Waiting

Waiting for something important in your lilfe?  Still waiting? Who likes to wait?  Patience must be a virtue because it doesn’t come naturally to most of us.  But there is a reward for patience, especially when tethered to prayer.  If you're waiting, let me encourage you with a true story.

My husband, Don, spent summers on his grandparent’s farm.   Lester and Mary Livingstone were the nice next-door neighbors.  They’d never had children, but when Don would ride his favorite outside toy, a red tricycle that looked like a miniature tractor, Mr. Lester would call out, “Don, I think you need a fill up.  Come on over.”  Don pedaled as fast as his chubby little legs would go.  Mr. Lester would get out his garden hose and ‘fill-up’ Don’s tractor/trike and make small talk with this small boy. 

Mr. Lester had an older brother, Mr. Farley who was the opposite.  He’d come to visit, but he was surly, grumpy, and wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone because he didn’t want to be bothered to have to speak to you.

As years passed, Don knew that Mr. Lester and Mrs. Mary prayed everyday for Mr. Farley to give his life to Jesus.  But time went on and Mr. Farley’s hair turned whiter, and his disposition turned surlier and grumpier.

Then one summer, as was Mr. Farley’s custom, he came for a visit.   Somehow he was persuaded to go to church, which he never would before.  To everyone’s great joy, Mr. Farley gave his heart and life to Jesus!  He was never the same.  Surliness and grumpiness were gone.  He smiled. His eyes danced. He’d seek you out to talk, especially about his favorite topic, Jesus.

Mr. Farley didn’t live too much longer.  But the Livingston’s prayers were answered.  Not right away.  In fact, as the years had gone by, it didn’t seem like they even were being heard in the heavens.  They didn’t give up.  Instant answers to prayers are nice, and quite frankly, what we all prefer.   Charles Sprugeon knew that when he said, “If we have hope for what we don’t see, we’ll wait with patience for it.”  

Of course, Mr. Farley becoming a Christian is the powerful and wonderful answer to prayer.  But, to me, the other powerful lesson in this story is Mr. Lester and Mrs. Mary’s perseverance and dedication to prayer.  They had to believe that prayer was worth their time and effort.  They had to believe that prayer was the key to moving Mr. Farley’s heart to God.  They had to believe that God was hearing them even when they didn’t see any evidence.  Patience might not be a natural part of me.  But faithfulness is a natural part of God!     

Just because our life is busy and fast and full of activity and facebook and twitter, doesn’t obligate God to instant answers.  I have several prayers that I’m waiting for answers.  When I think about Mr. Farley’s transformation in Christ, it urges me to keep praying. 

Moving Forward is continuing to move forward with prayer in expectation of God’s movement in His precise, perfect timing. 

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Found!

Mother’s petite chandelier is found, hung, and lighting up the sitting area of our bedroom.  In an earlier blog, I shared with you the mystery we were experiencing in the disappearance of that chandelier. 

I discovered it among the many boxes of family memorabilia.  Don’s mother, Hilda, had collected and saved boxes and boxes full of pictures, old journals, diplomas, letters, and other treasures going back a number of generations.

Hilda had stored all those memories in dozens of banker’s boxes which neatly stack.   For the move, I also packed pictures, high school and college yearbooks, and family treasures in banker’s boxes.  I really don’t remember why, and obviously forgot that I did it, but I packed the chandelier in an extra one. So when I sectioned off the basement to make triage areas, the chandelier got mixed in with the family history. I guess, in a way, you could say it belonged there.  

Now, before I go to sleep and then when the sun finds my bedroom window in the mornings, I look at that chandelier and think, found.  What a wonderful word and feeling! When something is lost, finding it is the only goal.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a big or small item, valuable or simply necessary. 

 

The older I get, the more I realize that peace is something that gets lost, and we're all searching for it.   When I can’t find peace, I’ve let it get buried under worry and my mood can crumple like an old piece of paper. However, I’ve been a Christian long enough to know that peace didn’t get lost on its own.  God never takes it.  I let it go.  I’m sure you’ve even heard someone declare, “I’m a worrier. That’s who I am!” I’ve known people who made worry their main activity.  Chuck Swindoll counters that when he said, "The remarkable thing is, we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day." 

So why would I ever, even for a moment, trade peace for worry?  It’s not an equal trade. Worry takes up too much room.  It’s too much like a sponge, soaking up any joy or hope that enters its space and sucks up peace with it.  That leaves me without a good reason, excuse, or explanation to make that trade.  

 

This is the day the Lord has made! We will rejoice and be glad in it.  There's a real promise in those words.  This is the day the Lord has designed, arranged, and planned with you in mind. Like my lost chandelier, peace is there all the time.  You just have to look in the right place.  Let’s Move Forward toward peace!  

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Johnny Appleseed

We have apple trees. I’m not sure we’ll get apples from them, but that’s our hope and expectation. We went to a class, at a local orchard, to learn about the care and feeding of apple trees. Having lived in Florida for most of my life, citrus trees and groves are what I’m most familiar with. It wasn’t unusual to get citrus from a generous neighbor who had trees or from a road side stand. But your apples came from the grocery store.

