Halloween lurks just around the corner. When I was a kid, Halloween in our house came and went without much ado. We lived in the country and my folks weren’t into driving us around to collect candy that we didn’t need and use gas that we did need. Mom would made popcorn balls in case some other parents felt differently. But, most years we made it through another Halloween without trick or tr-eaters and a pan full of popcorn balls. Yes!

But, there was one Halloween that was different. It was announced at the end of the Sunday service in our little Methodist Church in McLean, NE that the children would be gathering and trick-or-treating for UNICEF. I didn’t know what that all meant but if I got to go trick-or-treating, I didn’t care about the details. Mom must have thought it was a big deal, too. She made me the only Halloween costume I can remember. She may have been motivated by the added announcement that there would be prizes for the best costumes. She rummaged through her scrap pile of material and found some burlap; died it coal black and made me a long dress. She crafted a tall pointed hat with a wide brim out of cardboard and covered it with black construction paper. She molded a nose out of clay complete with a wart and presto! I was the happiest little witch in Pierce County and the proud recipient of first place in the costume contest. We won’t mention that there were only six kids in the competition.

Our small group of witches and goblins knocked on every door in that small village. When the porch lights came on we would yell, “trick or treat for UNICEF.” Most folks dropped coins into our buckets and often gave each of us a piece of candy as well. I wasn’t quite sure what UNICEF was all about back then, but I have since learned that this stood for The United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund. It was created on December 11, 1946 to provide emergency food and healthcare to children and mothers in countries that had been devastated by World War II. Since that time it has developed into assisting children and women in all developing countries and is now known as just the United Nations Children’s Fund, although it has retained the UNICEF acronym.

To be honest, my life at this age was short-sighted. Although we were by no means well to do by American standards, we did have vegetables on our table, (thanks to Mom’s big garden) and meat in the freezer (thanks to our own butchered livestock.) It was difficult for me to picture children that didn’t have regular meals because there wasn’t food to make one. I couldn’t imagine that my friends and I could trick-or-treat for candy that evening, yet kids our age in other countries didn’t have supper that night and maybe not the night before, either. I could remember how hungry I would get when Mom was just an hour late putting supper on the table. How thankful these children must be for another supper and not having to go to bed hungry. I felt good about being a part of helping someone that didn’t have the things I had. I wondered if these kids’ circumstances might make them look at life differently.

It brings to mind the James Cain (American author and journalist) quote: If we think only of the desires for two potatoes, one potato will never be enough. But if we consider the possibility of having no potatoes, then one seems like a feast. I hoped that my little contribution in the bottom of my bucket would help someone enjoy a feast.

As I ponder all these things today, it seems to me that the more we have the more we want, and those that are most grateful are those that have little. Maybe it’s God’s way of putting peace into the hearts of the less fortunate. But, are they really less fortunate if they have found the elusive secret of being satisfied with less?

Many of us are stuck in the grind of thinking we need more and more to reach a level of contentedness. But, would we not be more satisfied if we wished for less and were grateful for more?

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

I wanted her so badly, I could almost imagine she was right beside me. Every girl in my second grade class except me had one – or so it seemed. Most of them had gotten their Chatty Cathy’s for Christmas and now it was almost the middle of July; my birthday just around the corner. I had dropped hints nearly every day since first laying my eyes on the doll.

“Mom, you should have been there. All the girls brought their Chatty Cathy’s to school – she’s awesome! You just pull the ring and she says, ‘I love you’ or ‘Please take me with you.’ And she says a lot of other things too – eleven in all.” Then I turned to Dad. “She’s really cute, Dad. She has the cutest blue dress with a white eyelet over-blouse and blue shoes and EVERYTHING,” I exclaimed. I never wasted an opportunity to let my folks know my life depended on this doll.

The twenty inch blue eyed blonde doll had been born in 1959 and she had made a grand entrance into my Osmond, Nebraska classroom in the early 60’s. The pull string mechanism that connected to a simple phonograph record inside the doll, made her the first successful talking doll. The girls that had one under their Christmas tree, became the envy of all of us that did not.

My eyes bulged when I saw Mom carrying the long narrow box – just the right size for Chatty Cathy – to the dining room table where the other birthday presents sat. It was wrapped in bright colored paper with a bow on top. My wish had come true! Tonight, I would be snuggled down in bed with Chatty Cathy! I fidgeted through the cake and homemade ice-cream until it was finally time to unwrap gifts.

