A Sweet Way to Remember a Loved One

   Death is no stranger to any of us. And if we have not yet suffered the loss of someone we love, it is inevitable that we will. Death has been a fact of life since Adam and Eve left the garden, and will be so until Jesus comes again. Even if we carry the surety of heaven in our hearts, the process of dying still gives us pause. When we bury someone that we love, we understand the fragility of life in a new and different way. As never before, we long for the day when death and dying shall be no more.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth for the old heaven and the old earth had passed away...

I heard a loud voice saying, God's dwelling place is now among the people

and God himself shall be with them...

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. 

There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain, 

for the old order of things has passed away. 

             From Revelation 21

    As a Christian, I am thankful to be of those who do not grieve without hope. Do Christians grieve? Absolutely! Yet the wonder is that the Holy Spirit miraculously keeps hope alive in our hearts. When we become believers, the hope of heaven is literally woven into the very fabric of our DNA. It cannot be denied. We may try, but hope works on us from the inside out, to bring us comfort, peace and a flicker of joy, even on the darkest of days. And so it is and has been with the Baby Sister.
     During the past two years, she and her husband, David, were an inspiration to me and many others, as against all odds, he chose life and fought hard and courageously to live each day on this earth that he had been given. When death finally came in July of this past year, David surrendered himself into the loving arms of His Savior and entered into the glory of life everlasting. Friends and family came near and far to cry, to weep, to rejoice, and to celebrate David Randell White's homegoing to heaven. My husband said it was the best funeral he had ever attended. It was hard, but it was good.
    My sister is keeping on with life since her husband passed away. I am sure that there are days when the depth of her loss takes her to her knees. And there are days when the grief of David's death is but a shadow that hovers and passes. Sometimes the nights are long and lonely and then there are times when she can sleep like a baby. Each day is different.
    The first holidays without a loved one can be especially difficult. The sense of loss is palpable. With Christmas coming, my sister came up with an idea for gifts for her children and grandchildren that would give them a tangible reminder of the father and grandfather they loved so much. Here is how it came about. In late summer when my sister began going through her husband's clothing, she found that there were several shirts that she was having a hard time parting with as they were a tangible reminder to her of her husband and of the special things he liked to do. There were his roping shirts (he was a team roper extraordinaire), his fishing shirts (he loved to flyfish and spend time on the Choctawhatchee Bay in his boat), his hunting shirts, his work shirts, his church shirts, and more. If you are getting the idea that this was a man who loved to spend time working outside enjoying God's marvelous creation, you would be right! David also loved to laugh, to sing, and as a man of great faith, he loved to worship the Lord with great freedom and joy. And even though he was a talented builder of note (one of his homes graced the cover of Coastal Living magazine), an incredible and creative problem solver, who was pragmatic, thrifty, and resourceful, he could be tough, if he needed to be. Yet David Randell White was a man with a great sense of humor, who loved his wife and his family and his Lord above all else. In short, he had the heart of a teddy bear. So the Baby Sister took his favorite shirts and made them into bears.
    One son loved to fish with his Dad, so his bear was made from a shirt he had seen his father wear when they fished together. One of the granddaughters loved nothing better than watching "Pa" roping his cows, so she was given a bear made from a roping shirt complete with a pocket with snaps. There was a bear with a camouflage look made from a hunting shirt, a soft flannel shirt oft worn became another favored bear. And the list went on. No two were alike. My sister had a bear made for herself out of a church shirt because some of her favorite memories were of standing beside her husband as they worshipped the Lord together. One special touch is that there are bears set aside for grandchildren yet to be born. 
   My sister's found a wonderful way to remember her husband. It's an idea that David would definitely appreciate. He would be glad that the shirts are no longer hanging unused in the closet!
    And from what I understand, on Christmas Day my sister's home was filled with lots of laughter coupled with the shedding of sweet tears. I'm pretty sure that was the case on both sides of heaven. 

 Here is the tag that accompanied each bear. My sister designed it and included a very special scripture that meant a great deal to her and her husband.

      It's a simple gift. Nothing too fancy and nothing too fine. Just a bear made out of an old shirt that belonged to someone they loved. A sweet way of remembering, wouldn't you agree?

The Husband's Christmas Letter 2013

   

     The Husband works for an incredible organization, Pinnacle Bank, that allows him the freedom to send his Christmas reflection to all 750 bank employees each year. It is a special gift that he does not take lightly. I look forward each year to reading what he has written. This letter really pierced my heart. Here is this year's letter sent the week before Christmas! Read it and you'll see why I love this man so much.

Christmas Blessing 2013

As we once again approach that joyful time of the year, Christmas, I want to challenge and encourage us to contemplate two aspects of this most extraordinary day in the history of the world.  First, I challenge you to really ponder why and how we celebrate Christmas and the indescribable joy which it should represent to us , and secondly, something upon which we rarely focus in our celebration – the three Wise Men and what they should represent to us.

