RUBY

Your voice, your story

“What We Know” by Deb Ilardi

by

There are thoughtful, sometimes provoking and other times sweet, messages in the lyrics of some songs. Seasonal ones sometimes get forgotten during their less popular times. Then they resurface and stir up the pot of memories like a warm stew simmering on the stove. Mary Did You Know (writers Buddy Greene / Mark Lowry) did that for Samantha Perry.

Samantha had heard the song for the first time a few years ago when she was 13. Now, shortly after the birth of her first child as Christmas approached, she heard it again.

Like so many new mothers, Sam was often exhausted. She rarely listened to anything but lullabies now, and she hardly knew music had taken a backseat in her days to the assortment of baby sounds she’d grown accustomed to over the past few months.

Mostly she was oblivious to the date or the time of day. Family and friends laughed and told her this was all so normal, but Samantha didn’t really care one way or the other. She felt she had one mission only, to provide for her child.

It was a chilly Saturday morning when Samantha opened the door to see her grandmother Madeline on the doorstep with her arms full of groceries. She was wrapped up in a fuzzy black jacket and bright red scarf and mittens.

Her boots were new black leather with sparkly buckles, more appropriate for a teenager than a great grandma. But there she was, nevertheless. Samantha beamed at the sight of her. Then she smelled the fresh baked bread nestled amongst the groceries and hustled them both inside.

What happened next was magical. Grandma Madeline made them chamomile tea, and crisp toast from the fresh baked bread, peered at the sleeping great grandchild in the cradle next to the table and then sent Samantha to bed for a short nap. Without hesitation, Samantha moved, weighing each step and gently closed the door to her room.

Opening her eyes hours later she recognized the soft sounds of her baby, the smell of a baking pumpkin pie and the song she remembered from a decade earlier about another mother.

“Grandma,” Samantha said wide eyed after her luxurious nap, “I didn’t worry at all about Abraham while I slept. It was so wonderful. What a lovely gift. Thank you. When did you decide to come for a visit? A surprise arrival, a nap and a pumpkin pie? Is it my birthday?”

“Well it was time I got here to meet this baby and see you again;” Madeline started the conversation as she poured fresh cups of tea, peppermint this time, beckoning Samantha to sit down. She handed her the peaceful baby and after a few sniffs to soak in his smell Samantha laid him back in the cradle so she could enjoy more grandma time.

”You know I’ve been busy with your Uncle Fred since his fall, checking on him every day even though he’s in rehab since he broke his shoulder.” Samantha nodded. “Well, your cousin Alex came for a visit and said I was off duty for a week. He was staying at my house, so he was able to give me a little break and also see how his dad was progressing.  I checked last minute flights and the rest is history.”

How long can you stay with us?” Samantha asked, “I head home on Thursday afternoon sweetheart. Give me some recommendations about what you need and I am all yours” Madeline beamed.

“OK then, sit and tell me where that lovely music is coming from?”

“It’s on my phone, honey. Do you know about Spotify?” Madeline watched her granddaughter carefully for a smile of recognition. “Your cousin Alex hooked me up to it before I left. It’s on my phone and I am so excited to be able to listen to Christmas music all month. Remember, when you were little and we played those songs day and night? It drove your dad wild.”

Both women giggled now and had some of their tea which had already cooled off quite a bit. “Yes, I remember Grandma. You never seemed to tire of those songs. I love them all. You even taught me “O Christmas Tree” in German. But tell me, do you know the song that was playing when I woke up? Mary Did You Know?”

Madeline sat back down, now holding little Abraham again. “Yes, I know it Samantha. I have always loved the melody and the words, but it means so much more to me now after years of listening to it. What about you?”

Samantha’s face softened. “I guess I really do believe that mothers know more about their own children than anyone else, especially during this first year of their lives.

I look at my baby and just know he might do great things, and that he is special, that he could grow up to be a person who helps others find the best parts of themselves, leads people to great achievements, shows others love and kindness. So Mary could have known or imagined the greatness ahead for her son.”

“So. how does that make you sad Samantha?” Madeline quietly and perceptively posed.

“Because He died for us and she had to watch.”

Madeline paused, and then spoke as she watched her granddaughter carefully. “But, maybe she was also proud and honored and fulfilled by what happened. It’s possible”.

“Oh, I guess I never thought about it from that perspective Grannie. I see what you mean about things changing as we get older. When I was a kid, I thought it was a dumb song.”

And there’s another angle, Samantha. When I think of this song, I also see your parents looking down at you and seeing God’s likeness. They knew you would achieve great things, help others, uncover your purpose and affect change in the world.”

“Well, lots will change for you and for Abraham as he grows up and finds out who he is meant to be,” Madeline continued.

“You won’t always be in agreement with him, just as your parents weren’t with you, and I wasn’t with your dad. But parents are meant to guide and share and love and teach. They are asked to protect and nurture and provide and patiently do the same things over and over and over again.

And some parents are asked to sacrifice and support and care for children in ways others are not.

You have to take it all and do your very best no matter what they need from you. I know you can do that and more. I’m confident you are ready. And I am here for you when you need to talk about it. When I’m too old you can bring the tea and toast to me.”

Samantha looked up with tears in her eyes and reached for Abraham. She snuggled him and kissed him and said a little prayer over him and then she looked up at her Grandma and said, “Thank you for sharing yourself with me, Granny. You are amazing and wise and I need your comforting now more than ever. It is perfect that you’re here today.”

Madeline had not expected such a thoughtful connection with Samantha during this transition time of mothering. She smiled outward and inward and said a prayer herself for the gifts of her family, the insight into being her authentic self and the gifts that warm our hearts at Christmas.

Deb Ilardi is a registered nurse and has written professionally for decades. She was the Clinical Editor of School Nurse News from 2001-20016. Now she is retired and living in NC with her husband where she enjoys life near the ocean as a freelance writer.

“A Concise ‘His Story’ of Plimoth Plantation” by Kathryn Ross

by

Note: The following is an excerpt from The Pilgrim Chronicles: Thanksgiving Stories for the Stage, a collection of plays/programs with complete production notes designed for schools and churches.

Check out this comprehensive American history enrichment tool by Kathryn Ross, culminating 20 years of teaching this important aspect of American Christian history. Visit www.pageantwagonpublishing.com/thanksgiving-plays.

On October 3, 1863, at the height of America’s Civil War, Abraham Lincoln issued a Thanksgiving Proclamation including these words of note:

No human counsel hath devised, nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the most high God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy . . .

I do, therefore, invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and those who are sojourning in foreign lands to set apart and observe the last

Thursday of November next as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens . . . it is announced in the Holy Scriptures and proven by all history, that those nations are blessed whose God is the Lord . . . it has seemed to me fit and proper that God should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people.

Did you know that there are thousands of this type of proclamations with such language on record dating back to the first Jamestown Thanksgiving in 1619 Virginia? In our almost 400-year American history America’s national leaders and presidents have regularly acknowledged our nation’s dependence and gratefulness to God in this way.

But, when the fourth Thursday in November rolls around each year, it is the picture of the Mayflower, pilgrim men and women, and Native American Indians who are embedded in our collective imaginations.

We gather around tables with our families, feasting on traditional turkey and stuffing. But did you know that in the fall of 1621, in an outdoor setting, European Christian pilgrims and Native Americans actually ate more seafood and venison throughout their three-day Thanksgiving feast dedicated to the God of the Bible?

They had much to be thankful for in that day. And much to mourn.

The Plimoth Plantation Thanksgiving Story

The Pilgrims’ story begins in 1607 when Christians in England met secretly to worship God according to the way the Bible taught, rather than the way King James and his state-appointed bishops mandated that they should.

These brave people came to be called “separatists” because they “separated” from the Church of England. They realized that the Bible taught freedom in Jesus Christ to know right from wrong and the principle of self-government with their hearts submitted to God, rather than mere traditions of men.

Religious persecution increased to intolerable levels. The worshipers fled from England to Holland. William Bradford records the details in his famous diary writings:

Thus, being constrained to leave their native soil and country, their lands and livings, and all their friends and familiar acquaintances, it was . . . thought marvelous by many to go into a country they knew not . . . where they must learn a new language and get their livings they knew not how.

It was by many thought an adventure almost desperate, a case intolerable, and a misery worse than death. They were not acquainted with the trades and traffic, but those things did not dismay them for their desires were set on the ways of God to enjoy His Providence and they knew Whom they believed.

Living in Leyden, Holland, the Pilgrims knew relative peace for about ten years. But all was not well. Leyden was a beautiful place of wealth and worldliness. They were free to worship God, but easy-living made it easy to lose the sense of God’s will.

Their children grew up with no memories of England, greatly influenced by the worldliness of the Dutch children. Through a miraculous set of circumstances, King James, who had persecuted them a decade before causing them to flee, granted them a charter to establish a colony in Virginia, in the New World.

The Pilgrims returned to Plimoth, England to set sail for the American shores. During the turbulent ocean voyage, a storm knocked them off course, bringing them to the Massachusetts shoreline near Cape Cod.

It was too late in the year to sail south to Virginia, so they decided to settle where they were. But, before disembarking for settlement, they drafted the first constitutional document of our nation—a declaration of organized agreement amongst themselves.

The Mayflower Compact set forth in writing the Pilgrims’ purposes in coming to the shores of America, and their commitment to each other and God as a governmental body.

They made settlement in a prepared clearing where Indians once lived but had died out four years earlier of disease. Before the cold of winter set in, they had just enough time to build one common shelter. Though a small beginning, they believed God was on their side.

In January and February of 1621, a “General Sickness” fell upon them. With only six people well enough to care for all who had become ill, they bid farewell to many husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, and children who died.

Of eighteen married women, only five survived.  Of twenty-nine unmarried men, servants, and hired hands, only ten survived. By March, spring was in the air. Bravely, they pressed on building six new cabin homes.

With the change of season, the “General Sickness” departed, leaving new challenges before them.

Farming the new land required new skills and wisdom in the use of depleted resources. The Pilgrims prayed to God for help to farm in unfamiliar soil. The Lord sent two Indians into their midst who had met Englishmen before and knew the English language.

They also knew God, having converted to Christianity some years earlier. They helped the Pilgrims make friends with the surrounding Indian tribes. Trade was established, providing necessary goods.

The Indians, Samoset, and Squanto taught the Pilgrims how to farm new foods like corn and squash and pumpkin.

In the fall of 1621, one year after the Pilgrims arrived on Plimoth Plantation; God’s blessings were evident in a plentiful harvest, inspiring plans for a Thanksgiving feast. They invited the Indians and the great chief Massasoit, who brought ninety of his braves, plus a good deal of wild game meat to roast.

For three days, the Pilgrims gave thanks in prayer, feasted, and enjoyed contests and games with the Indians. No matter how small their beginning, the greatness of their losses, or the trauma of their trials and sufferings, they rejoiced in their freedom of worship, the greatest blessing of all for which to give thanks.  

These details and more, concerning the Pilgrims’ day-to-day life, are recorded in The Ballad of Plimoth Plantation, a poem turned folk song written three years after the Pilgrims landed.

It humorously sketched a picture of life on Plimoth Plantation, meant to be heard back in old England. The Pilgrims honestly recorded the highs and lows of settling in the New World.

They encouraged new settlers to join them, trusting God in all things, as noted in the final verse:

Now you whom the Lord intends hither to bring Forsake not the honey for fear of the sting,

But bring forth a quiet and contented mind

And all needful blessings you surely will find.

And, I’ll still praise Jehovah for my God is good.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanks-giving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7 NKJV

Want to learn more? Curious to know what the Ballad of Plimoth Plantation sounded like when sung? And all the verses?

Check out Miss Kathy’s podcast dramatization of the story with links to a five-part blog series on the Plimoth Plantation Thanksgiving—a critical moment in American history, the establishment of America’s purpose, and a powerful demonstration of the American mind.

