Author: delilalumbardy@gmail.com

Sometimes God seems to have a sense of humor when teaching us things. He seems to think it’s great fun to turn the tables to make a point. At least he does it that way in my life. I think He knows that will get my attention and that’s exactly what happened to me this week. But before I tell you what happened, I need to give you some back story.

When I was working in small hospitals, where I profess that nurses are jacks of all trades but masters of none, my assignment would sometimes be labor and delivery. Throughout the years, I heard some creative names given to babies. There were the cute and clever names like Winter Storm, Rocky Cliff, and Forest Green. Other parents might name their kids after their favorite place to vacation such as Phoenix, Dakota, Brooklyn, and Austin. Some name them after favorite characters in their favorite novel. I know a little boy who’s name is Attichus from the book “To Kill A Mockingbird” and his sister’s name is Harper -the author of the same book. Some parents like to stick to a pattern such as giving their children all “J” names or “D” names.

These are just harmless, fun ways for parents to name a baby. But, I’ve wondered at the harmlessness of certain names, especially those that babies have to share with famous, non-reputable characters. For instance – the name Cain comes to mind – the first murderer in the Bible. And there’s Jezebel – the Israelite queen known for wickedness and vileness. And yes, I’ve known babies with these names. I honestly confess that I’ve had “attitude” with these parents and even shared my attitude about it with co-workers.

Fast forward to this week. I’m playing pickle-ball at the city’s outdoor courts. All six courts are full and Paul and I have drawn a “bye”. We grab our water bottles and sit on the bench beside Court One. Byes are often the only time to engage in chit-chat during the fast paced games. We use “bye time” to learn something about each other and share snippets of our personal lives. (We have less than 15 minutes.) Paul, being a direct kind of guy, didn’t waste any time.

“Of all the biblical names your folks could have named you, why did they name you DeLila?” It made me pause. I’ve always liked my name; an uncommon first name that balanced out my most common maiden name – Smith. And I always felt it was special to have been named after a favorite aunt. But Paul obviously thought of it just like I thought of Cain or Jezebel. Come to think of it, other than being persistent and relentless in a greed hungry scheme to unearth the secret of Samson’s strength, I can’t think of another reputable characteristic that Delilah owned.

Once recovered from Paul’s uninhibited question, I gave him an answer, I told him the story of my name. “I have an Aunt LeVila and my parents wanted to name me in honor of her. But to avoid confusion by having the very same name (she was LeVila Smith – married to my Dad’s brother) they named me DeLila.” I added a quick thought, “My middle name is Ruth – does that balance things out?”

Paul didn’t answer; just smiled. But, as I left the court that day, calling out my usual, “See everyone on Tuesday,” Paul called after me, “Bye, Ruth!”

“Okay, God…I get it,” I thought reflectively as I walked to the car. I’ll keep my attitude and opinions to myself about non-reputable names. Isn’t God a clever One?

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

I have a beautiful butterfly quilt made by my great-grandmother, Minnie Schultz, and I have the kerosene lamp that hung in their kitchen. These mean a great deal to me, because I remember my great -grandmother. She was a seamstress and I can imagine how she sat many hours beneath that lamp, hand-stitching many quilts – just like the two my sister and I have in our homes now. She found this a good way of using up scraps of fabric she had collected over the years as she sewed for those in her small community. I have chosen to display them in my home rather than to box them up and protect them to leave for the next generation.

They will mean more to me than anyone that follows because I had relationship with her. I am reminded of her sweet smile, her deaf ears, and her love of flowers whenever I glance at these two keepsakes. What could those that never knew her possibly think of when looking upon them?

In the book, Imagine Heaven, (New York Times Bestseller) author John Burke states, “Most of us don’t know the names of our great or great-great grandmothers and grandfathers. That’s only three or four generations removed from us, and we owe them our lives – yet they’ve already been forgotten. Even if they’ve been remembered, most names will be forgotten within a hundred years, and all will be forgotten eventually. Yet we all want to be remembered.”

In this same book that recounts numerous near death experiences, Dr. Richard Eby who plunged two stories headfirst to the sidewalk below after a railing gave way, recalls the first words the Lord said to him. “Dick, your dead!” This was a name that only his family and close friends called him. Dr. Eby believes this shows the intimacy the Lord has with those He created. When Dr. Eby asked the Lord why he called him “Dick”, the Lord answered, “When I died for you on the cross, it was a most intimate thing.”

Dr. Eby spent ten hours as a lifeless corpse, but he states that he never forgot how personally he is known and loved. Oh! If we could all have that wonderful assurance! It doesn’t seem so important to be remembered here on earth when we know how blessedly loved and remembered we are going to be in eternity.