With regards to this particular day, to me unquestionably Christmas is the most important day in the history of the world and reflects the greatest news ever given to mankind.  The baby’s birth in the manger was the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy:  Isaiah 9:6 – “ For us a child is born, to us a Son is given. And He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace  “and to the shepherds in the field an angel proclaimed in Luke 2:9:  “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people. Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you, He is Christ the Lord. “  Through this day, there are several poignant messages given which we should recognize and claim.  First and most importantly – God loves you.  This love He has for you encapsulates His nature, for in His very essence God is love.  Secondly, God is with you:  Jesus is actually named “Emmanuel” which means “God with us."  Thirdly, God is for you – He wants you to succeed in the things that are truly important.  He desires a vibrant relationship with you – If not, why would He have sent His Son to be with us except to relate with us – not to judge the world but instead to love it and save it.

Let’s not forget the Prodigal Son story in which the father runs out to greet the returning wayward son who had previously abandoned his family.  THAT is the story of Christmas.  It is the Father who runs to greet us in the form of a babe. The Bible clearly states that we were all destined for eternal death in sin but God did not turn His head on us, but instead sent His Son to be with us and ultimately to be the vehicle through whom we can be reunited with Him forever.  Is there anything of greater value to be celebrated?  Life is tough – in fact very tough. Our lives resonate with poor choices; friends disappointing us; family trials; divorce; business failures; debilitating health conditions; deep suffering, separation, and even death. At some point some or all of these are a part of each of our lives.  HOWEVER, Christmas is that good news of great joy which is for everyone who chooses to accept the gift, such that we have something of God's own eternal nature coupled with the power of a heartfelt joy which can supersede and even conquer the temporary circumstances which cause us great unhappiness and anxiety. Through our Lord we now have access to that peace which surpasses all understanding.

You see, a major part of the “Good News” of Christmas is that YOU matter to God.  He knows everything about us – the good, the bad, and the ugly – and He still loves us.  We are not an accident – He has a plan and purpose of life for each of us.  Christmas is God’s chosen time.  It is not about religion, for Jesus did not come to bring us a religion,  but instead He came to bring us a relationship – the opportunity to know Him; love Him; accept Him as Lord; and be forever reunited with Him.  God sent Jesus to us as the most extraordinary gift possible so we could know what He is like.  God did not want us to love him from a distance but instead desired to love us up close.

Now as to the Wise Men, far too infrequently do we place any emphasis upon them and scrutinize exactly who they were  and why they are important to us.  The Wise Men were part of a totally different culture. They are fascinating people. Certainly in the manger, they looked out of place with their fancy clothes and gifts.  The Bible refers to them as “Magi” – quite wealthy and highly educated – a combination of philosophers, scientists, and astronomers.  They were also seekers of the truth.  In Matthew 2:2 they ask:  “Where is the baby who was born to be the King of the Jews?”  They wanted to worship Him.  They were willing to go to any length to find Jesus – to come from the Far East to the Middle East in Bethlehem to find Him – to embark on a four to five month (or possibly longer) journey across a scorching hot desert to find Him.  All the major religious leaders of the world were basically right there in Jerusalem,  only six miles from Bethlehem,  but none of them were seeking Jesus.

Can you imagine what it must have been like when the Magi first saw the baby Jesus?  He looked to be just another baby in a dirty manger, yet they knew immediately that He was the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.  They experienced such depth of emotion that they stopped in awe and fell on their faces to worship Him.  Also, remember what these Wise Men did next – they gave Him gifts as part of their worship – gifts representing their very best – gold; myrrh; and frankincense.  They bowed down and gave Him their treasures.

So the question for you and me is:  “What will we give Him?” 

Will we give Him our trust?  Will we give Him first place in our life so that nothing robs Him of that place? Will we look at those things which quite frankly represent idols disrupting our relationship with God?  Will we give Him our Heart?  In that most special place of our heart is what we love; what we most deeply value; those things about which we care the most.  Will we share our love for Him with others?   Will we be seekers of Truth like the Wise Men?  And most importantly, as with the Wise Men, will we give Him our best – not simply our leftovers but instead our very best?  Do you ever contemplate that just maybe God wants a present from us?  Jesus said that the Kingdom of Heaven is like a pearl so valuable that one would sell everything and anything to obtain it.

So the difference in giving our present to God -  our most valuable treasure – our Heart – we immediately get something back in return even more valuable – what a deal!!  The best ever of which I have heard!! We are never to be separated from Him. 

So this December 25^th, I wish for you a most special and blessed Christmas – knowing how much God loves you; how He is with you regardless of present, past, or future circumstances; how in His omnipresence and omniscience He is always watching you and always for you.  I pray that we all will give Him our very best and most precious treasure such that we will enjoy Him, not simply at Christmas, but for all eternity. 

MERRY  CHRISTMAS!