I couldn’t wait to get to Chatty Cathy, but I also wanted to leave the best for last. I opened the gifts from my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, and my siblings. Finally, my brother slid the long narrow gift in front of me. I gently removed the bow and handed it back to Mom where it would be recycled for the next birthday. Then I ripped, digging my little fingers beneath the staples at the end of the sturdy cardboard box. My family looked on; waiting to see my reaction to the biggest and grandest present. I yanked, the staples loosened, and a musty smell escaped from the box. What? This wasn’t at all what Chatty Cathy would smell like. I wasn’t sure if it was the smell or the disappointment that was making me queasy. I stared into the dark box; seeing nothing that resembled a doll. I pulled out a lump of heavy folded green canvas, some cold metal poles, and several stakes. I looked closer at the outside of the box. Staring back at me was a picture of a pup tent. A pup tent! I refused to believe it. I tried to hide my distress and my tears. My heart was crushed.

To this day, I do not know why my parents chose to ignore my pleas for a Chatty Cathy and give me a pup tent instead. Maybe it’s because they knew I was not a dolly kind of girl. (My favorite gift up to this point had been a big green and yellow 18 wheeler.) They may have known the novelty would wear off quickly and a pup tent was more practical.

I am grateful, now, that my parents did not give me everything I asked for when it came to birthdays and Christmases (the only times we received gifts.) That disheartening incident helped me to realize I can live without a lot of things and it’s not the end of the world. Denying oneself tends to build character – where as satisfying our every whim is counterproductive. Did you know that 90% of storage facilities in the world are located in the United States – where people pay money to store things they never or rarely use? (statista.com) I’m not saying we can’t purchase things we want once in awhile, but we should be aware of our motives. Many compulsive buyers are trying to fulfill a need they feel deep inside, but Jeremiah 2:13 tells us they are barking down a dry well. For my people have done two evil things: They have forsaken me, the fountain of Life-giving Water; and they have built for themselves broken cisterns that can’t hold water!

If you want happiness at its best – it’s not a better job, a bigger house, glamorous clothes, a fancy car, or any number of things that’s going to bring more than a temporary high. Only God in your heart can fill that void. No matter how much you have, if you don’t have Him, you’ll only bring forth dust from the well.

I’m guessing my folks knew that.

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

“Hurry, Daniel. Your Dad’s waiting in the truck for us,” I said to my eight year old who was agonizing over which candy-bar to pick out at the convenience store where we had stopped. For fear of being disappointed with the choice he’d make, his decisions always proved very time-consuming. What if he picked out the Heath and then, once in the truck, got a craving for peanuts and wished he’d picked the Snickers or the Salted Peanut Roll? I’m sure he and I were dangerously close to being left at the store more than once.

Sometimes, adults have no easier time with decisions than Daniel did; me included. In my late forties, I struggled with whether to apply for a mid-management job in nursing. It would mean more pay, more meetings, less time on the floor taking care of patients and less strain physically. The problem was…I was good at what I did and I enjoyed taking care of people. Still, the increased pay would be welcomed, not to mention no more nights or weekends. I applied after weeks of thinking about it, praying about it, and agonizing about it. What if this wasn’t the right decision? And what if it wasn’t God’s will for me? How was I supposed to know God’s will when He wasn’t responding to my pleas for direction?

As it turned out, it may have been the right decision for a short time. I learned a great deal in mid-management. I became efficient at making out schedules, putting out fires, and increasing diplomacy while serving on various committees. But, I missed the interaction with patients and the comradeship of peers. After a year, I decided “money isn’t everything” and I returned to floor nursing.

As I have matured in my Christian walk and have thought back about the angst I felt when trying to make “the right” decision, I don’t think God had a preference which one I chose. I have come to accept that He doesn’t always make it plain, no matter how much we would like Him to. There may be multiple choices, and it just might be, that He can be okay with any of them. Somewhere along the line we’ve gotten the idea that God’s will involves one choice and that’s it. No wonder we get in a dither about making that “right” decision. If we are walking with Him and He feels a certain decision we are making would be a “wrong choice” for us, the Holy Spirit will let us know, providing we are listening with our hearts.

If we never step out in faith when we are trying to decide on something, will our faith ever grow? But if we trust in God, we can be sure He will use whatever choice we make to teach us and grow us, and He will not waste it…even if we fail. Isn’t this a reassuring thought? It makes making decisions a lot less daunting.

I like this quote from Lysa TerKeurst, president of Proverbs 31 Ministries: My imperfections will never override God’s promises. God’s promises are not dependent on my ability to always choose well, but rather on His ability to use well.

If we will remember Romans 8:28 ( a wonderful promise) we will reduce our stress levels. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. If we love Him that permits us to claim that promise.

That computes into less stress and that is always welcomed around my campfire.