Georgia is known as the Peach State, but the area where we live is apple country. Our home came with a lovely terraced section with apple trees, a few peach trees, a couple of persimmon (still not sure what to do with that fruit should it produce any—can you say “pucker up?”) and four huge fig trees.

However, there were a few bare places where trees were missing. So we, still have painting to finish, boxes to unpack, shelves to put up in closets, a vanity to replace in a bathroom, and countless other projects, decided to get some fruit trees to fill in those empty places. (I attribute all questionable thinking to paint fumes.)

We learned, at the class, that apple trees need to be pruned for best yield. I know that’s not a profound thought, but it did make a thought-wrinkle in my brain. The pruning, the apple expert explained, is so that light and air can circulate in and around the tree. That's what makes better and more apples. It’s not just, as most people think, because the tree will make better fruit if it doesn’t have so much weight with extra branches.

This move has made me realize the truth of the old adage that you can live with a lot less than you think. As I unpack boxes, the thought sometimes races across, “Wow! I forgot I had this.” Which in reality translation means: Wow! Do I really need this?

Since there’s some changes we still want to make in the kitchen, not all kitchen items have been unpacked. So I’ve used pans for mixing bowls and jelly jars for storing leftovers among other substitutions that work just fine. There’s something freeing and energizing about living with less stuff.

For about six years I did a syndicated radio show, and one of the most popular topics I talked about was organizing and living with less. Response was always positive and high for that. But listeners often lamented that their wish was to be better organized and live ‘lighter’ but where to start????

And that brings us back to the apple trees. We were told to find the centermost, tallest, straightest vertical branch, called the leader. Then to remove lower horizontal limbs that are weak and stopping air flow. So, I’m not an apple tree, but I need to find the centermost important value in my life. Then get rid of all the life-sucking things, thoughts, and activities that hinder its growth and production. Voila! Apples and a fulfilling life. Applesauce and meaningful relationships. Apple pie and clutter-free living. Apple muffins and . . . okay I’ll stop.

Less really is more! Move forward with less clutter and have less stress and more apples.  Just one more thing-- take a minute and go kiss the apple of your eye.

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18 Turkeys

I spent the morning unpacking boxes (what else do I do these days?).  Don spent the morning painting (what else?).  When we took a break to look out at the spectacular day and the majestic mountains, there were 18 turkeys in our front yard.  Really, there were 18!  I read somewhere there are 7 million wild turkeys in the U.S.  I’m not sure why I even remembered that bit of fairly useless information, but it surfaced when the band of 18 showed up.

This pack of turkeys has been in the pasture  and up on the ridge behind the house, but we haven’t seen them in the front yard.  I guess they’re getting braver as they assess their new neighbors from Florida.   

Don carefully eased the blind all the way up to take a picture from the window.  We knew not to open the door—tried that when they were up on the ridge, and off they went.  But the alert head tom turkey heard that slight muffled clacking of the blind going up.  You see, while the 17 had their heads down eating tasty morsels from my yard, that one turkey had his head up, vigilant in his guard duty.  He quickly fanned out his tail feather to show us he was the holder of the power and the protector. Then without a another moment of delay, he led his group away.  

We’ve watched this troop while they dined in the pasture. When they’ve had enough, they sometimes march off in a straight line, following the head turkey with his tail feathers spread in authority. There are young turkeys in the crowd, lady turkeys, and a couple of other toms who occasionally show their plumage. But only one is the leader.  

I’m no expert on turkeys, but it struck me that not only was the tom-in-charge ready to display his feathers, i.e. his badge of authority, and head his flock out of danger, he was willing to stand guard while the others ate.

I recognize that as servant-leadership.  So many people want to show their plumage and get to call the shots, but doing the work to gain that authority isn’t so much fun.  So that step is often omitted. 

Leading a group, a family, an organization, whatever, without showing you care for them, it won’t matter how big your tail feathers, how far you spread them, how fast you strut, no one wants to follow.   

Turkey lesson for me is the reminder that Moving Forward often happens while you’re standing still and allowing others to get the choicest morsels.     

I always love hearing from you!   sharon@sharonkiser.com or go to my website sharonkiser.com   Thank you to those who link this blog to your facebook!!

 

 

Mother's Chandelier

“It has to be here.”  Don said it this time.  We’ve taken turns saying that as though it would make the box appear.

I’ve tried to be organized on this move to Georgia.  Every box packed in Florida was supposed to be labeled with all contents.  When we arrived at our new home in Georgia, I made stations in the basement—one for kitchen boxes, one for bedroom, another for office, and on it goes. 

Then in each station, boxes were stacked with their labels to the front, and a path to walk in between each stack.  

I’ll admit that we still say, with some regularity, “Have you seen. . .(insert any common household item here).”  But, for the most part, we find what we’re looking for. 

Except for the box that has my mother’s little chandelier.   I grew up with this petite fixture with its crystals baubles and glowing lights.  After Mother and Daddy died, it became mine.  It was just the right size for my powder room in Florida. Now, in Georgia, our bedroom has a small sitting area that, I believe, Mother’s chandelier is what it needs.   That is, if I could find it.

