize Psalms 121:7-8. The Lord will keep me from all harm – He will watch over my life; the Lord will watch over my coming and going both now and forevermore. Now that my parents are gone, I find security in that.

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

Who isn’t ready for a good story with a big dose of humanity dumped in? I’d like to give you one today.

This story is about Robert G. LeTourneau. I’m embarrassed to say I had never heard of him until this last week when I found him in the pages of David Jeremiah’s devotional – Moments with God. I became intrigued and did some internet research.

Robert was born in Vermont in 1888 but spent his early years in Duluth Minnesota. In his teens he moved to Portland, OR and began working as an apprentice ironmonger at the East Portland Iron Works. While learning the foundry and machinist trades, he studied mechanics from an International Correspondence School course that had been given to him. He learned from this course, but never completed one assignment. He also learned how to weld and became familiar with the application of electricity. Throughout his young life he worked many different jobs including woodcutting, bricklaying, farming, mining and carpentry. I would describe him as an on hands kind of guy.

Along the way, Robert was offered a job repairing a crawler-tractor. The owner/rancher must have been impressed with the young man when he saw smoke rising from the smoke-stack for he then hired Robert to level 40 acres using that tractor and a towed scraper. RG realized while working on this job, that he found this big machinery exciting and fun. In 1920, he began his own business as a regrading contractor by purchasing a used tractor and hiring a scraper. The next year he purchased a plot of land in Stockton, CA and built an engineering workshop, where he designed and built several types of scrapers.

In 1935, Robert built a manufacturing plant in Peoria, IL and later in Toccoa, GA, Rydalmere, New South Wales, Australia, Vicksburg, Mississippi, and Longview, TX. These factories would go on to supply nearly 70% of the earthmoving equipment and engineering vehicles used by the Allied forces during WWII. This seems amazing in itself, but then I also learn that Robert was awarded 300 patents for his innovations in earthmoving equipment, manufacturing processes and machine tools. 300! That’s impressive in my book.

Just when you think the story can’t get much better – it does.

When interviewed by writers and asked what made his business successful, Robert told them all – “God runs my business.” He would eventually become known as God’s Businessman.” Many of his 6000 employees would tell how Mr. LeTourneau would walk around with a slide ruler in one hand and a Bible in the other. He lived Matthew 6:33 – Seek first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you. The verse was so much “him” that it is inscribed on his statue located on the campus of LeTourneau University in Longview, TX.

According to biographers, RG and his wife, Evelyn, (in fact, it was her idea) gave 90 percent of their income to Christian charities, leaving the remaining 10 percent to live on. They had a combined heart to reach others with the saving grace of the Gospel. LeTourneau University – an interdenominational evangelical Christian school was founded by Mr. and Mrs. LeTourneau in 1946 and was then known as LeTourneau Technical Institute. It’s initial goal was to educate veterans returning from WWII.

Before you begin to think that the LeTourneaus’ lives were never touched by hardships, think again. In 1927, at age 40, RG was $100,000 (1.5 million in today’s economy) in debt when a large construction job went bad. But by grit and hard work that was characteristic of RG, by 1959, the LeTourneau Foundation was worth $40 million.

And just when you think this has to be the end of the story – it gets better.

RG struggled in school – so much that he dropped out when he was in the 6th grade and went to work instead. All of these great accomplishments came through the mind of someone that never made it into Junior High. That slide ruler he carried around was a self taught instrument. I hate to admit, I had trouble with that thing even under the tutorship of an algebra teacher. What this story taught me is that when there’s meaningful motivation and a willingness to keep God in the driver’s seat, we can do anything. Let’s not sell ourselves short.

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