Author: delilalumbardy@gmail.com

It never changed through thirteen years of school. I was always the most vertically challenged person in my class. By the time I was in 5th grade, I no longer had to wait for the music teacher to tell me where to stand for the annual Christmas concert – I marched to my position – left lower row, outside corner.

Children are inclined to gloat when they surpass the height of their same sex parent – We and most do. Studies have shown that boys typically rise 1-2% higher than their fathers and girls tower over mothers by 3-6 %. As much as it would have pleased me to be one of those statistics, it wasn’t in my bucket. Somehow, my percentage was dumped in my sister’s bucket who surpasses our mother’s 5’2″ by at least 4 inches.

Needless to say, I’ve heard my share of “short jokes” and/or not so subtle insinuations related to my stature. Grade school classmates affectionately called me Shrimp. My high school classmates razzed me about the stack of pillows I needed to see over the steering wheel.  And, as an adult there were incidents that happened, too. Let’s see…I was nearly kicked out of the hometown Home Show when I came home for a visit from college. I had sailed past the sign at the door…ANYONE 12 YEARS OR AGE OR YOUNGER MUST BE ACCOMPANIED BY AN ADULT.  Home Show Security (the business owner at the first booth) confronted me. I whipped out my driver’s license and found it quite rewarding to watch his response. And…when I was six months pregnant and already in what seemed like full bloom, I was given a pair of  size 13 men’s shoes as a gag gift at our hospital Christmas party. “So you can see your toes, again,” the presenter announced. Then theirs my cowboy nephew who’s built like two  fence posts upended on each other, that has affectionately dubbed me “Shorty” and doesn’t want to let me forget it. There’s even been an occasional positive experience.  It’s not every 30 year old that still has candy passed to them through the drive-through window at the bank. (Did not apply if I was driving.)

For the most part, I handle these things with grace, but occasionally something hits me wrong.  So it was, one day when I was working as an orthopedic clinic nurse in Laramie, WY. We had several satellite clinics that we flew to. The surgeons employed their own full-time pilot, and Randy was a personable young fellow. It was his duty to keep us safe in the skies. Randy took his job seriously; if he didn’t think it was safe to fly, we didn’t.

This particular day we were headed to Fort Morgan, Colorado. Randy didn’t always come to the clinic before heading to the airport, but this morning he did. I was on one of the several phones in the hallway with the Fort Morgan personnel as Randy came up the hallway.  He realized, by the course of the conversation that I was talking to the Fort Morgan folks. He waited for me to finish, and when I hung up we took off down the hall together. We chit-chatted for a minute or two, but then out of the blue, Randy peers down over his mustache and says, “How’ s the weather down there?”

I threw out my arm with more force than you would imagine a 5 foot, small framed woman would possess, and landed it squarely across Randy’s abdomen. He gave an “umpf” as he bent forward, astounded at what I had just done. After regaining his balance, Randy stared at me like I owed him an explanation. No worries – I had already planned to give him one. “Randy,” I said with lips pinched, “I get short jokes all the time, and this morning I’m in no mood.” (Most likely due to the fact that the Fort Morgan personnel had 5 more patients on their roster list than I did; charts I would have to locate within the next 10 minutes.)

Randy shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs from the crevices. “Oh, I get it,” he finally said, starting to laugh. This hyped my irritation even more.  I found myself glaring at this pompous man who dared to laugh at my expense. Amid continued chuckles, Randy was just about to return a well deserved surprise to me.  “I just wanted to know what the weather was like in Fort Morgan.”

Oh crap…if there had been a thorn bush nearby, I would have crawled under it.  Of course…it all made sense NOW. With less than a half hour to be in the air, Randy’s mind was focused on weather. Only then did I remember the severe weather warnings I had heard on the way to work that morning.

Wow…how easy it was to misunderstand Randy’s intentions! I’m willing to bet it’s happened to all of us at one time or another – either we misunderstood someone or they misunderstood us. I couldn’t get around it – I crawled out from under the thorn bush and apologized.

The Message Bible had not been published when this story took place.  But, had it been and had I taken Proverbs 8:25 to heart, it may have saved me a bucketful of embarrassment.  Don’t jump to conclusions – there may be a perfectly good explanation for what you just saw (or heard in my case).

Until next month (I publish on the first Monday of the month) keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

If you enjoy this style of writing, check out my book page to find out how you can get my Christian Fiction novels.