Ed White

Taking a Break

   It began with a crashing computer. The one with all of my photographs on it. Then one excuse began piling up after another. My stress level kept rising. I could not organize my thoughts or anything else, for that matter. So after much angst, I gave myself permission to take a break from blogging. Something that is supposed to be fun and therapeutic had ended up becoming a burden. Not a good idea.
   I am back today with a repost of a very special Christmas blessing that has a place of honor in our home each and every year. I just put this treasure out today. I know. It's the week before Thanksgiving. And here I am decorating for Christmas. But I have a good excuse. A really good excuse. I am having my right knee replaced the day before Thanksgiving. So unless I decorate today and tomorrow, the Christmas decor will pretty much be nonexistent. Thus...I have been dragging out my treasures and putting them out...smiling all the way. It's been a delightful day. 
    I do hope to update you all on my knee replacement (this is my third joint to be replaced.) It's not exactly something to which I am looking forward, but it is something that I most definitely need to do. Look for me later. I will be the one in the hideous white TED hose that will carry me right through Christmas. Maybe I'll just pretend to be a snow bunny this year...right.


     During the first twenty-five years of our marriage, it became a tradition for me to purchase something reminiscent of the nativity as a part of the Christmas gift The Husband and I gave to one another. Thus it is that our home at Christmas is filled with creches. When Christmas is over, I don't even put them all away. Some of them remain in place throughout the year as a perpetual reminder of the "Gift" they represent. Some are ornaments that hang upon the tree; others are fashioned of wood, ceramic, or clay, and one set is made entirely of felt. It is just perfect for little grandbaby hands to hold and to move and to place just so over and over again.
       However, the favorite of all of my creches is a very humble nativity, one that is not likely to attract a second glance unless you know the story behind it. Despite its lack of supposed beauty, it has a place of prominence in our home: it has its home on the entry hall table to greet guests when they come in the door. 
       The base is a slab of unfired clay made by one of my children. There are little figures crafted by another of my children, where once there were four figures, only three have stood the test of time. Sadly, Joseph has completely disintegrated. The figures are accompanied by a hand-lettered banner made by yet another child and finished off with a clay plaque by the last of my children. Thus, this beloved nativity represents the collective efforts of all four of our offspring. It was not planned this way, but I am convinced it was a gracious coincidence guided by a heavenly hand.

     The banner is twenty-three years old. I wouldn't trade anything in the world for the "Goly to God in the highest..." Goly was a first grader's way of writing "Glory," but I am sure that God understood exactly what this child of mine was trying to say. 
     Another child lovingly crafted the base which originally was shaped more like a cave and had an overhanging top that has long since broken off. It holds the three figures (there were once four). There is  Mary; she is the figure on the right bending over the tiny figure resting on a bed of clay. It is Baby Jesus but his head is no longer attached to his body and must be carefully positioned or it will roll off on its own. To the right of Jesus and Mary is a lion, crouching in the snow. When the son who made the figures came home with this nativity with the lion, I had the audacity to ask him, "A lion?"  (I am thinking a cow or sheep might have been more appropriate, but mothers should learn early never to ask children questions like this, unless they want to immediately be put in their place. I will never forget that he looked at me with something akin to disdain as he said, "Of course, Mommy, don't you know that the lion goes with the lamb?"  And so it does. I cried. He patted me. 
      The Lion of Judah and the Lamb of God...they go together, do they not, and indeed, are they not one and the same? Yes, some of the most profound truths come out of the mouth of babes. 
     The final complement to this treasured creche is the little clay plaque in the back:.You can barely read it, but in case you can't, I'll tell you: It says, "Jesus I Love You." It was originally supposed to be a cross, an Easter decoration, but when this child brought it home he told me,"I couldn't do the cross, Mommy, I wrote Jesus a letter instead. I thought He might like it better than the cross. I wanted to tell Him thank you." I cried again. He said, "I want it to go with the manger." It was springtime so I asked again, "Do you want me to put it out with the Easter things?"  He shook his head firmly. "No, this cross is a letter, and it goes with the manger." 
       How could it be that a child understood something so deep, so powerful, so profound?  How could he grasp at the age of five, the very essence of the cross? How could he know that the cross, the terrible, wondrous cross, is also a letter, an I-love-you letter from a Holy God to His beloved, yet sinful people. 
       So you see perhaps why this tiny fragile nativity holds a place so dear to this mother's heart. Each child of mine made his or her contribution, unplanned and unscripted over the course of many years to make it complete. There is a Banner of Love (Goly to God...). A little cave to cradle the Holy Family. A lion to stand guard and to lie down with the lamb.  And finally, a love letter that would and should have been a cross, except that a little boy wanted so much to write this letter to say thank you to Jesus for the cross. And the child knew intuitively that this was no ordinary baby, this was a baby born to die to save us from our sins. Christmas irrevocably linked to Easter. It is no accident that we must become as little children, is it? And once again, I cry, "Lord help my unbelief. Help each of us to believe with the wonder and the certain faith of a child."

    It is my Advent song this year...starting with the Week of Thanksgiving.

from the archives

   

Sanctuary

    I'm not exactly one hundred percent sure that I know where this place is. That's the downside of using a navigation system to get from Point A to Point B. You don't have to map out a course, read a map, or figure out the most economical or most advantageous route to your intended destination. You just turn your brain off and listen to the computer-generated voice as she gets you from here to there. And that's exactly what I did. With my eyes open, of course.
   But oh my. When I traveled the backroads of Georgia, I had no idea that I was on my way to another version of heaven. But I was.
   Lake Lanier. A house (thank you Polly and John) for a week with my sisters. Time to pull things together for an upcoming wedding. Time to unwind. Time to relax. Time to laugh. Time to cry. Time to pray. A few of my favorite things in the whole wide world.
   I've always thought I was a beach person. Now I'm not so sure.