Visit Episode 3 on the Podcast Page at  www.thewritersreverie.com or use the short URL: http://bit.ly/2QOTniX

 

“Weeds…UGH!” by Shara Bueler-Repka

by

I hate weeds! When I see “pull weeds” on my list of chores, I cringe—‘cause, boy, do we have a lot of ‘em! I think every species of weed God ever created lived on our place. There are a gazillion things I’d rather be doing than spending all day yanking those pesky fun-stealers out of their hard ground.

You know, FUN stuff. Riding my horse and swimming in the pool are at the top of my list. Of course, even watching the paint peel off the walls would be better than this!

I stood, staring at the first weed. A mustard weed… the worst! It looked like a small tree!

“Ah, man, I’m never going to get this thing out!”

I frowned. I stomped up to it, grabbed a hold of the top and pulled… and pulled… and PULLED. Sweat trickled down my face as I put my whole body weight into it (which isn’t much at eight-years-old).

Suddenly the little flowers, stems and all, slid through my fingers like a slick rope, sending me sprawling on my backside. Flopped on my fanny in the dirt, I opened my hand. Yellow petal remnants and green stems were all I had to show for my efforts.  

“Hmmmm… that didn’t work. Let’s see… I’ll grab closer to the root!”

I pulled again as hard as I could (except with more grunting and growling). Seriously? The stems and flowers didn’t even come off that time!

My eyes narrowed with a sneaky thought, and I chose the next trick up my sleeve. I’ll just whack it off at the top with a hoe, close to the ground. Then I’ll kick dirt over it!

I stared down that mustard weed like a cowboy at the OK corral. It seemed to be staring back at me just as ornery. Armed with the hoe I stalked up to it. I wielded that hoe like a cavalry sword, standing on my tiptoes to land the death-blow. But the blade bounced right off the rock-hard root. Really??

What do I do? All my fun plans were disappearing like the sun that was slowly sinking behind the hills.

OK, now I was mad. I stormed to my dad.

“Those stupid weeds CANNOT be pulled out!” I whined.

“Why can’t we just leave them?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. No way! Was he trying not to smile?

He cleared his throat and quickly turned away.

“Follow me,” he said.

“We can’t leave the weeds there because the snakes like to use them for a hiding place.”

My eyes grew wide.

He hooked up the garden hose to the faucet beside the barn and dragged it over to the tree-weed. He let the water flow around the root, letting the moisture sink deeply into the hard soil.

I shook my head. “That’s only making a muddy mess, dad,” I said.

He grinned.

After a few minutes, he turned the water off and walked over to that horrid plant. He grabbed the root, jiggled it around, and yanked. That ole thing popped right out of the ground!

I gawked at the miracle.

“You see,” he replied, as he washed the dirt off his hands, “sometimes it takes a bit more effort and help to get the tough roots out.”

He paused.

“And you can’t ignore them because they’ll never stop growing and spreading until they take over the place.”

“And then there’s the snake hide-out thing,” I said.

“Exactly.”

He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “You know, getting rid of these weeds isn’t the only lesson here,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yep. Those weeds are like tough places in our heart—like bad behavior… lying, stealing, gossiping, bullying. The water is like Jesus. When we let him help us, he softens those hard places in our heart, so we give up those bad habits.”

I dug my toe in the dirt. “Or like snatching the TV remote from Sissy’s hand when I wanted to watch my show instead of hers?”

He nodded. “It’s like that mustard weed. The “flowers” are our actions, but they grow out of a strong root. In the case of the TV remote, the root is selfishness.”

My face turned red and I ducked my head. “So Jesus can help me to stop thinking only about me?”

Dad laughed. “Of course, He can. He’s just waiting for you to let Him turn the hose on you.”

Suddenly Dad flung some hose water at me.

“Hey!” I yelped.

We both laughed.

The sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving brilliant streaks of gold and orange as we strolled back to the house.

 

“Luke: Gathering the Goodness of God’s Word – Verse Mapping Bible Study Series” by Kristy Cambron

by

“When all the people were being baptized, Jesus was being baptized too. And as he was praying, heaven was opened and the Holy Spirit descended on him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: ‘You are my Son, whom I love; with you, I am well pleased.’” Luke 3: 21-22 (NIV)

The story of Jesus’ baptism in Luke 3:21-22 establishes a foundation of how He would serve, sacrifice and surrender to God in His ministry to come.

If we look around us, sacrifice isn’t hidden away. It’s there even in what we might see as insignificant moments. In the Gospel of Matthew, John the Baptist claims Jesus should be the one to baptize him instead of the other way around. But the King steps back to place Himself behind those who’d lined up for baptism- those ready to embrace a new beginning with God are put before God in the flesh.

Jesus obeys, laying down His will and surrendering His all, to be sacrificed for all. The reminder of sacrifice and surrender begs a question from all of us: What if our schedule, our time, responsibilities, needs- even our desires and dreams- what if they all took a backseat to our relationship with God?

What kingdoms am I willing to give up in order to make Him King of my life?

If we look at Luke 3:21-22 what stands out?

The act of sacrifice is to give of something we adore in this life- for a will and a purpose greater than our own. God sacrificed for us, giving the world His Son, and Jesus sacrificed for the world, surrendering His will and offering His life.

The Gospels document Jesus’ baptism, but Luke offers us the only clear indicator that the first thing Jesus did to embark upon ministry was to make Himself last. Instead of taking a step forward to lead and model obedience through being baptized FIRST, Jesus instead took a step back…to SACRIFICE and SURRENDER.

When we surrender to Jesus, we give back our lives- including the desire to hold onto the adored things of this life.

The word “when” in these verses indicated a place in time- meaning “just after”- establishing the foundation of faith through authentic sacrifice and surrender. Other translations of Luke 3:21-22 give the same indication that Jesus held back, placing himself last by allowing others to be baptized before Him.

So what can we take away from these verses?

Jesus was willing to sacrifice displaying what it means to put oneself last in servant leadership, he models surrender in baptism and He seeks God first with prayer at a pivotal moment.

To truly be set free from the enslavement of sin, we willingly make ourselves last. That means taking an authentic look at what we’re slaves to and what we are willing to lay down to find freedom in Christ. We SACRIFICE and SURRENDER- just as Jesus did for us.

What would it look like if we really needed the Word of God in a way that isn’t a chore but a gift with every new day, and we’re willing to sacrifice to do what it says?

This is adapted from “Luke: Gathering the Goodness of God’s Word” part of the Verse Mapping Bible Study Series from Kristy Cambron, now available from RUBY’S Reading Corner.

KRISTY CAMBRON is an award-winning author of Christian fiction, including her bestselling debut The Butterfly and the Violin, and an author of Bible studies, including the Verse Mapping series. She’s a Women’s Ministry Leader at Southeast Christian Church in Louisville, KY, and a passionate storyteller who travels to speak at ministry events across the country, encouraging women to experience a deeper life in the Word through verse mapping. Her work has been named to Publishers Weekly Religion & Spirituality TOP 10, Library Journal Reviews’ Best Books, RT Reviewers’ Choice Awards, and received 2015 & 2017 INSPY Award nominations. Kristy holds a degree in Art History/Research Writing, and has 15 years of experience in education and leadership development for a Fortune-100 Corporation, working in partnership with such companies as the Disney Institute, IBM/Kenexa, and Gallup. She lives in Indiana with her husband and three sons, and can probably be bribed with a coconut mocha latte and a good read.

“We Can…but We Can’t…” by Sharon L. Patterson

by

We Can…

but We Can’t…

by Sharon L. Patterson

We can copy the sunset on canvas but we can’t create it.

We can name the constellations but we can’t pull one star from the heavens.

We can feel the wind against our face but we can’t trace its origin.

We can plan our day but we can’t hold back its passing into tomorrow.

We can make peace but we can’t stop war.

We can birth life but we can’t prevent death.

We can choose good but we can’t eliminate bad.

We can search for truth but we can’t add to it.

We can love others but we can’t make them love us.

We can survive injustice but we can’t stand before jealousy.

We can build the world’s finest structures but we can’t change another human being.

We can empathize with our friends suffering but we can’t experience theirs.

We can find God through faith but we can’t earn God’s love through works.

Sharon Patterson, retired educator, career military wife, and leader in women’s ministry, has written inspirational encouragement in various forms from greeting cards to short stories, poetry, and Bible studies for over thirty years. She has authored three books, and is a contributing author for several of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. She and her husband Garry live in Round Rock, Texas. They have three sons and five grandchildren.

 

“Marital Bliss Is Not a Fairytale” by Priscilla Shumba

by

It starts out as this big community of people, events, and fun leading up to the wedding day. There’s just so much love in the air. It’s the season filled with congratulations.

Working towards making the big day perfect brings all kinds of stress but it’s all going to be worth it when it’s better than we imagined. We’re so focused on THE DAY that we forget about nurturing the relationship.

Then all of a sudden, in a matter of hours, it’s over. The day has come and gone. The people have gone back to their lives. There are no more events. Life feels ordinary, far from all the excitement of preparing for the wedding. We’re in our new place, and it’s quiet. This is where the marriage begins.

Did you get the memo that it was going to be work, real work, but real fun work too? I sure hope so.

Remember why you wanted to be married in the first place. To live a life with your best friend. To enjoy their company forever. To share in a commitment of love. Has that changed? Probably not, but something has changed in you.

The three best pieces of marriage advice I got were:

Make yourself happy. He can never make you happy. It’s not his job, and even if he tried, he couldn’t bear the weight of such a heavy task. If you think about it, a human being cannot do God’s work.

Bringing joy into the hearts of people has always been and will always be God’s work.

And . . .

Your marriage account is empty. You cannot withdraw what you didn’t deposit. If you want love, deposit plenty of it. If you want compassion, deposit plenty of it. If you want reliability, deposit plenty of it.

If you think about it, it’s a biblical principle that leads to a happier you. There is greater joy in giving than in receiving.

And . . .

Love is service. Make a decision daily to outdo each other in showing love. Sometimes we have to go back and be reminded of the true meaning of love in 1 Corinthians 13. To be patient, kind, not envy/boast/be proud, not dishonor, not self-seek, not be easily angered, and not keep a record of wrong. That’s our definition of love.  

It’s easy to focus on the other person, what he should do, and what he should be. It’s human nature.

Try this next time you find yourself going down that mental path: picture yourself pointing the finger at your partner.

One finger is pointing at him, and four fingers are pointing back at you. The only thing you can control in life is yourself. Don’t lose yourself in trying to fix another person. It’s wasted effort that yields very bad results.

Focus on being the best you that you can be. Living with purpose and zeal for life and love. That’s the only way you can ensure that you will always be destiny bound.

The marriage in the Bible that we are shown intimately is that of Abraham and Sarah.

1 Peter 3: 6 states, “For instance, Sarah obeyed her husband, Abraham, and called him her master. You are her daughters when you do what is right without fear of what your husbands might do.”

The word “master” captures respect for her husband.

This scripture does not focus on what Abraham did, but what Sarah did. A wise woman builds her house. Let’s serve our husbands and children out of love.

The world says, “I won’t do anything for you unless you do something for me”; but God says I will cause the sun to shine on the good and the bad. Let’s strive to love like our Lord does.

It’s an extravagant kind of love. Never waiting to see how we will respond, but continuously showering us with his love. When we get tired, He will fill us up.

We cannot create marital bliss even with our best efforts, but in obedience to His word love will abound in our homes.

 

Priscilla Shumba is a wife, mother, and entrepreneur. Born and raised in Zimbabwe, she is currently residing in Australia. She is passionate about encouraging people to live up to their destiny.

She is a newly self-published author of a Christian book titled Raising Kids With A Millionaire Mind.  It is available from Ruby’s Reading Corner.

“Fearfully and Wonderfully Made” by Lisa J. Radcliff

by

The emotions that course through you when you get the call from your child saying, “We’re in labor!” but the baby isn’t due for another two months. Excitement, concern, joy, fear—it is quite a roller coaster. And it happened to me not once but twice in the same week!

