I drove to the Rehab Center to brighten my friend's day on this Valentine's Day. There I found a van that was way too familiar to me-filled to capacity overflowing with fragrant flowers, bursting buds of charismatic colors that would make some one happy.
I stuck my head casually in the open door and laughingly said to the lady, "I thought of you this morning,"(tongue in cheek)as I rehearsed former days when I would stay up nearly all night preparing for this special occasion.
"I hope this is a smooth painless day as you deliver and make folks happy." I quickly left-nearly blessed. I really felt that way as I recall breathing that prayer many times when snow storms and icy roads overpowered delivery. Deliveries had to be perfect to keep customers. I recall one time that a clerk in her hastiness enclosed a sympathy card instead of the Happy Valentine's Day card. Embarrassed for sure.
Finding the right words and delivering the bouquets were just as important as anything I had to say or write.It still is today when I've said something and received a frown. Or wrote something teasingly and heard an earful.
The other night Austin fell from a small kitchen stool and in trying to catch him from re-breaking his arm, he was sad at my urgency and his gentle spirit was crushed. "I'm sorry, Austin. I didn't mean to hurt you," as I took him in my arms and carressed him.
Oh, my feeble words. Lord, help me to choose them wisely, so I don't hurt anyone in reading my thoughts, intentionally or by just an inflection of the right words wrongly used.Oh Lord, remind me to pray, "Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart Be acceptable in Your sight.(Psalms 19:14)and let the message be the right delivery.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
A Winter Guest
I love guests. All kinds especially those who love Southern cooking and don't use "the white glove test" to check out my housekeeping. But guests come in all colors, shapes and sizes-no "cookie cutter" kind if they take advantage of my guest room, formerly called "the prophet's chamber." I used to entertain the General Superintendents down to those-well that's another story.
Late 70's, it was when a snowstorm disabled our area. An evangelist from England who had once spoken for our church called when he heard that his speaking engagements had been cancelled for two weeks. After sharing his dilemma, my husband welcomed him. Our young sons were delighted as this man played ping- pong with them. Little did they know this man's credentials nor how important he was across America. Dr. Albert J. Lown soon made himself handy by shoveling a path through the snow from the parsonage to the church. He found children in pre-school and sat in the circle reciting nursery rhymes with them as only he could do.
Dr. Lown had a lot of qualities I admired-like afternoon tea where we got acquainted with the tender heart of a man who missed his dear Marion and children in Keighley, England. And then he asked me an unexpected question,"And what do you write?"
How he knew that I did write surprised me, but he expected that from teachers. "Would you share a manuscript?"That day marked the first time I had a gentle critique of an author. Had I known the extent of this man's talent, I would have hesitated. But what he did to inspire me was to pursue a market for it immediately as I rewrote.
I wish that I had saved the beautiful hand-written letters he sent my young sons through their school life and even as the older son married, a note that sounded more like a Hallmark card.
Mentor was what he became to me. And now in my little writing nook, his picture stands on top of one of his own books, PORTRAITS OF FAITH. Dr. Lown who had a widespread ministry on both sides of the Atlantic as an evangelistic speaker in camps, campuses and churches, also knew a tremendous scope of values in the simpler things. Like Paul, he saw beyond what his eyes beheld and kept me accountable. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for."
Thanks, Dr. Lown, for your vision of encouraging and mentoring someone who needed that gentle nudge to pursue in the right direction-even on a bitter winter day, I am forever grateful.
Late 70's, it was when a snowstorm disabled our area. An evangelist from England who had once spoken for our church called when he heard that his speaking engagements had been cancelled for two weeks. After sharing his dilemma, my husband welcomed him. Our young sons were delighted as this man played ping- pong with them. Little did they know this man's credentials nor how important he was across America. Dr. Albert J. Lown soon made himself handy by shoveling a path through the snow from the parsonage to the church. He found children in pre-school and sat in the circle reciting nursery rhymes with them as only he could do.
Dr. Lown had a lot of qualities I admired-like afternoon tea where we got acquainted with the tender heart of a man who missed his dear Marion and children in Keighley, England. And then he asked me an unexpected question,"And what do you write?"
How he knew that I did write surprised me, but he expected that from teachers. "Would you share a manuscript?"That day marked the first time I had a gentle critique of an author. Had I known the extent of this man's talent, I would have hesitated. But what he did to inspire me was to pursue a market for it immediately as I rewrote.
I wish that I had saved the beautiful hand-written letters he sent my young sons through their school life and even as the older son married, a note that sounded more like a Hallmark card.
Mentor was what he became to me. And now in my little writing nook, his picture stands on top of one of his own books, PORTRAITS OF FAITH. Dr. Lown who had a widespread ministry on both sides of the Atlantic as an evangelistic speaker in camps, campuses and churches, also knew a tremendous scope of values in the simpler things. Like Paul, he saw beyond what his eyes beheld and kept me accountable. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for."
Thanks, Dr. Lown, for your vision of encouraging and mentoring someone who needed that gentle nudge to pursue in the right direction-even on a bitter winter day, I am forever grateful.
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