 

Go and Pray...

I used to hang my purse on the back door knob when I got home. (Now I put it on the laundry room door; I must have a thing for door knobs and purses.) At this point in my life (many many years ago) I had a four week old baby and a 16 month old toddler. The baby was feverish. I had called the pediatrician's office as soon as they opened and was given one of their coveted early morning appointments. At that point I scrap the plans for the day and am now on my way to the doctor's office.

The baby is already bundled up and in the car in his little infant seat. Getting him settled is the first of my trips to the car. My sixteen month old son is toddling around the house in his normal fashion. I grab him, put on his jacket, pick up the diaper bag, and begin to dig around in my purse for the keys. The keys are on a large silver bracelet type ring, thus relatively easy to find. No keys in the purse. I put the toddler down and search again. No keys. I sit down on the floor and carefully sift through the purse again. No keys. I move on to the diaper bag, checking every pocket. No keys. I am getting really worried.

What if my toddler had taken the keys out of my purse?

Everybody knows how children love keys. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
   
I look my toddler in the eye, and ask, "Keys?"

He nods his head. I ask him, "Did you take Mommy's keys?"
He nods his head again.

At this point I don't know whether we are playing a nodding game or whether my son is really responding to my questions. I can feel the sense of panic beginning to rise. If he has taken them, I am up a creek without a paddle. I run over to the toy box with him in tow and quickly began to search, all the while saying, "Keys?" and hoping against hope that he will respond. No keys. I search the den quickly without success, and then I realize that I need to get the baby back out of the car. Done.

Doctor's appointments at my pediatrician's office are not that easy to come by, especially morning appointments, but that is the least of my worries. The baby is obviously feverish and my sixteen month old cannot tell me where he has put the keys. I am running all over the downstairs looking everywhere that I can think a toddler might put the keys...to no avail.

I start crying. I don't know what I am going to do. I look out the door to see if either of my neighbors who might let me borrow their cars are home. They are not. I am praying as I go through the house again.
I take a big gulp as the impression moves into my thoughts.

Go and pray.

"I am praying," I say to God in my head.

 The impression is stronger.

 Go and pray.

The Husband and I sleep in a heavy antique bed that belonged to my Momma's family. It has deep side rails and wide slats. When I am struggling with something, I will often go and kneel to pray on my side of the bed. I feel the impression ever so strongly as I move toward the bedroom, so I grab the baby and my toddler and off we go. I get the baby settled and then kneel down beside the bed. My toddler follows suit. My frustration with him starts to melt as I watch him bow his little head. I pray aloud and ask the Lord to heal my baby, to help me find my keys, and to bring some desperately needed peace to my heart and our home. I don't stay there long. Toddlers don't let you stay immobile long, even if it is for prayer. I remember that my son patted my hand as I finished praying out loud.

I look down as I open my eyes and began to pull myself up. As I do, I catch a glimpse of something glinting in the light.  I reach toward it. As my hand goes down between the bed rail and the side of the bed directly in front of me, there, caught on a slat, are the car keys on the big silver ring.

I am dumbfounded and in awe. God has directed me to the ONLY place where I would find the keys.

I know without a doubt that I would NEVER have looked there on my own,  and I would NEVER have found them had it not been for the fact that I felt impelled by the Holy Spirit to go kneel in that exact spot and pray. If the keys had fallen through, they would have fallen onto a flat box under the bed where I would NEVER have seen them. But they didn't. They were waiting there. For me to find them. When and only when I knelt to pray.
   
Kneeling to pray beside that bed is not something I do every day. I am usually praying on the run.
But that day, the impression was so strong.

Go and pray.

I wish I could tell you that I understand how prayer works. I don't. But I trust the One who calls us to follow Him into the marvelous and glorious mystery that is prayer.

All I know is that prayer is not about me. It is all about Him.

Song of My Heart

     They say that music soothes the savage beast...and I would agree that music readily touches my soul, perhaps even more quickly than the written or spoken word. Music is a language all its own, and I wish I knew more about neuropsychology and the way music operates on the brain...wait, no I don't...that would only feed my life-long obsession with the acquisition of knowledge. All I need to know is that music calls to me, music ministers to me, music touches me. Music also ushers me into the presence of God. And there is no more glorious music than the music surrounding the Passion of Christ.
     Like many of you older folk, I grew up with The Old Rugged Cross. My grandparents loved it, my husband's grandparents loved it, and my mother-in-law wanted it played at her memorial service. It was.

On a hill far away stood an Old Rugged Cross, 

the emblem of suffering and shame; 

and I love that old cross where the dearest and best 

for a world of lost sinners was slain.