Monday morning was the first call. I spent the day at the hospital as the staff worked to stop my daughter-in-law’s labor. We played cards and watched TV between the nurse’s check-ins. The check-ins grew farther apart, along with the contractions. By Monday night, the contractions stopped. There was relief sprinkled with a little disappointment that we wouldn’t see our fifth grandbaby just yet. My daughter-in-law was released Tuesday evening with no restrictions and an appointment for an ultrasound on Friday.

She spent Wednesday at home, resting. But in the middle of the night, the contractions returned. We got the second call at 3:30 a.m. Thursday morning. There was no stopping it this time. Their first baby wouldn’t wait for her due date. We needed to get to the hospital. The feelings returned. All of them.

This was really happening. What if the baby’s lungs weren’t strong enough? What other things could happen with a preemie? I was too focused on the scary stuff. My granddaughter was about to be born. It was an exciting time, regardless of the outcome. As we drove the dark, deserted route to the hospital, I prayed, asking God to prepare our hearts for whatever this birth would bring. Immediately a peace filled me, not that everything would be fine, but that God would be with us through whatever today brought.

We were there less than three hours when Everlee was born—a healthy, beautiful, baby girl. She was bigger than they thought she would be, almost four pounds. And she was perfect. We cried tears of joy, mixed with relief. God gave us a special gift. We were prepared for the worst, but he had another plan, and we were so grateful.

Seeing her for the first time filled my heart with such love. She was so tiny, so precious. She looked like a little doll. I wanted to scoop her up and kiss her, but the NICU has rules. So, I stood next to her bassinet and watched her chest rise and fall and took in the incredible detail of her fingers and toes. Such small knees. She had blonde hair. I praised God for this little miracle. Psalm 139:14 rang in my ears, “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”

The nurses explained everything that was happening with her and what we should expect. They checked the miniscule IV and feeding tube. They explained the amount of energy she expends just digesting a teaspoon of food. Pooping is even more exhausting. They don’t do more than two big things a day because more would be too much for the baby. We could cup her (place our hands on her head and feet) but not hold her or touch her or rub her limbs—it would be too much stimulation.

There was so much to learn about being fearfully and wonderfully made.

On day nine, I entered the NICU with my son. He said, “Do you want to hold her?” He opened the side of the isolette, and I cupped my hands on her head and feet. Then he said, “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Because I won’t be able to reach her. Remember, I’m short with T-rex arms.”

“No, sit down, and you can hold her in your arms.”

What! I get to finally cuddle this precious, little bundle? I sat myself right down. My son lifted his daughter (which he could have done with one hand but carefully used two) and put her in my arms. I would have cried, but my smile was so big, it made my eyes squint shut, not allowing any tears to escape. It felt like I was only holding the blanket. She was so light and so small and so fearfully and wonderfully made.

Day fourteen, the feeding tube was removed. Day twenty, my son and daughter-in-law stayed overnight in a regular hospital room with the baby, preparing to take her home in the morning. It was my son’s birthday—what a gift! All her tests had come back normal. She was perfect. On day twenty-one, they left the hospital as a family. Three weeks. The medical staff had said she might have to stay in the hospital for eight weeks but could go home in three to four weeks if all went perfectly.  

Being fearfully and wonderfully made took on a new meaning, as I marveled over this beautiful, intricate creation. I will never read that Psalm again without thinking of my tiniest granddaughter. So small yet so perfect—fearfully and wonderfully made.

 

“Come, Ye Thankful People, Come” by Diana Leagh Matthews

by

Thanksgiving

 

November is the month of Thanksgiving and a time to give thanks. This is a month when we concentrate on what we must be thankful for. So, what better time to look at a popular Thanksgiving song?

Come, Ye Thankful People, Come is a harvest hymn that was written in 1844. The song was written by Henry Alford.

In the days when most people survived off the land, they understood the importance of the harvest. There was an urgency to safely gather the harvest before the winter storms rolled in.

The first stanza is written to be an invitation to give thanks to God. The second and third stanzas are a commentary on the Parable of the Wheat and Tares, as recorded in the gospel of Matthew. The last stanza is a prayer for the Lord’s return.

Henry Alford was born on October 7, 1810, in London. At sixteen years of age, he felt the presence of God and gave his life to Christ. He followed in the footsteps of his ancestors and became a clergyman and was a prominent Greek scholar. 

He was the author of forty-eight hymns, wrote many songs and published a hymnbook.  At the age of 47, he was appointed Dean of Canterbury, a position he held until his death on January 12, 1871.

The lyrics were set to the tune, St. George’s, Windsor written by George J. Elvey. The tune first appeared with Alford’s text in the Anglican hymnal, Hymns Ancient, and Modern.

George Elvey was born on March 27, 1916, and served as organist at the Royal Chapel at Windsor Castle for 47 years. In 1871, he was knighted by Queen Victoria. He died on December 9, 1893.

 

“Make Your Own Autumn Love Wreath” by Theresa Begin

by

I absolutely LOVE this time of year! The cooler weather, the colors of the changing leaves, and the joys of hot cocoa and cookies all come together to create a delightful time. I hope you are enjoying autumn wherever you live.

Here’s a creative idea that I came up with and wanted to share with you, just in case you are a little bit like me and really can’t afford to buy or make a brand-new wreath for every season of the year.

Maybe I can do that some other day if I ever have oodles of storage space and an unlimited budget. But since that isn’t going to happen today, not at my home(not to mention that I can not stand waste), I decided to come up with my own version of an “Autumn Love” wreath.

I am so abundantly blessed, no matter whether or not I have a new wreath on my front door, but it is still fun to see something pretty outside when I come home from church, to greet me and anyone who approaches my home, so here’s what I did:

I took out last year’s wreath and changed it up to make a “new to me” wreath this year! I admit I have a special place in my heart for last year’s wreath, but they really are all wonderful memories for the time that they decorated my home.

I removed the old sign and bow. that I had last year,  and then started adding some of my favorite colors with items I gathered from the Dollar Store, Goodwill, and even on a beautiful bunch of silk flowers from Michael’s that I got for half price.

The total cost of my wreath update was approximately $6 – $8!! Who doesn’t LOVE that price tag for a “new” autumn wreath?

Just take a closer look at my beautiful “Autumn Love” wreath and maybe you will be inspired to try your hand at updating an old wreath for your front door.

 

I know that this will be beautiful all season long, and will remind me of my blessings every day. Wishing you all the joy of autumn from my home to yours!

Theresa

“Let’s Count Our Blessings” by Norma C. Mezoe

by

Counting Our Blessings

As you read this article, Thanksgiving is fast approaching. Summer is only a pleasant memory; autumn is giving way to winter’s chill.

What do I have to be thankful for during this season of Thanksgiving with winter’s subzero temperatures and snowdrifts just around the corner? Will I be plagued with car breakdowns as I have for the past three winters?  Will the roads become impassable? Will the heating bills soar to new records? Why should I be thankful when I face these uncertainties?

Knowing I am a child of the King causes my heart to rejoice, to release words of thanksgiving that bubble within. How can I not be thankful? Jesus Christ’ death and resurrection have given me a source of abundant living.

Each morning I am blessed to open my eyes and my ears to the sights and sounds of living. I breathe in the life-sustaining air and remember they are gifts from God.

When I was left alone after many years of marriage, God knew I needed a way to support myself. He miraculously opened doors for employment in an organization where I enjoy my work and find it fulfilling. My needs are continually met day by day. I am blessed.

A friend spoke of a Thanksgiving Day when she was in her teens. Her family’s home had been destroyed by fire and they were forced to live in a chicken house. Her father was working in another town and could not be home. The meal consisted of sauerkraut and wieners.  At the time, it seemed to be a very dismal Thanksgiving.

The following Thanksgiving found the family once again living in a home, her father was with them and the table was laden with food. Now they were able to enjoy the material things they had missed the year before.

However, that year they were missing a family member. Her brother had been killed in a tragic accident. My friend speaks of the sauerkraut and wieners year and realizes how truly happy she and her family were.

Do we complain too often about the things we do not have and fail to thank God for the blessings we are given each day? Turkey and all of the trimmings may not be on our Thanksgiving table, but sauerkraut and wieners can taste like a feast when shared with loved ones and touched by God’s love.

(This article was written in the mid-eighties. God continues to bless and to meet my needs.)

“November 11: Why I Wear Poppies” by Joan Leotta

by

Veterans' Day

In Honor of Veterans’ Day

My father, Gabriel DiLeonardo, came from a large family—13, most were girls.  Since all but one of his sisters and only one brother lived close to us, I did not know them well.

There is one I never met—my father’s second oldest brother—Uncle Egidio. He came to the United States as a young man in 1913 when my father was only three years old. Uncle Dom, the oldest brother took care of him. Until World War One broke out. Uncle Dom was already married.

When the United States entered the war, Uncle Egidio decided to enlist. He wanted to hold up the honor of his new country. He was so proud to be in America! I’m not sure if he became a citizen by serving (laws were different then) or if was already a citizen when he joined.

What I do know is that this man fought for our country and was wounded—seriously. It has been my grandfather’s intention to bring the entire family over, one by one. The war prevented that.

It was not until 1921 that my grandfather was able to bring the rest of the family over to America. My Dad was eleven years old. For the first time, he met his brother Dominic (the two of them were look-alikes) and his brother Egidio.

He did not really get to know Egidio well, because Egidio had been so badly injured by an attack of poison gas in the trenches of France that he could hardly speak or breathe.

Veterans' Day

In addition, I suspect he suffered from “shell shock,” what we call PTSD today. Uncle Dom worked to get Egidio into a Veterans hospital—where he spent the rest of his life.

Uncle Egidio died in 1976, having lived almost all of his adult life in a hospital. The nurses told me he was a kind and gentle man. By the time he died he probably understood English, but the gas injuries likely prevented him from speaking.

When I hear about how the country behaved toward Italians in the 1920s, it saddens me. My Dad fought in his neighborhood for respect and my Uncle fought so that those who bullied my father, his brother, could do so in a free and safe country.

Those in charge of pursuing the peace when the war was winding down decided it would be nice to have everything end at eleven in the morning on the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

So, people fought and died up to the last minute. It is said that thousands died on that last day—due to the hubris of leaders who wanted an “interesting” end time and did not consider the men who would die right up until the last gun was silenced.

It is said that the bitterness, the rancor of the following year’s Treaty of Versailles that carved up the world among the victors was a direct cause WWII and the terrible devastation that brought.

That all seems so long ago. In fact, it was exactly one hundred years ago, this year. My personal connection pushed me to visit some WWI battlefields a few years ago and to look up my Uncle’s records.

I could not find out much about him. So, I invented a life for him. Before and during the war in a series of short stories. The first of those stories has been published.

But even more than that, thinking and reading about WWI and the amazing literature that flowed from it, has given me new insights into our need to be kind to one another, to live as Christ would have us live—to understand and care for the poor and the strangers among us, to love those whose ideas are different from ours, even if they do not love us.

So, for all of this, I wear the poppies of the famous Flanders Field (poem honoring those who died in WWI) on November 11—for my Uncle, for all who died in and because of that war, for all who lived through it, and for our country, that we may never repeat the sins of the past.

 

“We Gather to Give Thanks” by Rejetta Morse

by

"We Gather to Give Thanks" by Rejetta Morse

“We Gather to Give Thanks” by Rejetta Morse

Jesus transformed a pair of fish

and five small loaves of bread.

He gave thanks before five thousand

and everyone was fed.

More miracles he grants each day

and gives us food to eat.

He heals the sick and blesses us;

our needs he always meets.

Before he died upon the cross,

He thought of you and me.

Is there a greater love to find?

He died to set us free.

And now we gather all around

the table on this day.

We give thanks for our blessings and

for new ones on the way.

Yet amid the sounds of laughter,

we shed a silent tear,

thinking of loved ones gone away;

how we’ll miss them this year.