Riding my horse, Ginger, across the soft meadow, the sweet smell of clover drifts upwards. My eyes naturally gravitate downward to observe the many rounded white and purple blooms that are scattered generously throughout the meadow. But as I gaze over the gently waving landscape beneath me, it is a sea of not only clover, but species of bluestem grasses, grama grasses, purpletops and many others I do not know the names of. All I know is that the carpet is so thick that a prairie chicken’s nest would not be seen until Ginger cracked an egg. This is a snapshot in my mind from years ago, but thankfully, each year when I visit the home ranch, the picture has been redeveloped – for now.

My dad would tell me, as I was trying to understand things,  that the meadows looked good because they were  sub-irrigated. When he would see my questioning look, he would explain that this meant there was an underground water supply that laid near the surface. Because of this, we had no need of pivot systems to grow great hay for our cattle. Also, because of this water supply near the surface it would have been best had we not had a basement in our house. Many times, when running an errand to grab something from the deep-freeze downstairs,my socks became saturated with ground water, seeping up through the cement floor.

This vast water supply is called the Ogallala Aquifer. It underlies an estimated 174,000 square miles of the Central Plains and spans into portions of eight states. It holds as much water as Lake Huron – nearly 3 billion acre feet of the valuable resource. It is considered a “fossil water” meaning it originated a very long time ago from melted glaciers. It is the major source of irrigation water throughout the eight state area where it lies. This aquifer provides the foundation for the large percentage of the food supply that feeds our nation. Extraordinary amounts of water are taken from it yearly, taking its tole on the water levels. In one Kansas study of the aquifer it has been shown that the water table in some western counties has dropped by as much as two feet per year. This water supply is considered a non-renewable resource, and alarmingly – if depleted,  is estimated to take over 6000 years to replenish naturally through rainfall. This same study also suggests that this depletion could happen in the next 50 years. Thankfully, many scientists and environmentalists realize this possibility and are working on solutions to the problem.

My great niece  – age seven, and her three younger brothers, live on the ranch I grew up on. It would sadden my heart, to see Gracelynn one day, riding across that same meadow kicking up dust and scattering sand-burrs. It’s anyone’s guess what might happen to the Ogallala Aquifer in the future.

But there’s a water supply that doesn’t have to be guessed at.  It’s a water source that quenches our thirst for the soul. Jesus is that living water. In John 7:37-38 Jesus tells us, “If you are thirsty, come to me! If you believe in me, come and drink! He promises to fill us with the living water from the well that always has enough – for anyone that asks. Don’t be timid about asking for your cup of living water. It is the water that sustains me, day in and day out – always renewable. And there’s always enough to share!

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

If this type of writing appeals to you, check out my book page (may have to scroll down a few entries) to see how to obtain either of my Christian Fiction books.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Stan and I married we created a blended family. Along with Stan came Juneau – an Australian Shepherd/Dalmatian mix. Along with me came Jake – a chocolate lab. They were near the same age, but that was where all similarities ceased. Juneau was wary of new people and new dogs. To say the least, Jake and I weren’t on Juneau’s favored list. Jake, on the other hand, didn’t know the meaning of animosity; as far as he was concerned everyone was his friend. And that was only the start of differences between the two.

Juneau could sense a thunderstorm coming before the rest of us knew there was a cloud in the sky. He would cower on his rug, and by the time Stan and I could hear the thunder, Juneau’s poor body was trembling like a teenage boy headed to his first prom. Jake was sacked out on his own rug, the only moving part being his quivering upper lip as he blew snoring breaths past it.

Juneau was cautious about what he ate; often sniffing it several times before ever indulging. And sometimes he didn’t – as if whatever was offered wasn’t anything he wanted to waste his calories on. (If only I could be so disciplined!) He was a dainty eater, too. A large hamburger was chewed off in half a dozen bites. Not so with Jake. He would eat any chance he got and whatever was available. It wasn’t good enough to have the chocolate cake pushed back on the counter – it best be on top of the refrigerator or hidden in it. And a hamburger – you better look quick. One big gulp and it was on its way down the dark abyss.

Juneau was protective of “his space” unless it was Stan that was intruding within it. When I would walk by as he rested on the couch, he often narrowed his eyes and gave a warning growl – just loud enough to make sure I heard it. It didn’t matter who would walk by Jake – friend or stranger – that his tail didn’t start thumbing vigorously as his hazel eyes pleaded for a good long rub behind the ears.