So Don and I circle the stacks.  I thought it might have gotten put in the wrong section. I’ve checked in bathroom, office, even the laundry room area. 

I last saw that box in the living room in Florida with other boxes ready to go.  It was marked “Mother’s Chandelier.”  So I know it has the correct label, and it made the trip. It’s here.  But where?

I take great comfort in knowing that God is findable.  He made us to long for Him.  Then He set Himself in full view.  Look at what He says. “I will be found by you."  God makes sure He does the “being found.”  No hide and seek here. He’s standing in front of you.  “Here I am,” He’s clearly saying.  He’s not hiding behind other gods or taunting you just beyond reach.

I want to put up that fixture.  I’m eager to see if it will be as perfect there as I’m picturing.  But since it’s not making itself known, we have to continue with the other projects that need completing.  Sometimes to move forward, you have to wait for something to show up while you keep working.   Thankfully, I don’t have to wait for God.  And neither do you. 

Thank you to those who’ve linked this blog to your facebook.  I really appreciate your support!

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Woohoo! It’s Garbage Eve

I like to have fun.  Mention the word ‘party’ and I’m there! (Notice I didn’t say invitation—so be careful about saying the “p” word around me.) I love to laugh. My husband makes me laugh every day—after nearly 44 years of marriage, he can still make me laugh till it hurts.  But even with all that merriment and enjoyment of merriment, I find myself getting way too serious, way too often.

Every once in a while, I have to remind myself to enjoy the small things, to take pleasure and delight in the everyday, simple things and activities of life.  After all, life is really made up of the everyday.  The spectacular, the over-the-top exciting, and parties are the occasional events of life. 

I have a wonderful friend whose mother would say with great excitement, as though it were a celebration, on the night the garbage needed to be taken out, “It’s garbage eve!”

I want to be easily amused.  I want to laugh often.

I want my heart to smile at the sight of a pretty cloud meandering across a blue sky or the brush of a soft breeze.  I want to take pleasure in a basket of clean laundry, instead of the thought of still having to put it away.  I want to savor that rich taste of that first sip of the first cup of coffee in the morning, instead of mentally ticking off the day’s to-do list while I drink.  I want to be grateful for a close-by parking spot in a rain storm, instead of being frustrated for having to be out doing things in the rain.

I want to remember that life, like recipes, for the most part is flexible. Time is a valuable asset, but stopping to just be, every now and again, is as important as doing.   

It’s easy to laugh at a funny joke, but to take delight in taking out the garbage, now that’s enjoying life in its most everyday of moments.

However, when you think about it, to move forward, you need to get rid of the garbage.  So come on and say it with me—“Woohoo!  It’s Garbage Eve!”

Georgia on my mind.

We’ve moved.  Not just moved forward, but northward.  North Georgia to be exact.  When a friend learned where we were moving, she said, “In Georgia, you’re from south Georgia, Atlanta, or north Georgia.  And we’re about as far north as you get and still be in Georgia.

Our little town, Mineral Bluff, is tucked between two quaint little towns.  One is McCaysville, where a blue line runs through the IGA parking lot.  On one side, you’re in Georgia on the other Tennessee.  Tourists take pictures straddling the line.  So far we haven’t done that, however. . .

If you go the opposite direction, you head into the other quaint town, Blue Ridge.  It’s nestled in the mountains and has friendly folks, beautiful views, and a scenic railroad trip that people come from far and wide to take.  We haven’t done that yet either.  But that’s a for-sure on our list of things-to-do in our new town.

Moving to Georgia, after living nearly 58 years in Florida, has been one of those experiences that make an indelible imprint on one’s mind.  The imprint is far more emotional, strenuous, and just plain massive in every way than I had imagined when imagining the move. 

How do I pack up all our worldly goods, say good-bye to dear, dear friends, our wonderful church family, my hairdresser, the one I’ve had since 1975?  Will we find where to buy tires or raw honey?  Will I often run into someone in the grocery store who I know to happily stop and chat with?  Who will be my dentist and doctor?  How will I ever have a neighbor who shares her homemade hot-out-of-the-oven cinnamon rolls and gives my dog a treat every afternoon?  And everything else that makes up the rhythm of daily life?

In order to move, I started a new exercise routine—boxing.  As I boxed dishes, towels, clothes, you know, all the regular household things, I relived memories while I boxed pictures, my son, Andrew’s, baby rattle, and daughter, Lisa’s, tiny flower girl dress from my sister’s wedding.  Both Lisa and Andrew are grown, married, and have children.  Doesn’t matter.  Those things and the other treasures that I rediscovered are special and had to come to Georgia with me.

After all the boxing and good-byes, comes the excitement of new place.  We love our new home—it’s a gift from God in every way. 

I’m unboxing now, painting walls, and eager to ‘swap howdies’ with my new neighbors.  Moving forward sometimes means really and truly moving!

I’d love to hear from you.  You can email me at sharonkiser@aol.com or visit my website: sharonkiser.com.