“Over the River…..” by Cynthia Knisley

by

The air was crisp and lightly tinged with the woodsy smell of a campfire. We children piled into the green VW mini-bus and settled by our favorite windows as Dad hopped into the driver’s seat. We were headed for Grandpa’s house on Thanksgiving morning.

Mother had been busy for hours—preparing a savory dressing; cleaning, seasoning, and stuffing the turkey; and carefully stitching together the flaps of the cavity with needle and thread.

She stayed behind to baste the turkey and prepare coleslaw—and maybe to enjoy a few minutes of quiet. Pies, mincemeat and pecan, and pumpkin-nut bread had been baked the day before, and her traditional cranberry salad, second only to the turkey itself, was already setting up in the refrigerator.

As the “bird” slowly roasted, a wonderful aroma began to fill the house. We knew the fragrance would be there when we returned.

The drive to Grandpa’s took us out of our neighborhood and into the countryside. We traversed narrow winding roads, hills, and valleys, passing wooded thickets and wide ribbons of fallow cornfields that stretched to the horizon.

Eventually Grandpa’s village appeared.

Just a few minutes …… and there he was, waiting for us at the old oak table in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading. Hugs and smiles later, he quickly gathered up his warm jacket, a bag of freshly-hulled black walnuts from the yard, and the old tin he always filled with fudge from the farmers’ market. Soon we were out the door and on our way home, with him by our sides.

It was a joyful ride through the countryside. We were hungry and anticipated a delicious feast! Dad was humming the tune to “Over the River and through the Woods.”

Grandpa smiled and sat quietly. Maybe he was thinking of years gone by, when he had celebrated Thanksgiving with his parents, then later with his dear wife, our Grandmother who was no longer with us.

Surely his mind was full of happy images of the past. I wish we had asked him to describe these memories. Our questions were more current. What new projects were in process in his woodshop?

Birdhouses perhaps, or was he repairing a neighbor’s fence or building a new shed for someone? The conversation was light and the mood sweet.

The winding road though hill and dale led us home, where Mother greeted us in her fresh apron and crisp cotton dress. Lady, our little beagle, bounced around happily, especially eager to lick Grandpa’s hands.

The roasting turkey smelled wonderful as we entered the house. We girls helped to set the table with the good china and real silverware, while the men carried in kindling and logs for the hearth. Before long, Mother rang the dinner bell.

We took our places around the table, with a special spot for Grandpa, and bowed our heads to give thanks.

Then Dad began to carve the turkey, as Mother carried in steaming bowls of vegetables and casseroles of baked stuffing—always an alternative to the cooked-inside-the-turkey sort. Salads and sweet breads were already on the table.

This was a beautiful time, with six of us gathered together.

We savored the delicious meal, reported to Grandpa about what we were learning in school, told old and new stories, and laughed.

At one point our father asked us to share something that we were especially thankful for. I can’t recall the answers but am certain that this practice helped us develop a sense of gratitude. So many simple blessings!

Time has passed. Grandparents and parents are no longer with us. The family may gather on a day other than the actual date of Thanksgiving—and at a different home.

But, I still wear a favorite apron and prepare my mother’s delicious cranberry salad, bake a Thanksgiving pie or two, and set the table with pretty napkins and candles, just as she did.

And, whenever I find myself driving on a crisp November day down a lane in the country, I can hear my father singing; “Over the river and through the woods, to Grandfather’s house we go.”

Here find my mother’s Thanksgiving Cranberry Salad  recipe:

What you need:

12 oz fresh cranberries (4 cups)

1 orange, peeled and sectioned

2 small packs raspberry Jello (or strawberry)

2 c. boiling water

1 c. crushed pineapple, drained

2 ribs celery, finally chopped, (1 c.)

1 c. finely chopped walnuts or pecans

½ tsp salt

2 c. sugar and 1 c. tap water

Let’s make it!

  • Process cranberries with orange until finely chopped.
  • In bowl combine boiling water, Jello, and cranberry-orange mixture.
  • Cool 20 min.
  • Stir in drained pineapple, celery, nuts, and salt.
  • In small pan combine sugar with 1 c water. Bring to boil. Cook until thickened, about 5 minutes.
  • Cool 10 min. and stir into Jello mixture.
  • Pour into serving bowl and refrigerate overnight.

Enjoy and Happy Thanksgiving!

Vintage postcard image courtesy of Old Design Shop

“The Miracle of Friendship” by Nina Newton

by

"The Miracle of Friendship" by Nina Newton

My mama always told me . . . . you will have many friends in your life, but only a very few will be your friend for life. Now, my mama was not the most sophisticated, educated, or accomplished woman in the world. She was an ordinary, hard-working, heartbroken woman who grew up during the Great Depression and lived life right on the edge of destitution. She was oftentimes unkind and angry, and she frequently used words that were hurtful to a little girl’s heart. But I have learned over the years that her unhappiness was a result of having so many obstacles and challenges in her life. But she was right about a lot of things. Friendship is one of them.

I remember girl friends from my youth, girls I played with in the woods behind the little lake cottage where I grew up. I remember friends from high school, several of whom I remain in contact with even after all these years. I remember a few friends from my early college days, and I remember many friends from all of the years of being a young wife and mother, through the years of kids growing up, going to school, off to college, getting married, and having their own babies. And I remember friends from church, community, and neighborhood that God brings into our lives over the years. They are all treasured memories and I am so grateful for their presence in my life.

But life has changed in so many ways over the past 20 years, with the opportunities to connect with new people all over the world and the open door to discover new friends from all around the world via the technological “miracle” of the internet. This open door, in my life, has proven to be a gift that has led to some very special friends, most of whom I have never “met” in “real life,” with the very real possibility that I never will. The amazing thing about all of this (in my opinion) is that friendships can be discovered, nurtured, and maintained even across the miles, and across the years. This is one of the “miracles” that God has brought into my life.

Katherine is one of my dearest friends, even though we have never met in person. But we have talked on the phone many times over the years and we have been supportive and helpful to one another in many different situations. Right now is one of those times, and now you have the opportunity to discover the miracle of friendship, too. Please visit Katherine’s Corner and read her blog post “How to Make a Miracle by Writing a Blog Post,” and see how God can use YOU to be a blessing to others. Even when we are facing challenging times in our own lives, it is such an amazing opportunity to do something so small that means so much to another person. Small miracles are truly miracles, and this is no exception!

"The Miracle of Friendship" by Nina Newton

Perhaps you, too, are in a place where a word of encouragement, an act of kindness, or even just a simple, small gift could make a big difference to you. Is that where you are today? I know I’ve been there many times in my life, and God always brings someone along at just the right time to remind me that I am not alone. Let me know how God has given you an opportunity to reach out and touch the life of another pilgrim on this journey of life . . . . and also let me know if you need a word of encouragement today. Remember, we are all in this together and our love, support, and kindness for one another makes a HUGE difference. Friendship, no matter how God brings it into your life, truly is a miracle!

Hugs!

xoxo

“Great Is Thy Faithfulness” Hymn History by Diana Leagh Matthews

by

The Lord has really been testing and strengthening me lately, but I am reminded of how great His faithfulness is time and again.

The author of this hymn experienced many difficulties and health issues but the Lord remained faithful to him.

God wants to show us His faithfulness, but sometimes we must surrender all before He can prove He is faithful to us.

Great is Thy Faithfulness was written by Thomas Obadiah Chisholm as a “testament to God’s faithfulness through his very ordinary life.”

Chisholm was born in 1866 in a log cabin in Franklin, Kentucky to James Washington and Lucy Jane Mequire Chisholm.

He received his education in a rural schoolhouse in the area, but they were dirt poor and he never got past an elementary school education. However, by the age of sixteen he was a teacher.

Five years later, at the age of twenty-one, he was the associate editor of his hometown weekly newspaper, The Franklin Advocate.

In 1893, Henry Clay Morrison, the founder of Asbury College and Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky, held a revival meeting in Franklin. Chisholm attended and accepted Jesus Christ into his heart and life.

Later, at Morrison’s invitation, Chisholm moved to Louisville, Kentucky and became an editor for the Pentecostal Herald.

In 1903, he became an ordained Methodist Minister. Sometime around 1903, he married Katherine Hambright Vandevere.

Due to ill health, Chisholm was only able to serve one year in the ministry. After leaving his ministry in Scottsville, Kentucky he and his wife relocated to Winona Lake, Indiana for the open air.

After a time in Indiana, he then moved to Vineland, New Jersey where he sold insurance.

He suffered from health issues the rest of his life and had periods of time when he was confined to bed and unable to work.

Thomas and Katherine Chisholm had two daughters, Ruth Elizabeth Chisholm was born in 1905 and Dorothy Chisholm was born in 1907.

Thomas was good friends with William Runyan and often exchanged the poems he’d written with the Moody Bible Institute musician.

Runyan was so moved by the poem Chisholm sent one day that he decided to compose a melody to go with the lyrics.

This poem was Great is Thy Faithfulness. Chisholm said of the poem, “My income has not been large at any time due to impaired health in the earlier years which has followed me on until now.

Although I must not fail to record here the unfailing faithfulness of a covenant-keeping God and He has given me many wonderful displays of His providing care, for which I am filled with astonishing gratefulness.”

Runyan wrote of the hymn: “This particular poem held such an appeal that I prayed most earnestly that my tune might carry over its message in a worthy way, and the subsequent history of its use indicates that God answered prayer. It was written in Baldwin, Kansas, in 1923, and was first published in my private song pamphlets.”

The song went unnoticed for many years until “it was discovered by a Moody Bible Institute professor who loved it so much and requested it sung so often at chapel services, that the song became the unofficial theme song of the college.”

In 1945, George Beverly Shea began to sing the song at the Billy Graham Crusades, and it gained exposure and popularity.

In 1953, Chisholm retired to the Methodist Retirement Community in Ocean Grove, New Jersey. Katherine, his wife, died the following year.

Even through retirement, he continued to write poems and hymns, as he had throughout his life. In total he wrote over 1200 poems and hymns, including Living for Jesus, He Was Wounded for Our Transgressions, Trust in the Lord with All Your Heart and O! To Be Like Thee.

His writings often appeared in religious periodicals such as the Sunday School Times, Moody Monthly, and Alliance Weekly.

Thomas Chisholm died in 1960 at the age of 93.

Chisholm, a lifelong Methodist, had the song appear in numerous hymnals and song books. However, it was not included in the Methodist hymnal until the 1989 hymnal was released.

In 2003, a Historical Roadside Marker was erected near his boyhood home in Simpson County, Kentucky.

We can only imagine how God used one of Chisholm’s favorite scriptures, Lamentations 3:22-23, to inspire this hymn.  “It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is Thy faithfulness.”

How has the Lord been great in His faithfulness in your life?

To read more of Diana’s inspirational posts and hymn stories, visit her blog at http://www.dianaLeaghMatthews.com 

 

Diana Leagh Matthews writes, speaks and sings to bring glory to God.  She has been published in numerous anthologies, including many Moments books. In her day job, Leagh is a Nationally Certified Activities Director for a busy nursing facility. She takes great joy in family, friends and soaking in the beautiful wonders and promises of God. Leagh blogs about her faith and struggles on her  website  www.DianaLeaghMatthews.com and family history at www.ALookThruTime.com

“I’m a 2 Rule Girl” by Karon Phillips

by

“Let’s make it simple. Let’s throw out the oversized rule book and get where we’ve wanted to get all along. Let’s follow the rules Jesus gave us – only 2 – and find a new way, a new peace, and a new life. Let’s start now.

“What is the most important command?” they asked Him. “Love God, love others,” Jesus said.

No list needed, no way to fail, nothing to fear.

We can relax, rest, and renew because when we follow these 2 rules, we follow all the others. We’ve all had enough of the “gotta-do-this,” “can’t-do-that “and “what’s-the-matter-with-you?” struggle that gets us nowhere. Come along today with Karon in simplicity, peace, joy and abundance:

  • love God and others in the moment, the mess and the majesty
  • develop the habits of a 2-Rule Girl
  • trust your “gratifence” and be who God made you to be
  • answer Jesus’ question: “what do you want?”