Once Juneau finally grasped that Jake and I weren’t leaving he began working through his depression and little by little he began interacting with us. It was comical to watch his Australian Shepherd instincts kick in as he herded Jake around the house – from one room to another, occasionally snipping at Jake to steer him right where he wanted him to go.  Jake, even though he had thirty plus pounds on Juneau , played along. To him it was just more attention that he welcomed.

As I think about how Juneau herded Jake to make him go this way or that way, I am thankful that God doesn’t snip at us or push us in the direction He wants us to go. Instead, He leads us gently, inviting us to follow Him. In Psalms 18:33, King David proclaims, “He makes me as surefooted as a deer, leading me safely along the mountain heights.” Who couldn’t use a little guidance and leading when maneuvering through a difficult situation? King David was oh, so thankful for His leading, and so am I!

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

If this style of writing appeals to you, check out my book page where you will find where to purchase my two Christian fiction novels.

 

 

 

 

 

I had a best friend growing up and his name was Barney. He was a big guy; weighing about 2000 pounds. Together with Daisy, they made up my dad’s draft horse team. His reddish brown coat was oh…so soft, and his big brown eyes were filled with compassion for the little girl that fed him an ear of corn every night following her run down the lane from the school bus. While he chomped on his ear I provided him with an earful of my own. I spared Barney nothing; he knew all my secrets.

He especially knew my disdain of going to school. After attending the little one room country school with just a handful of neighbor kids, “town school” was  a deep dark sea of intimidating eyes and unfamiliar faces. As I  stood at the edge of the playground watching the other first graders playfully interact, it did nothing but make me want to be home where I was secure and comfortable. I could only imagine what it would be like to join in with my frolicking classmates. No, I didn’t have severe asthma or polio. I wasn’t in a wheelchair, but I might as well have been because my shyness kept me imprisoned as if I was.

Grandpa Harley was a soft spoken, intuitive man. I had no idea he had been witnessing my heart pouring reunions with Barney from across the farmyard. And I for sure didn’t know he was working on a solution… not until Mr. Tom Allan from the Omaha World Herald showed up at school. He knocked on our classroom door and asked Mrs. Windenhausen if he could speak to me  in the hallway. I was shy, six, and scared. He tried to explain to me why he was there, but the only words that stood out to me was “your Grandpa Harley.” That gave me some reassurance that he wasn’t all bad and after a couple of questions, he let me slip back into the classroom.

My next encounter with Mr. Allan was at our kitchen table. Dad and Mom were conversing with him over coffee and donuts when I ran into the house after school that same day. This reassured me that I had nothing to fear for my “non-coffee” parents did not brew the stuff for those that they would rather see move on. Mom and Dad were able to translate what Mr. Allan had tried to tell me at school that morning. Grandpa Harley had written to him, telling him of a special bond between a little girl and a plow horse. It had sparked interest in the human interest writer’s mind.

Within the week, a picture of Barney and me graced the front page of  The Omaha World Herald. My family –  including parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles – made quite an ado about it. I would expect this from my family, but I hadn’t expected it from my classmates. The classmates living in town and who’s parents had subscriptions to the large newspaper, had seen it before I did as our copy would not arrive until the rural mail was delivered that afternoon. Some of the mothers had cut out the picture and sent it to school with their children to give to me. Mrs. Windenhausen held up a copy in front of the class and smiled as she congratulated me. I wasn’t sure what that was all about – I hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary.

But, with that experience, something not so ordinary began to happen within me. I now felt more at home in this classroom and the eyes all around me weren’t so intimidating anymore. The smiles on their faces warmed me and I soon found myself joining in on recess activities. I practiced and practiced Jacks at home in anticipation of being the Wimbledom champion of Jacks in the classroom. I couldn’t wait for recess to show off my skills.

It was years later before I realized what Grandpa Harley had done for me. I continued to be shy through high school – but not painfully so. Psalms 139 tells us that God has examined our hearts and knows everything about us. I do believe that Grandpa Harley was very intuitive, but I’m thinking, on this one – he had a little help from my Heavenly Father.

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

If you like this style of writing, check out my book page for how to get copies of my two Christian fiction novels.

It was early spring of 1976, the year after my first husband and I married, that we moved to Cozad, Nebraska  – a farming community bordering  I-80.  We made the move based on job opportunities and knew no one in this small town or even nearby. The director of nursing that hired me at the twenty bed hospital also had a small home to rent on the northern most street in town. We took it.