There are many, many scripture verses about God’s love for us. One of my favorites is Zephaniah 3:17. The LORD your God is in your midst, A Warrior who saves. He will rejoice over you with joy; He will be quiet in His love (making no mention of your past sins), He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy. (Amplified Version) It tells us twice how much He rejoices over us. That’s to emphasize the importance of it and to make sure we hear it. Just as we would treat a most valued friend, He likes to spend time with us. He creates calmness with his love – never rubbing our sins in our face. And last but not least – He fights to save us. I can’t think of a better description of love.

How comforting it is to be reminded that we will NEVER be forgotten and always loved by the one that created us. He calls us by our most intimate names.

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

Even though I was only eight years old, I remember that first time my conscience bothered me. Just the fact that I still remember it this many years later, attests to the impact it had on me. Mom had come to me and said she had a question. I followed her into my parent’s bedroom on the upper level of our old farmhouse. She pointed to a small burned area on the top of their blond dresser.

“DeLila, can you tell me anything about this?”

I was caught off guard. I had no idea that my shenanigans a couple of days earlier had left a burned area, the size of a nickel. But then, I remembered the kitchen door had squeaked and I had thrown the match down and ran lickity split to my room. My stomach somersaulted at Mom’s question. I panicked. My parents were fair disciplinarians but maybe there was a way out of discipline all together. Almost before I knew it, I had lied. I wouldn’t say it came easy…but it spilled out, none the less.

“No, maybe Dave knows,” I said faster than it takes to strike a match. ( I would know.) My hope was that Mom would consider my suggestion seriously and go in search of Dave, leaving me a way to escape, never to be found again.

But, of course, Dave didn’t know anything. I had intentionally performed my crime so that no one would see me. Dad was in the field; Mom and Dave were in the garden. Connie was napping in her crib. I knew the squeaky kitchen door would function as an alert system for anyone coming into the house.

My parents may have suspected that I had lied, but they didn’t press the issue. I guess you could say I got away with it. But, I didn’t feel like I had gotten away with anything. Punishment from my parents was withheld, but my mind failed to let me forget what I had done. Not only had I put our house in jeopardy, but now I had lied on top of it. I had nightmares that the house burned down. I imagined that my parents didn’t love me as much anymore, because they suspected I’d lied. Shame and guilt took residence in my little eight year old heart.

Unfortunately, maintaining a clear conscience is not just a child problem. Temptations are always knocking at our doors. As adults we can be tempted to lie on our taxes, cheat on our spouses, accept the extra change the clerk gives back, stretch the truth on our resumes, watch movies we know corrupt our minds, and who knows what else. We pay a price for these things.

Charles Spurgeon, the great 1800’s English preacher makes this appeal: Never sacrifice your conscience. Lose all rather than to lose your integrity, and when all else is gone, still hold fast to a clear conscience as the rarest jewel that can adorn the human heart.

I certainly sacrificed my conscience the day I lied. I didn’t know at that age what to do about it, once it was done. But Healthline.com recommends that I would have been better off if I had followed these steps:

1. Taken responsibility for what I did.
2. Expressed remorse and regret without letting it turn into shame.
3. Committed to making amends for any harm I caused.
4. Practiced self-acceptance and trusted myself to do better in the future.

Although I am not proud of how I handled that situation, the experience did provide me with valuable insight into what was important to me. I never wanted to succumb to a temptation again that would pave a path to experience the emotions of guilt and shame that caused me so much turmoil. I don’t think it’s out of line to say that the experience I had as an eight year old formed a large portion of my character today.

It’s freeing to me to know I can learn from my mistakes and I can actually become a better person because of them. Not all is lost if I don’t waste the experience.

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

That gem that Charles Spurgeon speaks about is a very precious stone.

Three weeks ago when I wanted to schedule another chiropractic appointment, I was told they couldn’t schedule at that time because the computer system was down. Eventually, when more than a week had passed and the computer system was still down, they began scheduling the old fashioned way.

This Sunday when folks arrived at our church they were told the electricity was off across most of the town and would likely not be up again until late morning. It took some thought of how to proceed with church without the convenience and familiarity of electricity. The children in the pre-kindergarten class were elated when told their class would be held outside since their classroom had no windows. Microphones, of course, didn’t work so we “cozied” together in the front of the sanctuary – without our filled coffee cups, I might add. The band instrumentation was reduced to an acoustic guitar and we sang the good old songs we knew from heart. I found it to be reflective of how it might have been for my grandparents and great-grandparents to have worshiped.

Both of these situations can remind us that we are not in control. Even though some would like to be, none of us really are. Did we have anything to say about when we arrived in this world? Will we have anything to say about the day we will depart?

And think about the seasons – do we order the first snow or the first bud to appear on the apple tree in the backyard? Which leaf will be the first to turn red on the maple tree and what day will the tomatoes be ready to harvest? We are humbled when we realize we have no control over any of these things.