Deepen your trust to a place you’ve never known, discover and grow the wisdom you never thought you had. Know new strength, courage, power and grace.” * Study Guide and Resources included.

I’m a 2 Rule Girl is available from RUBY’S Reading Corner

RUBY'S Reading Corner Banner

“Wonder” by Jane Hoppe

by

They grow their gulls huge here, Deanna noted absently. Otherwise, this gull looked like every other gull she’d ever seen. She sighed. Today’s boredom seemed different somehow than the flat fact that most seagull and crashing-wave snapshots look alike.

Am I just getting old? Have I been on one too many beach vacations?

She plopped down on a weather worn wooden bench. Not yet crowded, the wharf would be a good place to let her mind meander through her current malaise. The early morning sun was warm, the air calm.

Back on the sand, a beachcomber lazily lingered, bent over potential treasures. In the quiet, a few artists had set up easels and canvases for perspectives they wanted to paint. The normally rambunctious, roaring Pacific lollygagged beneath the wharf.

Was this vacation just seagull déjà vu? No, she decided. Buried deep inside this boredom was a warning buzzer. The big fat gull cocked its head quizzically in her direction. Seeing no food forthcoming from Deanna’s fingers, it flew off to a more promising perch.

Deanna didn’t want to fly home without finding answers, or at least identifying the warning buzzer. Giving up on this quest too easily would condemn her to the life of that gull, flitting from piling to piling in search of scraps.

A few hours of reflection before her flight home would serve her well. Julian was in town shutter bugging bright pastel stucco buildings, so she’d have some time alone to think. Bright pastel … until this trip, she would have considered that an oxymoron.

But she could see them from the wharf—rows of villas gaily painted in rich colors and whimsically decorated. One was raspberry stucco with aqua curlicues above royal blue awnings; the next was aqua stucco accented with cobalt tiles; a peach-colored house had fanciful fuchsia fishes sculpted above a delft blue doorway.

They had spontaneity, a childlike playfulness, an uninhibited joy. Their perfect freshness was enhanced by nearby clumps of elegant pure-white calla lilies glistening with morning dew.

That’s what I was hoping this marriage to Julian would be like, Deanna mused, realizing her mind had just stumbled into the very danger zone she needed to explore. It disturbed her that the sparkle of their honeymoon a mere five months ago had been greatly tarnished on this trip.

As this week had progressed, she’d become more and more frightened that the rest of their marriage would be this boring. There. She’d identified the warning buzzer.

It wasn’t what they had done during this vacation week that was troubling, but how she and Julian had related.

The problem wasn’t one too many seagulls. It was too few engaging conversations. Too few of the electrifying soul connections they used to make. Not enough sense of adventure. And too few evidences of the partnership she’d hoped for.

Ah, unfulfilled expectations … that old, disagreeable friend of hers. The disappointments of her first marriage reared their ugly heads, like the persistent, grumbling demons that they were. No wonder her current discomfort felt familiar. It had been fourteen long, lonely years since her divorce.

But the loneliness of singleness had not been as painful as the loneliness of marriage. The new marriage had promised the loving companionship. In courtship, Julian had been completely different from her first husband. Now here was that pesky marriage loneliness again.

Although she wished Julian would change, she’d been down that dead-end street before. Changing Julian was not the answer. Changing herself, or her thinking, or something, was. But what—and how?

She left the bench and strolled to the end of the pier. Elbow on a piling, chin in her hand, Deanna lost herself in the spectacle before her. A few enterprising gulls dropped clams on the rocks to break them open for food.

Families of seals basked lazily on shiny, black rocks. Occasionally, one raised its whiskered nose and slid into the ocean to dive for food. Where seals found fish, gulls circled overhead.

Deanna’s mind drifted to a water cooler conversation she’d had with her coworker Jeanne, whose very soul always seemed so well-fed that she didn’t seem to wish her marriage were different.

When she’d asked Jeanne about her level of marital contentment, she’d explained that remembering Jesus’ unconditional love for her gave her the freedom to accept her husband as he was—in areas where he met her needs, as well as in areas where he disappointed her. “If Jesus’ other name is Love, His middle name is Freedom,” Jeanne had said, beaming.

Deanna remembered wondering if Jeanne had beamed with pleasure of clever wordplay or with sheer relief of the concept. Well, thought Deanna, don’t I completely accept Julian? Once again, she sank into her mental list of his shortcomings.

Her reverie was interrupted by a family drama nearby. “Honey, you have to unload your pockets.”

Deanna looked toward the young sunburnt dad explaining gently to his reluctant curly-haired toddler that he didn’t want to see her struggle so hard to walk.

Deanna saw stubbornness in the little cherub’s jaw, then sadness in her eyes, as she obediently drew one treasure after another from her pink corduroy overalls.

Finally, her bulging pockets fell flat. Then she sheepishly dug into rolled-up pant cuffs and pulled out some stones and pine cones and a red and white fishing bobber that her little fingers could barely grasp. Deanna had to smile. No wonder the child had been waddling precariously.

As the little one reached for her father’s hand and skipped beside him back down the pier, Deanna was curious to know what this child had found pretty enough to pick up. She wandered over to the treasures remaining on the wharf after a few had plunked through the cracks into the water below.

Seven lavender and rose scallops, one chestnut cowry, a purple olive shell, a smooth pebble of polished cobalt glass, a gull feather, a small grayish sand dollar, a pearly angel wing, two iridescent midnight-blue mussels … the little girl definitely had an eye for pretty things.

She must have gone to the same beachcombing school Deanna had gone to. But wait. Something was different. These were just broken pieces.

Deanna knew the names of these shells only because she had seen them whole and read their names in books. In all her years of beachcombing, she wouldn’t even waste the energy to bend down to pick up a seashell if it wasn’t whole. In the little girl’s treasure pile, however, not a single shell was whole.

Likely those innocent blue eyes had never seen a complete clam or live scallop or even the Shell gasoline logo. For that matter, Deanna had never seen the perfect marriage she grumbled about not having.

If childlike wisdom sees beauty in imperfection … if she became more like a child in this way … Maybe to bring wonder back to her marriage, she could leave a few expectations on that pier herself.

“Hey there. I’m glad I found you. It’s almost time to fly home.” Julian kissed her gently, then smiled. He looked different. Beautiful.

“Just a second.” She bent down and picked up a small scallop shard and the gull feather to tape in her prayer journal.

With those reminders in one hand and Julian’s warm hand in her other, she smiled—and even skipped a little as they walked together toward shore.

© 2018 Jane Hoppe

 

Jane Hoppe is an epiphany enthusiast. When writing fiction or nonfiction, she portrays discovery, insight, and growth. Especially when God teaches her something, she wants to share it through writing. Her debut novel, first in the Maria Beaumont series, is called Beyond Betrayal. She writes two blogs, www.aquajane-musings.blogspot.com, eclectic musings on life, accepting middle age, and lots of book reviews, and www.reflectionsoneldercare.com, reflections on elder care, loving Mom and Dad in their old age, along with caregiver resources. Jane’s website is www.janehoppe.com.

“Wherever He Leads I’ll Go” by Diana Leagh Matthews

by

Wherever He Leads I'll Go

Lately, I have been wondering what God is up to in my life. For months so many parts of my life have been in upheaval while others are beginning to fall into place. But the one thing I know is I’ll follow my Christ who loves me so. Because wherever He leads I’ll go.

The popular invitational hymn was written by B.B. McKinney.

Baylus Benjamin McKinney was at the top of his career when he traveled to the Alabama Sunday School Convention in January 1936.  The year before the Heflin, Louisiana native was named editor for the Baptist Sunday School Board of the Southern Baptist Convention.

At the convention, the author of such hymns as “The Nail Scarred Hand,” “Speak to My Heart,” “Let Others See Jesus In Me,” and “Satisfied with Jesus, , met with his good friend of many years R. S. Jones.  Mr. Jones had been a missionary in Brazil.

As the two men visited and caught up over dinner, Mr. Jones revealed that his doctors would not allow him to return to South America due to his recent ill health. After a lifetime of serving God in Brazil, imagine how foreign a concept this must have been to the missionary.

“What will you do?” McKinney asked his friend.

“I don’t know, but wherever He leads I’ll go,” the missionary answered in earnest.

Baylus McKinney was unable to get his friend’s words out of his mind.  Before the convention session that evening, the Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary alumni and faculty member had expanded his friend’s words to write both the lyrics and melody to the hymn, “Wherever He Leads I’ll Go.”

That evening, Mr. McKinney shared the previous conversation with the congregation.  He then premiered his new hymn as he began to sing, “Take up that cross and follow me.  I heard my Master say.”

Mr. McKinney also lived out a life that followed the words of his famous hymn.  When the Great Depression sent the seminary into a financial crisis, Mr. McKinney became the assistant pastor at Travis Avenue Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas.

On Sunday, September 7, 1952, Mr. McKinney had just left a conference in Ridgecrest, NC and was headed for another engagement in Gatlinburg, TN.  While near Bryson City, NC, Mr. McKinney was killed in a car accident.  In addition to his wife, two sons, and several brothers, he left behind a legacy that included numerous hymns.

Falls Creek Baptist Encampment in Davis, Oklahoma named their chapel in his honor.

His hometown of Heflin holds an annual McKinney song service each July to celebrate his 149 hymns and gospel songs.

According to the Baptist Press, Mr. Jones served on the Southern Baptist convention Foreign Mission Board for thirty-seven years. He and his wife served as missionaries to Brazil from 1920 until 1930.

He retired from a life of service in 1958, having served as treasurer to the Foreign Mission Board for the last decade of his service.

Will you go wherever He leads?

 

“Prayers before School” by Joan Leotta

by

Mornings can be hectic, but there is one thing even more important than a healthy breakfast—prayers before school. In order to maximize prayer impact while respecting the likelihood that there will only be a few precious minutes in the morning, I have worked out a formula that was pretty effective at our house.

Of course homeschoolers, not having the need to commute, can use that time for prayer, without dividing the prayer time over several days.

The purpose of these morning prayers is to model for your children the worship of God through prayer, that we can rely on God for and in all things, big and small, and to instill these comforting verses in our hearts and those of our children so that throughout life these verses will emerge to help support them when they need it.

The system involves praying for the week ahead on Sundays for a longer time, using favorite verses of your choice and Ephesians 6:11 et al. Just as you would lay out clothes for the week, you should pray for the protection of God over each child’s week. During the year, you can add activities to this –draw the armor, begin to learn the passage, talk about what they mean.

Although you can do more preparation for the following day at family devotions, to best address the needs of each little heart in the family, wait for the moment when it is just the two of you at bedtime.

Then, add prayers and a verse for each child’s special needs for the following day—a test (maybe a verse on wisdom) meeting new people, how they can be salt and light in the classroom.

Pick a verse that meets that child’s needs. For instance, for my daughter, as for myself, Philippians 4:6-7 would be the verse.

Then a quick morning prayer to go with the quick kiss goodbye from you to remind them that no matter what happens, she need not be anxious about anything.

Of course, then we need to remind them that we will be in prayer for them all day. To keep that promise, I often write down the time of a special event.

When the day ends, be sure to follow up—in the after school talk and at the dinner table, unless it was a confidential request that your child wants to share only at bedtime.

Once they leave the house, it’s time for prayer from Mom to God on their behalf. Here are some of the things I prayed most often and that I still pray for our daughter even though she is long past school, and is out in the working world:

  1. Joy in learning (working), in the day and in the Lord—after all, each day is the day the Lord has made
  2. That she would be protected during the day from physical harm and spiritual aggression from evil—in any form, thought, word or deed. That she will put on the full armor of God.
  3. Prayer that the teacher (supervisor) will speak only the truth and if there is something contrary to God’s word taught, the children in the class will be protected from it.
  4. Prayer for her to be encouraged according to his or her abilities and needs.
  5. Prayer that she would be a blessing to others.
  6. Pray that the verses the child is learning will stay in your child’s heart all day, and …that he or she will be able to call up in moments of distress.
  7. Pray that you can encourage the teacher in some way.