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

My heart plummeted. Where could the electronic tablet be? I searched the house; top to bottom. Not finding it anywhere, I darted to the car and searched it; front and back. It was nowhere. I was sick. This wasn’t just any tablet – it was Mom’s that I had brought home just last week after we three siblings had gotten together and discussed what to do with some of Mom’s personal belongings following her recent death. I had never owned a tablet and it would be portable, yet less strain on my eyes than reading from the phone. But it wasn’t the loss of the convenience that mattered, it was the fact that it was Mom’s.

After my thorough search, I knew in my “knower” what had happened. I had taken it to Wal-Mart hours earlier to get a cord for it. Placing it flatly into the child’s seat of the cart, I tossed my purse on top of it and off I went to the electronics department where I found the cord I needed. I then hurried on to the grocery department with my mind focused on the list in my hand. I had company coming so grocery shopping took me a bit longer than usual – just enough time for me to forget all about the tablet. When I thought back on it, I could not remember taking it out of the child’s seat when I unloaded the groceries into my vehicle. I was more than put out at myself. And as it was, the Samsung cords were all identical. I wouldn’t have had to take it into the store at all. And now it was gone. Kick, kick, kick. I knew the chances of whoever found it, leaving it at customer service was slim. It seems that those considerate endeavors are less and less prevalent these days. “Finder’s keepers” seems to be more the norm.

Oh how I wished God would show up in a big way. You know…like the parting of the Red Sea, or the burning bush, or maybe in a fiery furnace or like when he called out to Lazarus, dead for four days, and his friend comes forth in his tomb clothes. If only He would drop that tablet into my lap! I love all those miraculous Bible stories, but, I’ve learned, that even though He did and can still do these things, He more often chooses to show up in a gentle whisper (1Kings 19:12) throughout the mundane activities of our daily worlds. I think He’s interested in seeing if we notice Him in the little things.

Maybe it’s because my life has been turned upside down and I have sought Him with a deeper and more needful desire that I’m recognizing Him more than I may have in the past. In the last few months, I have recognized Him in the beautiful prayer shawl a classmate sent to me when she had no idea what I was struggling with and the $50.00 that was slipped into a carton of eggs that I received from a friend. Then there’s the supervisor at the Ford Garage that tore up my ticket and gave me a free car-wash on top of it. There was the stranger at the laundromat that gave me a heart warming personal compliment, the friend that sent me a beautiful refrigerator magnet that touched my heart, and the friends from Missouri that went several hours out of their way to stay a night at my house. Where does God show up? Yes, in all of these things….and yes, at Wal-Mart at the customer service desk where an employee hands me a very missed and used Samsung tablet.

God’s out there, let’s open our eyes and our hearts and see Him.

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

The favorite bowl slipped from my hand and landed with a crash on the tile floor. “Oh no,” I moaned as I stared at the many pieces around my feet. What a waste, a beautiful dish; now nothing but rubbish. I grabbed the broom and swept the remains into a pile, dumping the useless pieces into the trash.

Several years after this incident I read a story about a Japanese belief, that immediately took me back to my broken bowl and the shattered pieces I had thrown away. I discovered that the Japanese have a very different take on what to do with these broken items, especially pottery. Instead of discarding them as I did, they meticulously mend the pieces back together, using silver or gold dust. In this way, they are highlighting the brokenness. They celebrate the cracks and display it with pride – it is now a piece made beautiful by its brokenness. Some people look at it as a metaphor of embracing their own flaws and imperfections. They call this practice kintsukuroi or kintsugi, meaning golden repair or golden joinery. You can check out the amazing process on YouTube.

As I went through a difficult time and my heart felt literally broken, I was so grateful that I knew about this Japanese custom. It brought me much comfort to think I might become stronger and more beautiful in my brokenness – just as the pieces of kintsugi pottery do in the hands of the artists. I could see God as the artist, meticulously putting me back together with highlights of gold and silver. I meditated on Isaiah 43:19. The Lord said – forget all that (the past) – it is nothing compared to what I’m going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?

And I did see it. There was evidence that He was doing just that. Just as he had knitted me together in my mother’s womb, He was now knitting my wounded heart back together with His golden threads of love, compassion, grace, and meaningful words. Special qualities within myself that had lain dormant surfaced and I experienced personal growth in areas that had never been tapped before.

I’m not one to buy things for myself, but when I found a kintsugi necklace in the shape of a heart, I felt an urge to purchase it. I wear it nearly every day to remind me that brokenness is – not only repairable – but capable of making one better than before.

If you’ve experienced traumatic heartache, brokenness, or devastation of any kind, I encourage you to adopt this Japanese thought process and let God work to make you better than you were. By his mighty power at work within us, He is able to accomplish infinitely more than we would ever dare to ask or hope. Ephesians 3:20.

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