     I remember as a child wondering why I should love that old cross, for the death that the One died upon it seemed so terrifying and horrible to me, but as I grow older, I have come to value the sacrifice and to see the cross for its terrible and enduring beauty. For in it or upon it, lies the means of grace. The Way to the Father. My way to the Father. The cross represents my adoption record. Fully paid. Fully satisfied. And because of that cross I am afforded the privilege of being the daughter of the Most High, His child. And He is my Abba, my Papa. It still seems unbelievable to me.
     Yet my all-time favorite Easter hymn is the more modern Easter Song written by Keith Greene,

Hear the bells ringing, they're singing that you can be born again

Hear the bells ringing, they're singing Christ is risen from the dead.

The angel up on the tombstone said, "He is risen just as he said. 

Quickly now, go tell his disciples that Jesus Christ is no longer dead."

Joy to the World, He has risen, Hallelujah

He is risen, Hallelujah...

      Without fail, I always cry when I sing this song. I love that it brings Christmas, The Cross, and the Empty Tomb together in such a wonderful way. Joy to the World. Yes! I can seemingly never get enough of all that Christ offers me. Daily I find myself in sore need of His redemption, His grace, and His mercy. I am ever thankful that He freely offers me this and more. I scarce can take it in.

      Be Thou My Vision is not an Easter hymn per se, but this ancient church melody is the cry of my heart today:

Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;

Naught be all else to me, save that thou art -

Thou my best thought by day or by night,

Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

           

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,

Thou mine inheritance, now and always

Thou and thou only, first in my heart,

High King of Heaven, my treasure thou art.

    

  High King of Heaven, my victory won,

May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heav'n's sun!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

Still be my vision, O Ruler of All. 

     Without a doubt, I am so very thankful to be His.

Update on Little Three!

   My, my, how time flies when you are having fun...and that's precisely what Little Three is all about...having fun! He is a laidback, happy baby who shares the joy from his storehouse of love that is filled with a seemingly endless supply. Without a doubt, this boy is a charmer of the first order and an incorrigible flirt!
   I expect he will be crawling, no, make that running, very soon. He can roll over like nobody's business, loves to sit up by himself, and stand and bounce in his exersaucer. While he can also totally amuse himself, he is nonetheless is an incredibly social baby. He enjoys watching others eat and will mimic the moves that said people make when chewing their food. It's hilarious!
   Little Three has been vocal for months now and is starting to string his vowels together. It's a toss up whether "Baabaa Bye Bye" or "Mmmmama" will be his first word. Of course, these are all signs of a remarkable baby. But according to Nonna and Pappy, that's the only kind we have around here. Here is a glimpse of sheer adorableness! And to think he is not yet six months old!

The sweetest baby kisses!

When he laughs, he closes his eyes...
definitely a family trait!

Oh, and did I mention that he totally adores his Momma?!

Or that this Nonna is totally smitten with this boy!

Little Three turns me to mush!

A Beauty that is Not False

In light of my recent post about beauty (Mirror, Mirror on the Wall), I wanted to share these thoughts again about a very special woman and the very important life lesson she gave me.

    Raising a daughter and three sons in a beauty-obsessed culture has certainly posed some significant challenges, but thankfully nearly thirty years ago I met a woman who embodied the very essence of beauty. Long before The Daughter was but a babe in arms, I found myself struggling to process the conflicting messages that bombarded me in this area.  How could a concept that has been so totally corrupted by man be redeemed? What did walking out redemption of an idea like beauty look like (no pun intended)? Could I truly embrace the truth that beauty emanates from the soul of a woman or a man as they mirror the image of the Living God as opposed to the cultural mandate that the reflection in the mirror is the most important representation of beauty? How could I not succumb to the seduction of a culture that cuts, carves, and transforms both men and women, but predominantly women, into objects that bear little resemblance to real human beings and furthermore, serves to sexualize them in abhorrent ways?  And perhaps most importantly, how in the world would I be able to teach my daughter and my sons what I struggle to understand, embrace, and practice myself.?
   And then I met a woman whom the Lord used to help me understand the concept of beauty in a powerfully transcendent way. She became the representation of the plumb-line to which I returned over and over as I struggled to redefine my ideas about beauty. Her name was Sadie Yoder, and she was the undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I have ever known.

Mom and Dad Yoder

She was also the godliest. She had a peace and a serenity that drew others to her like weary travelers to an oasis in the desert. Yet her outward appearance was in many ways quite ordinary, but her inner beauty, well her inner beauty was so extraordinary that it totally consumed her outer being. Raised in an Amish home, she was a woman who never wore make-up a day in her life and she certainly never invested a dime in any miracle creams that promised to mitigate, alter, or alleviate the passage of time. She was totally comfortable in her size 14 dresses. In fact, she was totally comfortable in her skin. Her skin was just that. Her skin. It was not who she was or what she was. It was the covering over the muscles and tissue and bones. It did not define her or empower her. It was simply just the covering for the tent. Each time I left her presence I came away refreshed and challenged anew to reorient my thinking to the truth of the gospel she so loved and embodied. I found her beauty and her faith compelling. She was absolutely gorgeous to me. When my daughter was little, she told me many times that she wanted to grow up to be like Sadie. I understood. I wanted to grow up to be like Sadie, too. I have been thinking about her a lot this week. Her beloved husband passed into the glories of heaven week before last, and the family gathered at the homestead one last time to lay the body of the man she loved with all of her heart into the ground. He was just as remarkable as she. The beauty she emanated is in no small part due to the steadfast love and faith that they shared. She was his beloved and he was hers. They were beautiful together.