After school time will be much richer if your child knows you have been participating via prayer in his or her day—it gives you more of an opening.

Morning prayer — a must, that can be easily inserted into a busy morning even without waking the child an extra twenty minutes early.

Joan Leotta

Joan Leotta has been playing with words since childhood. She is a poet, essayist, journalist, playwright, and author of several books both fiction and non-fiction for children and adults. She is also a performer and gives one-woman shows on historic figures and spoken word folklore shows as well as teaching writing and storytelling.

Joan lives in Calabash, NC where she walks the beach with husband, Joe. www.joanleotta.wordpress.com and https://www.facebook.com/pages/Joan-Leotta-Author-and-Story-Performer/188479350973

“Trouble on the Trail!” by Shara Bueler-Repka

by

FROM THIS MONTH’S KIDS’ KORNER

“Be back before lunch!” Mom called out the front door. “I have a meeting early this afternoon.”

I frowned. “Seriously?” I sighed. “I thought we had the whole day to ride, Nocona,” I complained to my horse.

“OK, Mom,” I called back.

I pulled the saddle girth tight and gathered the reins.

“Well, at least we’ll be able to ride for a little while.”

My horse turned his head toward me and I patted his neck. Swinging into the saddle, I gently squeezed my calves against his sides and clucked to him. He moved forward and away we went!

I hummed a tune, enjoying the mountains that towered above and the whisper of the breeze through the saguaro cactus spines. We rode down several trails, stopping on various ridges to gaze across the valley floor and breathe in the unique, sweet fragrance of the desert flowers.

I checked my watch. I knew we should be heading back to the ranch, but the trails were too tempting. “We can explore just one more. We have plenty of time to make it,” I convinced myself.

We happily wandered down another exciting trail, and I lost track of time. After a good while, I finally glanced at my watch again… and caught my breath.

“Oh, no! It’s five minutes to 12:00!”

No matter how hard I tried to urge Nocona to move faster, he seemed content to walk along without a care in the world, oblivious to my problem.

In desperation, I dug my heels into his sides with a bit too much energy. Startled, he jumped to the edge of the trail… right into a cholla cactus!

Suddenly we entered our own little rodeo! He sailed into the air, kicking his hooves up as I hung on for dear life!

He spun and bucked again and again, trying to shake the cholla bulbs loose that were stuck in his back leg. With each leap, a cliff loomed in front of us.

“Jesus, help me!” I blurted at the top of my lungs.

Immediately, Nocona stopped in midair, landed, and calmly stood as I dismounted—like nothing was stuck in him at all! Looking around, I saw no trees to tie him to (only cacti—and that wasn’t happening).

So, pointing him straight ahead, I laid the reins over my arm and stepped toward his flank. My heart sank as I rummaged through my saddlebags. Where are my leather gloves? I gasped. I never leave home without those!

Have you ever been up close and personal with a cholla and its lovely, long, needle-sharp barbs? Yeah, I cringed too!

I took a deep breath, prayed, and yanked out the cactus. Surprisingly (and a miracle), the cholla bulbs pulled out easier than I expected. I didn’t get poked too badly, and Nocona wasn’t hurt.

I breathed a sigh of relief and wiped my hand across my damp face. Surveying the territory around us, I realized that we stood in the only clearing—there were no cacti or rocks, only soft sand and grass! Whew!

I swung into the saddle and headed for home. I didn’t want to look at my watch now. I knew I was way late!

I rode to the barn and pulled the saddle and bridle off Nocona. Quickly brushing him, I turned him loose in the pasture and slunk to the house.

The kitchen door creaked as I peeked through it. My mom stood at the sink, washing the lunch dishes and glaring out the window.

Oh, man. I am totally busted!

“What happened?” she asked.

“I kinda lost track of time,” I replied.

“Kind of?” she said, turning to face me.

I decided to ‘play the sympathy card’ so I told her about my adventure with the cactus, throwing in as much drama as possible. But, although she was relieved I was OK, she grounded me for a week.

As I lay on my bed in solitary confinement, staring at the ceiling, I recalled the events of that day.

Yep, I owned the fact that this whole thing was my fault—from being distracted and staying out too late, to my impatience in getting back and almost sailing over a cliff. And I shuddered when I thought of everything that could have happened.

But I had to smile too. Even though I’d blown it, Jesus still helped me when I was in trouble and hollered for his help. I wonder if He sent a big ole angel to calm my horse?

I guess maybe that’s what grace means—God helps us when we’re in trouble, even when it’s our fault. That’s pretty cool.

But I also learned my lesson today—being impatient never turns out good. But, more importantly? I decided to be more respectful toward my mom in doing what I’m told in the first place!

God is our refuge and strength. A very present help in trouble—     Psalm 46:1

 

Shara Bueler-Repka is enjoying life as a singer/songwriter/recording artist, freelance writer, and award-winning author. She and her husband, Bruce, live in their living quarters horse trailer and call “home” wherever their rig is parked. Their mail-base, however, is Hallettsville, Texas. She also loves riding/ministering with her husband and their horses (aka The Boys) in the backcountry and writing about God’s grace in the various adventures on the trail less-traveled. Join the fun and be encouraged on their website: www.ponyexpressministry.com and her blog: www.trail-tails.blogspot.com, or come for a visit on Facebook.

“Betsy Ross: Patriots, Petticoats, and Providential History-Part 2” by Kathryn Ross

by

Did you know that the Declaration of Independence was not signed on July 4, 1776? Our Founding Fathers agreed to its precepts that day, but final draft and copies had to be prepared. One by one, they signed in secret over the next few weeks, throughout the month of August.

Meanwhile, Betsy Ross stepped center stage in American history. A recent widow at age 24 when an ammunitions explosion took the life of her new husband John, Betsy served her nation in a critical time, providently placed and prepared by God.

In the spring and summer of 1776, in her home located one block away from Independence Hall, a vital element necessary to secure American independence lay in her hands.

Read Part 1 of Betsy Ross: Patriots, Petticoats, and Providential History in the July issue of RUBY Magazine.

When we last left Betsy, her husband’s uncle George Ross, Robert Morris, and the esteemed General George Washington surprised her with a visit one morning in May. Congress appointed them the Flag Committee, responsible to design and produce a national standard to take into the expected war with England. The esteemed committee had barely arrived when . . .

Scuffling sounds in the street, just outside the front door, hushed the group with a palatable tension. Betsy’s hand rose to her lips, stifling a gasp.

General Washington motioned for silence. He crept along the wall towards the window, shielding himself, to investigate the source of the noise.

Might spies have followed General Washington to her doorstep? Had the war Betsy feared for so long come to her own home?

Sudden boisterous yells shifted the foursome into high alert that their mission might have been discovered.

Silent and watching from the corner of the window, Washington motioned for stillness, until the bellows turned to laughter, and faded, passing by.

“Drunken youth,” he said, relaxing with a knowing frown.

A collective sigh melted the tense moment. “Back to business, Mrs. Ross.” Robert Morris returned their attention to the matter at hand.

“Can you make this battle flag?”

A collective sigh melted the tense moment. “Back to business, Mrs. Ross.” Robert Morris returned their attention to the matter at hand. “Can you make this battle flag?”

Betsy picked up the paper previously set before her and studied the hasty sketch of a flag design. “How soon would you want it?”

“Within a fortnight, if possible.” Washington said.

She studied the drawing. “By the end of the month, I daresay. Early June at the latest. But . . .” her voice trailed.

“You will be paid for the job, of course, my dear.” Uncle George said.

“Oh. Forgive me. No.” Betsy said. “My hesitation is not economy of money, but—”

“Yes? Speak freely, mistress.” Washington’s voice gently invited her opinion.

Betsy, an obliging woman, did not want to appear critical of anything agreed upon by such an august committee as those standing before her.

But, her expertise had been sought by them. She spoke her mind.

“I only hesitate because, I wonder why you have chosen a six-pointed star for the design rather than a five-pointed star.”

The men looked at each other, cut to the quick by her unexpected response. “Is that all?” Uncle George said. “Five or six points. Does it matter?”

Washington grinned. “Is not a six-pointed star easier to fashion with equal sides than one with five?”

Betsy smiled. “Well, if you’ll allow me to demonstrate, sir.” She crossed the room to a table strewn with fabric swatches and sewing notions—the tools of her trade at the ready. Taking a squared white muslin in hand, she folded it oddly.

Once, then twice, then again, and again. Holding fast the bundled fabric, she clipped one end of it with her shears, allowing the material to drop to the table, unfurling from their folds. She picked up one of the pieces and presented it for inspection. A perfectly cut five-pointed star.

“Astonishing!” Washington shook his head in disbelief.

“My lady, I applaud you. Five-pointed white stars it shall be, on a field of blue—thirteen all; against thirteen alternating red and white stripes.”

The committee agreed.

Discussion followed to determine the exact proportions and measurements of the flag, materials to be used, date of delivery, and payment.

They instructed Betsy to cut and sew it by hand in the privacy of her own bedchamber to protect herself and the decisive step the creation of a battle flag meant to the cause of independence.

The gentlemen stayed only as long as necessary, then made a polite exit.

Closing the door behind them, Betsy realized the implications of what she agreed to do. She felt an active partner with John’s patriotic decision to join the militia, taking a practical stand for what he believed to be true and just.

Though schooled in the use of a firearm, her weapon as a patriot would be needle and thread. John would be proud. Thinking on this brought him nearer to her.

Barely settling in her chair with a steaming cup of tea in hand, mulling over her new commission, she heard another rap at the door.

Mr. Samuel Wetherill, an old family friend, tipped his tricorn hat in greeting as she welcomed him. He brought mending and kind regards in her recent loss.

“But, my dear, are you unwell,” he said with a furrowed brow, observing her vexed expression. “You appear flushed and not quite yourself.” He noticed her trembling so soon after the flag committee’s visit.

“I am well.” She said and sipped her tea. An awkward silence followed.

Mr. Wetherill attempted to put her at ease with conversation. “I daresay, I saw General Washington in the street a bit ago. With your uncle and the good Mr. Morris. Your uncle looks well.”

The Wetherill family had known Betsy since her youth, the eighth child of seventeen, baptized Elizabeth Griscom.

When her pacifist Quaker family cut her off after she eloped with John, an Episcopalian, the Wetherills demonstrated Christ’s love and concern for her through that tumultuous season, welcoming the new Mr. and Mrs. Ross into the Episcopal Christ Church house of worship.

Mr. Wetherill had always proved himself a trusted friend. He discerned amiss. “My dear,” he repeated, “are you well?”

Betsy sighed. Clearly, Mr. Wetherill suspected something amiss. She paused before leaning forward with widened eyes to reveal her news.

“The truth is, Uncle George was just here within the hour accompanied by General Washington and Mr. Morris whom you saw in the street.”

Mr. Wetherill nodded. “Excellent! I hope they brought you good custom. Washington and his ruffles and Morris the same. New shirts ordered up, I suppose?”

“No,” said Betsy. She determined to bring Mr. Wetherill into her confidence. “I have been commissioned by the General to create a battle flag for the colonies. In secret, of course.”

Saying it aloud for the first time caused her to tremble at the gravity of it. “Oh, Mr. Wetherill. What is to become of us in these troubled days? I am commissioned to create a flag that, should the colonies prevail—would become the standard of a new nation.”

All light-heartedness in Wetherill’s manner disappeared. He touched her hand, gazing severely into her face. “My dear. You are an Esther, commissioned by One higher than Washington for such a time as this.

The God of the impossible calls nations into being and unseats them at His will and for His purposes.

History has been wrought in your front room this day. It is His Story! Play your part with confidence and allow God to use it as He will.”

Sudden purpose flooded Betsy’s heart. She crossed the room to the table where the pieces to the star she had cut lay.

“I even convinced the General that a five-pointed star was superior to a six-pointed star for its ease in making. I do it with a few folds and a snip of my shears. See here?” She handed the two pieces of cut fabric to Wetherill.