Our peace and security however, does not come from being in control. That’s only a facade at best. The person that barks loudest may like you to believe they are in control, but in reality, they are no more so than the meek one. The One that sculpted the universe, orders the seasons, and loves you and me as if we were the only one to love is in control. Peace does not come from us thinking we are in control – true peace comes only by having Jesus in our hearts and knowing the One that is sovereign over all things. Tonight we can sleep restfully knowing He lovingly carries us through every season we enter.

I’ve been carrying you on my back from the day you were born, And I’ll keep on carrying you when you’re old. I’ll be there, bearing you when you’re old and gray. I’ve done it and will keep on doing it, carrying you on my back, saving you. Isaiah 46:4 (MSG).

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

I threw my only pole, an ultra-light with 6 pound test line into the back of my SUV along with my fishing box. My sister had called. “The turkey hunter has caught a couple of nice catfish out of the hole by the culverts,” she reported. “You might want to bring your pole.”

I was headed to the home ranch for a three night visit. May is my favorite time to go. The hills are green, the new calves are cute and spunky, and the deer flies have not arrived yet.

Back when I was growing up on the ranch, I fished for carp in the Calamus River that winds quietly through the meadows. They were big and feisty and Mom would fry them up. It was a meal we didn’t have to buy so “catch and release” was not in our vocabulary. I honestly don’t believe I became familiar with that phrase until after I was married. I was always made to feel that I had contributed greatly by providing the supper’s main dish. Catfish and bullheads were not available in the Calamus when I fished it as a kid. These species didn’t migrate upstream into our territory until the Calamus Dam (now known as the Virginia Smith Dam) was erected at Burwell, Nebraska in 1986. By this time, I was living in Buffalo, Wyoming – married with two small boys.

There are three culverts that cross under the road, just south of the house I grew up in. They replaced the old wooden bridge that was there when we first moved to the ranch in 1965. The force of the water through these culverts has carved out a nice big hole for the fish to hang in and a pool where the great nieces and nephews swim on sweltering summer days.

I rigged up my pole just the way Caleb, my son, had told me – a treble hook with some beef liver encased in a small nylon bag fashioned from a pair of panty-hose. This keeps the soft, pliable liver contained and on the hook.

I stepped out onto the middle culvert. I was pleasantly surprised that the trick with the panty-hose seemed to work well. After several casts the liver was still securely in place. Even though the Calamus is generally an easy going stream, the current is strong by these culverts. It pays to keep alert so your line doesn’t get sucked into one of the large rotund structures.

My heart rate jumped when I felt the strong tug on the fourth cast. It soared higher when – whatever it was – began pulling my 6 pound line back against the current. I watched in amazement as my open reel began to spin out of control. It seemed much like the time I hit black ice in my Ford Ranger. My light pole and reel – perfect for South Dakota trout – was going to be no match for this guy. I had little confidence that I would actually land this fish, but until he snapped the line – I was playing.

Since my equipment was no match, it seemed my best bet would be to allow him to tire out before I tried to maneuver him towards the shore. I was fairly certain the hook was secure since he hadn’t spit it out yet. Maybe, just maybe….if he would lose the fight in him…I could ease him up to the shore.

My plan was progressing forward. As he tired, I could reel him in closer in increments of inches at a time. Finally, I brought the exhausted fish so close that I could tighten my line so his huge head was above the water and lying on the sand. Keeping the line taut, I scrambled – well, not exactly scrambled – down the three foot vertical bank. Had someone been with me, they would have likely said I cautiously eased down the embankment. (It must have been my heart that was scrambling.)

Oh my…here I was! It looked like I was going to get this fish ashore! But, just as I pulled on the line a bit more to bring his whole body out of the water, the line snapped. One flap of his tail and he would be gone. Thanks to my nursing career, my critical thinking skills kicked in. I reached down and sank the fingers on each hand into his gills and pulled him up the remaining way up out of the water. If I could keep my fingers anchored where they were, I would have the biggest fish I had ever caught. Keeping my fingers in his gills wouldn’t be a problem but striving to climb back up the three foot vertical bank in that position would be.

I’m not sure how I managed to do it as I really do not remember the minutes that occurred from the shoreline to the road. I do know the whole experience was an adrenaline rush. That may have helped propel this 68 year old grandma vertically upward without the use of hands.

Sometimes, our own strength isn’t enough to do what’s placed in front of us. During these times we can rely upon a supernatural strength that we have access to as Christians. Philippians 4:13 tells us that we can do all things through Him who strengthens us. It’s a great verse to put in our back pockets for we never know when we will be faced with a situation that requires more strength than we have on our own.

That catfish was mighty fun to catch, but the big old thing was nothing to write home about when it came to supper. I would have just as soon had some of that carp Mom used to fry up.

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