Sadie as a young woman

     I am so thankful that before The Daughter and I had the inevitable teenage arguments about make-up, pierced ears, and the length of her dresses, we decided together that Sadie would be the hallmark and standard by which we would judge beauty. It was a good decision and one that helped to steer our discussions in the right direction. We would talk about Sadie and the fact that although she took care with her appearance, she was not consumed by a need to pursue a notion of beauty that was totally false.
    I am blessed to know many beautiful women, but what I find most beautiful about them is the strength of their spirits, the tenderness of their faith, and the genuine lack of artifice that they possess. It is never the size of the waistline or the lack of wrinkles on their skin. It is the way that they look when they smile or when they laugh with joy. It is the undeniable and beautiful glory of the heavenly Father I see reflected in them.
    Mom Yoder, I am missing you today. I am missing your beauty and how you helped me understand what the world could not. I am so thankful to have known both you and Dad. You made a difference in my life. I am comforted and encouraged by the thought that at long last you are worshipping together at the feet of the Beautiful Savior, Jesus himself.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...An Important Conversation about Beauty

Source: google.com via Christie on Pinterest

  I've been toying with this post for the past year or so as it has been on my heart for sometime. This idea surfaces periodically, and I push it down, but it keeps coming back. I am taking that as a nudge from the Holy Spirit that I need to listen.
   The problem is that I have listened to the world for so long that it has substantially altered my thinking. I have bought into the lie. Now it's time to do something about it. I am taking what I am calling "The Pledge." God help me that I don't have to eat my words. I also am likely going to offend some of you out there, but this is too important. There is a great deal at stake here. Not only do we need to look at ourselves, but we also need to look at the messages that we, as women, are sending to our daughters and our granddaughters along with our husbands and our sons.
   This is the problem. We talk about beauty as if we believe that it comes from the inner character and soul of a person, but we don't live as though we believe this. In fact, we constantly define our idea of beauty by the culture's standard and by the most cursed object of them all: the mirror.
     Truth be told: when we look in the mirror, most of us are not happy with what we see. We moisturize our wrinkles until they cannot be moisturized away, and then turn to injections like Botox and Restylane to minimize the encroaching signs of aging. Others laser their damaged skin, subject it to harsh chemicals, sand it down to oblivion, or better yet, go under the knife to cut away or lift up the offending portions. Just thinking about all of this deeply saddens me. Why are we doing it to ourselves? What is so offensive about aging? And if we start subjecting ourselves to these procedures, how and when will we stop?
    My intent here is not to castigate, vilify, condemn, or shame any woman who has resorted to any cosmetic procedures. Instead, I want to encourage us to begin an honest conversation about the struggle that most of us face with regard to aging. We could begin by telling the truth. Let's not lie about what we are doing to circumvent the passage of time, whether it be so simple as coloring our hair to hide the gray or having that eye-lift we've dreamed about. And let's drop that critical appearance-driven-standard that we apply to every woman we encounter over the age of 40. Let's be honest. Most of us are quite adept at secretly judging other women for the size of their hips or the depth of their crow's feet (or even the lack thereof) behind their backs, all the while subjecting ourselves to countless diets and other fads to keep the sweet bird of youth firmly in our grasp.
   The irony is that when we start grasping for that youthful girl we once were, she is already long, long gone. In our culture we no longer talk about aging gracefully the way that we once used to, and I am deeply saddened by this. We know longer look at a woman with gray hair and widening hips and celebrate the woman that she is...instead we look at her and pronounce judgments about her external appearance. Instead of celebrating the lines that time has etched on her face, we disparage them.
   Not too long ago, I heard a woman say about another older woman, "Boy, has she let herself go." I asked her what she meant, and she said, "Well, she obviously hasn't taken care of herself. She doesn't see a dermatologist or surgeon...that's for sure."
   Wow. And neither do I.
So here is my pledge.
    No matter how far my face slides down, and no matter how much pull gravity exerts on my neck, my boobs, and my stomach (to name but a few areas), I will NOT define myself by reflection I see in the mirror, nor will I judge others by their reflection either. I pledge to look for the beauty within each woman I encounter and to embrace and celebrate what I find. I do not plan to have surgery, inject myself with Botox, or other fillers, laser my skin away, or sand it down to nothing, but I will not excoriate those who do. I simply want us to have an honest dialogue about the culture's notion of beauty and how manipulative and destructive it has become and to believe that there IS another way to age.
   Trust me, I am constantly tempted, but I keep coming back to what I believe God says about me. And it has nothing to do with the way that I look in the mirror.
    It's not the procedures that are so vile, it's what they represent to aging women. It is a deep and profound unkindess that we are doing to ourselves. We are not loving well, not one another or ourselves. We are buying into the lie. And I am vowing to try to turn the tide that threatens to overwhelm me at times.
   Aging gracefully means accepting myself for who I am in the mirror as well as who I am on the inside. And certainly who I am when no one is looking.
    It's hard to be real. It is difficult to choose the authentic self. Everything about this world since Eve ate the apple has been about covering up. Not just our private parts, but our true feelings, our emotions, our pain, our struggles, our hurts. We want to look good.
    I know. I battle this. Every. Single. Day.
    I battle this when I go up another pant size, when I find more wrinkles around my already wrinkly mouth, or when I get dressed up to go out and can hardly find my eyelashes anymore to even apply mascara.
    Daily I struggle to bring my thoughts captive to a God who tells me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made in His image. And He is talking about not just on that day that I was born with my new, soft skin, tiny hands, and tiny feet, but also NOW with my dry skin, my pimply more than middle-aged chin, my sagging crepe neck and my crows' feet. NOW. He finds me lovely NOW.
     I really want to believe this. My heart longs to believe this. And I wager so do most women out there. We do not want to be defined or confined by the image in the mirror. We long for validation and beauty that emanate from the inner soul.
    The issue is: Can I dare to find myself lovely? Can I let go of the corrupted vision of beauty that woos me with its promises of a younger self? Am I willing to be an almost 60 year-old-woman who is so thankful to not be 25 or 35 or 45 anymore? Am I willing to be content with who I am?
    Pray with me and for me that together we can stand and proclaim that God is not lying when we says that "Charm is deceitful and beauty evaporates, but a woman that feareth the Lord shall be praised."
   I want to embrace the Lord's vision of me. I want to look into His eyes to see myself rather than defining myself by my own flawed and aging reflection in the mirror. I want to mirror Him.
 