“I didn’t want to second guess General Washington, but truly—if I were to commit to making a flag with stars, I would rather the simplicity of five-pointed stars rather than six.” Betsy laughed.

“Well, I’m astonished,” said Wetherill, fingering the five-pointed star. “May I ask you—what did you plan to do with this star?”

The question perplexed her. “That star? Well, nothing. It was just a demonstration. I may be able to make use of the pieces in a quilt or patching.

Wetherill stood. “May I be permitted to keep it?”

“Keep it? Well . . . certainly. If you must. But, why?”

“For posterity, my girl.” Wetherill’s response—swift, almost mysterious—chilled her. He lowered his voice in foreboding. “The day may come when we shall need tangible reminders of turning point moments in our national independence story.”

Betsy Ross, indeed, delivered the General’s flag as agreed one month before the Congress voted for independence on July 4, 1776.

Printed dispatches of the formal Declaration of Independence circulated throughout the colonies calling patriots to arms.

As a nation at war, one year later, on June 14, 1777, the Continental Congress formally adopted the national flag to promote unity and national pride:

“Resolved: That the flag of the United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation.”

Betsy remained busy throughout the war, sewing more flags for the revolution in the secrecy of her bedchamber. Within a year, British soldiers took up rooms within her home when they occupied Philadelphia.

Perhaps, as she sewed in secret, she prayed and wondered about the husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons whose blood would spill under that banner for the cause of liberty and justice.

She married twice during the war—losing both husbands in battle. Growing strong through a season of storm-clouds and loss, she also made musket bullets in a secret cellar room to aid the constant need for ammunition. Right under Redcoat noses.

After the war she married, for the fourth time, a man named John Claypole. They raised five daughters and maintained a thriving upholstery and flag making business until her retirement in 1827 at the age of 75. She lived a quiet, devout Christian life until her death in 1836 at the age of 84.

Through the years she often spoke of the day General Washington came to call with the commission to create the first American flag of the United States.

Her firsthand account of the event passed down through her family as part of their oral history. In 1870, Betsy’s grandson, William J. Canby, encouraged efforts to purchase Betsy Ross’ house and designate it a historical landmark as the American Flag House and Betsy Ross Memorial.

A campaign launched to open it to the public through monies raised by an Association. Anyone could contribute and receive an elite document suitable for framing at a cost of only ten cents.

The document included a full color picture of the celebrated moment in history painted by association founder, Charles H. Weisberger. It is the same painting used in 1952 to mark Betsy’s 200th birthday with an official US Postage stamp. The house has been a living history museum open to the public since 1937.

But, the most amazing part of Betsy’s story happened in 1925 when the descendants of Samuel Wetherill opened the family safe to discover the star he had taken from Betsy’s house within hours of her visit with Washington on that May day in 1776.

He marked it with her name and did, indeed, seal it away for posterity. It remains a tangible slice of American history on display at Quaker Meeting House Museum located a block from the Betsy Ross House Museum in historic Philadelphia.

To learn more about Betsy Ross and the Betsy Ross House Museum, visit http://historicphiladelphia.org/betsy-ross-house/history/

Listen to a dramatization of the story on The Writer’s Reverie Podcast, by Kathryn Ross at www.thewritersreverie.com . Click Podcasts on the menu bar and scroll down to access Patriots, Petticoats, and Providential History.

 

Writer-speaker, Kathryn Ross is Pageant Wagon Publishing—igniting God’s Word and biblical principles as a vibrant light of literacy and learning in the life of your Christian family. Inspired by the stillness of birdsong, silent reflection, antiques, and teatime, she filters her love of history, classic literature, and the arts through God’s Word, to inform her words. Her passion to equip women and families in developing a Family Literacy Lifestyle produces readers and thinkers who can engage the world from a biblical worldview. In addition, she mentors authors as a book shepherd, assisting them in the development, editing, design, and production of the book God has called them to write. Miss Kathy blogs and podcasts at www.thewritersreverie.com and www.pageantwagonpublishing.com.

“Forgotten God: Reversing our Tragic Neglect of the Holy Spirit” by Francis Chan

by

Holy Spirit Forgotten God by Francis Chan

Forgotten God: Reversing our Tragic Neglect of the Holy Spirit

by Francis Chan

Book review by Carol Peterson

Every once in a while, you read a book that changes you. Forgotten God: Reversing our Tragic Neglect of the Holy Spirit is one of those books for me. I read it years ago and again recently, having been asked lately by people on separate occasions, “Have you read Forgotten God?”

Chan’s basic premise is that, as Christians, we pay little attention to the Holy Spirit. We pray to God the Father and have a personal relationship with Jesus. We claim to believe that the Holy Spirit lives in us. But, Chan concludes, we pay little attention to that fact. We focus on the other two persons in the Trinity and avoid the issue that the Holy Spirit is there, right now, and always in us and ready to guide, direct, comfort and encourage us.

What I personally gained most from Chan’s book was that this reminder of the Spirit’s presence caused a desire to allow the Spirit to work in and through me. I wanted a relationship not just with Father God and my Savior Jesus.

Chan’s reminder that Jesus left the Holy Spirit’s presence as a gift for me (and you), instilled a deeper desire to have communion with my closest spiritual partner in life—the Holy Spirit.

What changed for me in a practical way? I began to be more open to the Spirit’s leading. I began to allow the Spirit to pray through me for people and circumstances I would not have thought to pray for on my own. I began to pray not only to Father God and my Jesus, but also to pray to the Spirit, thus opening my heart to the whole presence of God.

My journey of faith began to move forward. My sense of the power of the Spirit has grown—not because I somehow have “more” of the Spirit, but because I could more clearly sense His presence and leading. And then follow Him

I recommend Forgotten God to anyone who professes belief in the Trinity and seeks to allow the Holy Spirit to have more power in their lives. I pray the book will change and empower you.

Holy Spirit RUBY'S Reading Corner Banner

Forgotten God: Reversing our Tragic Neglect of the Holy Spirit by Francis Chan is available from RUBY’S Reading Corner

 

Carol Peterson

Carol Peterson, Author  My mission as a writer is to educate, entertain and inspire–children, their teachers and parents, other writers, and readers of all genres. As a children’s writer I try to “Make Learning Fun” by helping busy teachers address curriculum accountability standards, and encouraging other writers to do the same. You can connect with Carol at her blog, Carol Peterson, Author Carol is a member of the Ruby Book Review Team.

Carols Book Club

Check out Carol’s Book Club in each issue of RUBY magazine for her latest book reviews!

 

 

NEW Titles from RUBY’S Reading Corner for August

by

RUBY'S Reading Corner

Every month we are adding more titles to RUBY’S Reading Corner! Our little online book shop is filled with inspirational fiction and non-fiction books, Christian biographies and devotionals, family-friendly books on parenting and family life, Bible study books, gardening and craft books, home and garden books, and so much more!

Be sure to visit RUBY’S Reading Corner whenever you are shopping for books. All books from RUBY’S Reading Corner will be shipped directly to your home from Amazon, and even though you won’t pay any more for your purchase by shopping through RUBY’S Reading Corner, a small portion of each sale helps support the ministry of RUBY.

Please take a few minutes and check out the new titles this month at RUBY’S Reading Corner . . . . . 

Praying God's Promises by Linda Evans Shepherd

Praying God’s Promises

The Life-Changing Power of Praying the Scriptures

by Linda Evans Shepherd

The Scriptures tell us that when we pray the will of God, he delights to answer our prayers. But what is God’s will in any given situation? How can we know it? And if we don’t know it, how can we pray it?

Linda Evans Shepherd shows readers that God’s will is not a mystery–it’s clearly laid out in his Word through his many promises. Through stories, practical application, examples of prayers, and guided reflection, Shepherd leads readers toward a more powerful prayer life.

 

Forgotten God by Francis Chan

Forgotten God: Reversing our Tragic Neglect of the Holy Spirit

by Francis Chan

Pastor Francis Chan offers a compelling invitation to understand, embrace, and follow the Holy Spirit’s direction in our lives.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and … the Holy Spirit. We pray in the name of all three, but how often do we live with an awareness of only the first two? As Jesus ascended into heaven, He promised to send the Holy Spirit—the Helper—so that we could be true and living witnesses for Christ. Unfortunately, today’s church has admired the gift but neglected to open it.

 

Just Open the Door by Jen Schmidt

Just Open the Door: How One Invitation Can Change a Generation

by Jen Schmidt

Change a generation with something as simple as an invitation.

For many of us, inviting people into our lives and homes feels more like inviting judgment on our entertaining skills and stress on our already maxed-out schedules. But what if you knew that opening your front door had the power to radically change the world? To make an impact and leave a legacy with everyday invitations?

Just Open the Door is a personal yes-you-can guide to offering the life-changing gift of invitation. Whether you’re a seasoned host looking for renewed inspiration or a nervous newbie not sure where to begin, these personal stories, practical ideas, and poignant insights will give you the confidence you need to see your home as the most likely location for changing the world around you, one open door at a time.

 

Visit RUBY’S Reading Corner to see all the new titles for August!

RUBY'S Reading Corner Banner

 

 

The August 2018 issue of RUBY magazine has been published!

by

AUGUST RUBY magazine AUGUST 2018

The August 2018 issue of RUBY magazine features inspirational articles, poetry, devotionals, book reviews, recipes, and kids’ activities that will be a great resource for you and your family on these late summer days. Thinking about the changing seasons that is just around the corner, the August issue of RUBY includes an article on back-to-school saving strategies by Jehn Kubiak, a collection of great blueberry recipes, a book review of Forgotten God: Reversing our Tragic Neglect of the Holy Spirit by Francis Chan, reviewed by Carol Peterson, and an inspirational poem, “My Daughter Gave Me the Moon,” by Joan Leotta. And so much more!

We are now accepting submissions for the September 2018 issue of RUBY magazine, and we would love to hear from YOU! Send your submissions or inquiries to us at editor@rubyforwomen.com for all the details, or visit our submissions page for more information.

AUGUST Submissions for September 2018

 

And don’t forget . . . . you are invited to join us in the RUBY online community, too! Come on over to our Facebook group where you will discover groups where you can share prayer requests, tell us about your latest blog post or your current work in progress, share a recipe or a craft project with us, or just hang out in the RUBY cafe! We would love to connect with you there . . . come on along and join the conversation in the RUBY neighborhood.

AUGUST RUBY Neighborhood Ad

Looking forward to hearing from you soon!

Now Accepting Submissions for the SEPTEMBER 2018 issue of RUBY magazine!

by

Submissions for September 2018 RUBY magazine

 September 2018 Submissions

We are now accepting submissions for the SEPTEMBER 2018 issue of RUBY magazine and we would love to hear from YOU! Check out the suggestions below for inspirational and family-friendly articles, short stories, poetry, book reviews, craft tutorials, recipes, or children’s stories, crafts, puzzles, or coloring pages. You can email your September 2018 submissions to us at editor@rubyforwomen.com We’ll be watching your your email!

  • Labor Day

  • Grandparents day

  • First day of school

  • Budgeting for the new school year

  • How to schedule family time in the midst of school and work time

  • How to deal with homework

  • Lunch box and snack ideas

  • Problem solving (work or school)

  • Making new friends at school

  • Fall cleaning

  • Fall crafts

  • Fall craft fairs (write about your experience)

  • Fall family activities

  • Fall party ideas

  • Fall recipes

  • Columbus Day

  • Gearing up for the holidays

  • Fall home decorating tips

  • Preparing for winter

  • Fall gardening-prep for winter

  • Getting your home ‘winterized’

Submissions for September 2018 RUBY magazine

“A Passionate Hope – Hannah’s Story” by Jill Eileen Smith

by

A Passionate Hope
Hannah’s Story
by Jill Eileen Smith

Series: Daughters of the Promised Land

Book review by Miriam Jacob

Can one childless woman’s prayers change the world?