This white home with red trim that became ours for a time sat on a long street of mostly moderate, ranch style homes. Our landlady informed us that her/our house was sandwiched between a teacher’s  home – the blue one on the left and a banker’s home – the tan one to the right. I looked up and down the street the day she showed us the house and thought – this is a real neighborhood with backyards, garden spots, patios, and children – unlike the apartment complex in the college town that we had just left. I looked forward to settling in and becoming a spoke of the neighborhood wheel.

Over the next couple of months, we met many of the neighbors. The folks in the blue house invited us over for coffee and rolls the Saturday after we moved in. The large family across the street, in the only two story house on the block, invited us to come to church with them.  A coworker that I had met at work lived just a half block down on the other side of the street. The tan house next to us, however, seemed exceptionally quiet. We had caught a glimpse of a suited man leaving for work in the mornings and a young boy heading off to school. I wondered if this was a single dad raising his son or if it was a family that just preferred to stay to themselves.

It was now May and I was spending more time outdoors. One warm and sunny evening as I unpinned the sheets from the clothesline,  I glanced over the fence to the tan house. It struck me as absurd that our houses were but a few yards apart and I still had not met Mrs. Tan. Granted – we did not know everyone in our apartment building either, but this was small town America! My husband by this time had met Mr. Tan over the backyard fence and we now knew a wife did exist.

Mid morning, the following day,  I arranged an enticing plate of warm, chocolate chip cookies and headed next door.  I rang the doorbell and waited…and waited. I was sure I had heard it chime, but just in case…I thought to knock loudly  before aborting the mission. I waited again, but soon decided it was time to go. Probably just as well, I thought, as my shy tendencies kicked in. She obviously did not want to be bothered. Just as I turned to descend the steps I heard the doorknob turn.

“May I help you?” A woman, I guessed to be in her early thirties with short reddish brown hair and a big smile, stood looking at me.

Any anxiety that had built up on the step, immediately dissipated. “I’m your new neighbor,” I said nodding towards our house next door. “My name’s DeLila.  I brought over some cookies for you and your family,” I continued, holding out the plate.

Elaine introduced herself as she invited me  in. She seemed genuinely glad that I had come. She apologized for not having been over and she laughed at the irony of me bringing her cookies instead of vice versa. I was even more baffled why someone with such an outgoing personality wouldn’t have come by.  And then I “saw” the answer. Propped up with pillows on each side of her, the child still leaned heavily to one side in the chair.  Although a beautiful child; her coarse facial features, skeletal abnormalities, and general appearance made me aware that this was a special needs child in need of constant one on one care.

After this initial meeting, we were invited into their home often. In the summer it was a weekly event to pool our leftovers and meet on their patio for Saturday evening dinner.

Elaine became more than just a friend to me – she became a mentor. When I didn’t know what to do with the surplus of tomatoes we grew, she taught me to can in exchange for a few jars of tomatoes. When I didn’t have a clue how to keep the checkbook and overdrew our account, she invested hours to help me find the mistake. She then gave me step-by-step instructions how to do it properly. When our two boys came along, Mr. and Mrs. Tan became Auntie Elaine and Uncle Leland.

I knew I was going to miss Elaine when we moved to Wyoming.  She had taken me under her wing and grew me – always with compassion and a delightful disposition. We bravely said our goodbyes and promised to write often, call some ( long distance still cost money), and most importantly – vowed we wouldn’t let this be the last time we saw each other.

My…my….so many broken promises in this lifetime. We never intended it to be this way, but we moved, and then they moved. Our paths just never crossed again. Eventually, even the Christmas letters stopped as we became more disconnected and went on with our busy lives.

How fortunate we are that God’s promises (covenants) stand firm and true – never to be broken.  Remember the promise He made to Noah after the flood?  He promised to never again destroy the earth with a flood and then He set the rainbow in the clouds to be a sign of that covenant. (Genesis 9:11-13). When I see a rainbow it never fails to remind me of this promise. And isn’t it interesting? Astronauts seeing rainbows from space – assure us that they form a complete circle – unbroken and unending.

The broken promises that Elaine and I made to each other as we hugged goodbye was 35 years ago. As I was preparing this blog, I couldn’t help but check Facebook once again. This time I found her! The friend request has been sent and I’m waiting, hoping to mend that broken promise.

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

(If you enjoy this style of writing, visit my “Book Page” on this same site and see how to purchase one of my Christian Fiction books, Bound by Secrecy and the sequel Bound by Three Strands.)