"...inwardly we are being renewed every day..."
I am daring to believe that He does not lie.
I am choosing another way.

And What to My Wondering Eyes Should Appear

Hands down my favorite Christmas Eve moment...

It doesn't get much better or more magical than this.

Christmas Card 2012 and The Husband's Christmas Letter

    Merry Christmas from the White Family....

Thanks once again to the marvelous
Emily O. Holmes Paper Lovelies
for our card design!

On another note...

The Husband works for an incredible organization, Pinnacle Bank, that allows him the freedom to send his Christmas reflection to all 750 bank employees each year. It is a special gift that he does not take lightly. I look forward each year to reading what he has written. Here is this year's letter sent just before Christmas:

Christmas Blessing 2012

We are now in the season of “Advent” and with it comes that sense of joyful excitement that Christmas Day is just around the corner.  The word “Advent” itself denotes great anticipation and expectation with the Latin word adventres translated as “coming,” while the Greek word for Advent, parousia, is usually associated with the arrival of royalty.  For us it represents a great sense of “yearning” as we prepare to greet our King.

At the same time, while the traditional sense of excitement and joy is certainly present as we prepare to celebrate one of the two most important (in my opinion) days in history, I must confess that for me there is also a sense of numbness; of sorrow; and lingering mourning which I continue to feel.  Needless to say, the events of last week in Connecticut have shaken people to a level of disbelief possibly never before felt as we contemplate the loss of twenty beautiful young children to a tragic act of both terror and evil that so clearly reflect the fallen state of mankind.  So as I have continued to contemplate these young children and the families who have been devastated by this act, I have begun to realize this is a perfect example of why we celebrate with such great exuberance the birth of the Savior on Christmas Day.  For it is for times such as this that He has come to be among us.  He and He alone is the Master Healer of the wounded of heart; the Prince of Peace; the source of comfort and joy that ultimately supersedes our worldly circumstances.

Born in a obscure village to a peasant woman, Jesus came into our world of pain and suffering through Mary – who suffered the physical agony of childbirth with no pain relief; He was born in the cold of winter with the cleanest thing around Him being the hay covering the floor.  Christmas is about joy, but it is a joy that is reached through and never drifts far from human suffering in a fallen world where this precious Messiah would ultimately redeem our sin and our suffering.  As confusing as it may appear to be, how special it is to know that Jesus came to Earth amidst suffering for the ultimate expressed purpose to suffer because we suffer.  His love for us is so great that His purpose and desire was and is to remove eternal suffering from all who come to Him and proclaim Him as Lord.  As with the recent Connecticut deaths, let us not forget the infanticide that Herod ordered when he killed all male children under the age of two.

It is difficult for me to fathom the transformation which Jesus endured in leaving the glorious perfection of Heaven for a manger in the cold of winter.  Even more so, knowing that his place of birth was prophesied in Micah 5:2 seven centuries prior to this day we celebrate next week – it is indeed amazing that he was willing to leave the glory of paradise to become poor so that we could become rich in eternal things.

In times as we have recently experienced, we may be tempted to cry out to God in anguish and accuse Him of a sense of aloofness – of not answering our questions and our pleas for answers.  And yet we must only look to the story of Lazarus and the confusion which surrounded his death to see two of the most powerful words of the Bible in John 11:35: Jesus wept.  So rather than a sense of separation, we see tears that represent something so different.  While having the power to stop, reverse, or allow any action, God’s wisdom suggests that He keeps specific things from us in order to determine our real trust and faith in Him.  As in the case of Lazarus, He enters into our grief and sorrow as an example of perfect love – showing us that it is okay to have a sense of a broken heart as evidenced by sorrow and weeping.  By His birth on Christmas and living amongst us, He gives us not simply answers to our questions, but much more – He gives us Himself.  He gives us His tears; He gives us His anger at needless tragedy and repudiation of His commands; and most importantly, He gives us His Hope.  In our deepest sense of despair, He offers us not simply consolation, but far greater, He offers us resurrection.

Because Jesus was born into humanity, He opened the door to eternity for each of us.  Let us not be consumed by the gifts – giving and receiving.  Let us not merely celebrate Christmas, but instead know that we are celebrating Christ – the joy of a loving Christ presented to you and me as a gift through the grace and mercy of our Heavenly Father.  I encourage you, in the midst of whatever trial, challenge, or disappointment you face – to hold fast and firm to the joy and wonder and glory of it all – the Emmanuel, God with us!  The Christmas story is the ultimate rescue mission – Jesus coming to earth offering us the opportunity to be free from whatever enslaves us.

“Praise To The King of Kings
You Are My Everything
And I Will Adore You”

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

In Honor and Loving Remembrance

 Reposted from 2009
  Today I read the Declaration of Independence. As an elementary student I had memorized the famous memorable single sentence of the document that states, "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights..." Yet I am ashamed to say that I had never read the Declaration in its entirety. When I read through to the last sentence before the signers affixed their names to the document, my heart was pierced:  "as Free and Independent States, they [we] have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor." ...to the British the Declaration of Independence was an act of treason punishable by death, so the men who so boldly pledged their Lives, their Fortunes, and their sacred Honor had already counted the cost. From that day forward to the present day, there has been no turning back.
    I am a citizen of the United States of America. I have lived so long in the land of the free and the home of the brave that I have neglected to thoughtfully consider the cost and the sacrifice of those who have gone before me. This is Veteran's Day, the day when we pay tribute and honor those who are called to serve in the Armed Forces of the United States. Ponder those words: called to serve. Called to uphold duty, honor, and country. No matter the cost. The cost was high last week in Fort Hood, Texas, for thirteen men and women. The cost will be high today in Afghanistan and Iraq and places near and far when men and women wear the uniform with dignity and pride. In a nation that tends to politicize every action of every sort and thereby polarize the people, I plan today to do neither. I will get down on my knees and thank God for a father, a father-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces, grandfathers and countless others who have answered the call of duty to serve our country. I will also thank God for those born and yet unborn who will also serve. I will pass no judgment on those who cannot serve or are opposed to the military for today is not a day to stand on one side or another. Today is a day to stand together and to say thank you....for as long as there remain those who will pledge their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor in defense of a country that they hold dear, then you and I will be able to live in this land as free men and women.

In honor and loving remembrance of my father, Thomas David Scofield, United States Air Force (1927-1962), Veteran of the Korean War, United States Military Academy, West Point Class of 1950.

  

Finding the Hidden Gold

We meet for coffee, my friend and I.

She has a luminous beauty that has been honed
and made incandescent by circumstances beyond her control.

We talk about life and where each of us finds ourself in this journey.

I have come hoping to encourage her.

Source: google.com via Maggie on Pinterest

     We carefully sip our hot fragrant cups of coffee, guarding them with our hands. She eats her oatmeal while I enjoy my raisin scone with hints of lemon. It is easy, these precious hours we spend today in one another's company. It is refreshing for my soul. I don't pretend. Nor does she. We are content to be ourselves. It is a gift. One I do not take lightly.

Source: sweettreatsandgoodeats.com via AdamandAbbie on Pinterest

   This lovely woman and I found a common ground in our faith years before. We studied God's word side by side, prayed and walked together through a season of life fraught with change. Oddly enough, we somehow find ourselves several years later on that same continuum, living lives fraught with change.

   I am the older woman in this relationship of ours, she much younger. Today she confessed that she once thought I lived a perfect, flawless life. I resisted the urge to laugh or to scream. I was shocked and horrified. Thankfully, the story of our friendship moved beyond that lie.

   We have been honest. We have shared our stories. We are sharing our stories.  We are each learning daily about the blessing of truth and the gift of freedom. And perhaps most importantly, we are learning the importance of acknowledging and embracing the loneliness of the soul. Ahh...the loneliness of the soul. No one wants to acknowledge it, much less embrace it. Yet, the loneliness of the soul, is, I believe, precisely what draws us into communion with the One who has called us His own.
   
     The hours slip by. I have come hoping to encourage, but I leave knowing that I have received far more than I have given. If there were scales on which to measure, it would be an uneven exchange. But there are no scales. There is only the gift of the Spirit. He comes, He sees, He ministers. He uses the words and the voice of the young woman who sits across from me. I hear Him calling to me. She and I have shared two hours of conversation, but I have been bathed in the gift of the Lord's presence. I am more than satisfied. I am at peace.

"My heart rejoices in God my savior"..."therefore I am filled with gladness of soul."

Sweetened by the coffee, the scone,
 and the face of the girl before me,
in the broken and the real,
I find the beautiful,
the hidden gold.