Hannah and her husband, Elkanah loved each other deeply.

They also loved God fervently. Passionately longing for restoration, they prayed for a deliverer.

But as the long, wearisome years passed, nothing changed for the better. As Hannah was barren, Elkanah married Peninnah, who quickly bore children and cruelly taunted Hannah mercilessly.

Hannah’s tearful prayers went unanswered. Would Hannah’s devotion and kindness amount to nothing? Will God answer her heart’s cries and agonizing pleas?

In the dusty streets of Shiloh, Jill Eileen Smith vividly brings to life a story of hope, patience, and deliverance. Even the most broken and irretrievably lost of all relationships can be mercifully restored by God’s benevolent love.

A Passionate Hope is a novel about redeeming love, steeped in dramatic historical detail about real people, large as life, who suffering agonizing heartache, cry out to God and are transformed by the miracle of grace.

Impeccable research and vivid prose brings the characters of the Bible to life. The themes of heartache, saving grace, fiery faith, redemption, and healing are excitingly interwoven into a dramatic finish. This is a well-drawn love story with wistful imaginings and soulful heart cries.

Jill Eileen Smith writes intriguing, spirit-filled fiction, about inspiring women of sterling character, drawn from the dusty margins of Biblical history, to illuminate their achievements like the sun shining in full strength. Her richly detailed settings and gift of graphic description give readers a strong sense of what life was really like in ancient Israel.

You can find more inspiring book reviews by Miriam Jacob on her website.

Miriam Jacob is a reviewer at Oxford Academic, Oxford University Press; a blog reviewer at Revell Reads, Baker Publishing Group; member of the Bible Gateway Blogger Grid, Christian Authors Network and Ruby Book Review Team; Google Scholar and Researcher at Academia.edu; ebook author and poet; top reviewer at NetGalley, Christian Book Distributors, Barnes and Noble, Google Books and Goodreads. Miriam is a reviewer at Tyndale House Publishers; Moody Press; Barbour Books; Harvest House; New Hope Publishers; Penguin; HarperCollins Christian; Abingdon Press; WaterBrook & Multnomah; and Discovery House. Miriam’s articles and poems are published at Blogger, Faithwriters, PoemHunter, ProBoards, Weebly and WordPress. Her writings are published on her two blogs at www.miriamjacob.wordpress.com & www.authorsforchrist.blogspot.com

“The Art of Letting Go” by Nina Newton

by

“What are you holding in your hands that you can’t let go?” I heard a recent sermon that asked this question. The conclusion was that we need to learn to hold everything that is in our hands loosely. This was a particularly poignant message as we had to “let go” of one of our friends from our church family just the other day. An unexpected relinquishment of a husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather who had been ill for quite some time, but things seemed to be getting better for him.

As I put my arms around his wife and she collapsed into broken sobs of despair, I realized again that one day we will all  need to “let go” of everything we hold in our hands and in our hearts. If we have our God to hold on to, and know that He is holding on to us, we can walk through those times of “letting go” a bit easier . . . although it will always be a time of great pain and sorrow, but we are not without hope.

In the midst of our days on earth, in the face of loss, we will all journey through the valley of grief and agony of spirit. That is normal, and grief has its own time line. If we love deeply we will grieve deeply over the loss of those we hold dear to our hearts. I have heard, and experienced in my own small way, that “love becomes a wound that bleeds.” You know this is true if you have lost someone who is a part of your very being, your soul, and your self.

But we know from God’s Word that this life on earth is only temporary and that those who have believed and trusted the Lord Jesus Christ for forgiveness and salvation, will live eternally in His presence. There is coming a day when all tears shall be dried, there will be no  more sorrow, no more pain, and no more death. But that is hard to imagine in our moments of deepest grief.

Today, I choose to focus on what God has given and not on what other people have taken away. I choose to hold tightly to His promises for restoration, redemption, and salvation. And I choose to accept the reality that I must develop the “art of letting go.”

I’ve often said, “If I was going to die of a broken heart, that would have happened a long time ago,” but in truth I believe that people can actually die from a broken heart. In the midst of the most crushing grief, we must remember that God will uphold us through it all, and He will give us hope so that we can learn to live again, to love again, and to seek His blessings. It is not easy, but it is possible.

The reality is that people have lived without an overabundance of material possessions throughout history. Many people, even today, live without the basic necessities of life. They struggle to find food, water, clothing, and shelter. When given the opportunity, we should consider sharing out of our abundance with those in need. There are many ways to do that, through charitable giving to volunteering at a local homeless shelter, to sponsoring a child in a third-world country, to adopting or providing foster care for orphans, among others.

But we can only do that if we learn the “art of letting go.” For some of us that begins right here at home, taking time and investing the energy needed to “let go” of some of the excess “stuff” in our homes, the hurtful resentments and grudges from an unforgiving heart, and the overwhelming time commitments that many of us struggle with.

I know some of you are thinking right now about the scene in “Frozen” where we are reminded to “Let it go.” But this is serious business! It’s time to reevaluate all of those things that are in our hands that we think we can’t live without. We need to examine our commitments, our values, and our possessions and turn it all over to God to do with as He chooses. We need to give Him our time, our finances, our possessions, our heart, our family, our home, and our whole being. If we let it go, God will redeem it, just as He did with Job: The LORD blessed the latter part of Job’s life more than the first . . .

So, this week as we are sorting through piles of accumulated stuff that somehow finds its way into our house – when we moved into this house lots of boxes of “stuff” were just piled up in the garage waiting for the day when we would finally get around to looking at it again – I am reminded that I need to work on developing the “art of letting go.” After all, if all that “stuff” has been sitting in a box in the back of the garage for two years, what are the chances that I will EVER actually, really, truly NEED it?

And on closer inspection, I need to look into my heart and I’m sure I’ll find plenty of “stuff” in there that I need to get rid of, too. I’m pretty convinced that getting rid of excess baggage, either in our homes or in our hearts, will bring a sense of peace or order that will then be a good place for us to seek God’s presence, where we can hear His voice, and we can learn to depend on Him, and trust Him for the inevitable day when we will need to face more difficult losses.

Can we let it go? If we start now to clear out everything that is distracting us from seeking and walking with God, when that day comes, we will be so much better prepared to let our  most treasured possession go, knowing God will keep His promises and although  we might be “struck down . . . but we are not destroyed.” How are you doing on letting go? It’s not easy, but you will truly find God’s presence in the quiet, even in those moments of deepest despair, and you will know that He offers hope to the broken hearted.

I wish for you this summer, and all year long, the joy of His presence and the peace of His promises. I wish you times of reflection and heart-examination, and I wish for you the courage and the determination to “let go” of everything that is hindering you as you strive to walk with Him every day.

“Create Your Own DIY Patriotic Blocks” by Donna Powell

by

Our home has a lot of patriotic themed décor.  Not only because I love the combination of red, white and blue together, but because my husband is a veteran.

Over the last twenty seven years of marriage, we have slowly collected patriotic artwork and décor with battle scenes of historic civil war battles, paratroopers, and our latest is a special edition print for the 278th Army Calvary Regiment which he served with in Iraq.

We display these things because it is so much more than just being an Army veteran, but it stems from a love of God, our country and honor for those who have served before him.

I love to decorate our home for the warmer summer months with little touches of red, white and blue.  Not only can you leave them up from Memorial Day until Labor Day, but they also provide a festive touch to regular family gatherings.

This month I have embarked on a creative endeavor to make a patriotic themed project for each week during the month..  A few are quick and easy projects but a couple require a bit more time, for instance, the Four Sided Patriotic Blocks I worked on this week.

For this project you will need:

  • Artminds™ Whittler’s Kit
  • Acrylic paints in Navy, White, and Red
  • Painters Pens in Navy, White, Red and Silver
  • Craft brushes in various sizes
  • Vinyl letters and stickers if desired
  • PolyAcrylic top coat in semi-gloss

I chose the Artminds™ Whittler’s Kit because it comes with three precut wood blocks in different sizes. No cutting or sawing required for three different sizes of blocks to stack together.  I painted each block entirely in one color of the red, white or blue. I found that this took several coats to get a nice paint cover.

The next step is entirely up to you. I chose to use a method of creating the words for the blocks on my computer, printing them out and then cutting out each individual word as a template.  Using colored chalk on the back of the word template, I then traced over the original side with a pencil on the wood to leave a chalk image of the word to fill in with paint.

This method is fairly easy but took much longer than I had planned.  And it did not give me clean crisp lines for the letters that I wanted.  But I had already committed myself too far in to this process to change it at the last minute. If I ever make a set for another holiday or for inspiration, I will shop for vinyl letters in different fonts and colors to stick to the blocks. This would also be less time consuming than painting each individual letter and word.

I chose to create four sides to each block to be able to create several different patriotic sayings to display and change as I liked throughout the summer months.

“Pray for our Troops”

“God Bless America”

“Pray for America”

“God for America”

“Faith Family Freedom”

“Home of the Brave”

“Pray for Freedom”

“God Bless our Troops”

Any combination of words and sayings can be painted on each side of the blocks. The trick is to plan them out beforehand on which side of the block so that you get the words in the right order when stacked.

I can already imagine making a set of these blocks with portions of Bible verses or daily reminders of God’s love, faithfulness and provision. Every day you can rearrange the blocks for new inspiration. 

I may leave this set of blocks out all year!

 

 

Donna Powell is a Christian wife and mother, and a Certified Interior Designer.  After leaving a demanding career to take care of her father, Donna now spends most of her time blogging about home decor and renovating her mid-century modern home located in the hills of East Tennessee.  Her blog can be found at www.modernonmonticello.com  She has been married to Brian for 27 years, an Army veteran and Physician Assistant working in Neurosurgery.  Donna and Brian have two grown children.  When they aren’t renovating their rental property or planning a future in flipping houses, they also take in abused and rescue animals and currently have four dogs, a cat, and a rabbit.

For more inspirational articles and creative inspiration, visit Donna at Modern on Monticello

“The Price of Freedom” by Norma C. Mezoe

by

Image via Wikipedia

The gray uniform of the Confederacy hung in the display case in the Civil War museum.  The left leg had been cut away high above the knee.  Nearby was a picture of the soldier who had worn the uniform.  Only nineteen years of age, his face was almost child-like.  His stature was slender and boyish.

How his mother’s heart must have ached as she hugged her son and said, “Good-bye.”  Her burning desire was to hold on to him and prevent him from leaving the relative safety of their simple country home.  But she knew she had to release him to do what he believed was his duty.

The young man’s father stood nearby; hands in pockets and his head bowed low.  He wanted to tell his son how much he loved him, but the words could not push past the lump sticking in his throat.   Finally, he thrust out his hand and clasped his son’s hand…firmly, but yet gently.  His grasp spoke of the love he could not speak.

Then off marched the son, along with others of his small village.  Mom and Dad watched the road until he was long out of sight.  Then, gathering up the broken pieces of their hearts, they returned home to resume a semblance of living.

Far away, battles raged.  Often brother fought against brother; each man believing his convictions were the right ones.  Then came the battle of Chancellorsville.  Robert E. Lee led the Confederacy against the Union.  Dressed in his grey woolen uniform, the nineteen year old joined his comrades in fighting the enemy.  But a bullet found its mark, shattering the young man’s thigh.

Taken to a makeshift operating room, his leg was amputated.  The surgery was futile. After much pain and endless suffering, the young soldier died.  Mom and Dad would wait hopelessly for their son to return home.

Now, the uniform hanging in the museum is mute evidence of the tragedies of war and of homes torn apart by battles.

Throughout the history of America, wars have been fought to gain and to preserve our freedom.  Many men and women have given their lives in order to insure that our liberty will remain.  Others have suffered injuries and will carry the result of these throughout their lives.    The sacrifices have been numberless throughout the history of our beautiful land.    We are thankful and indebted to each of these individuals.

As Christians celebrate on the Fourth of July, we are blessed with two kinds of freedom.  Not only do we observe our country’s independence, we can also be thankful for the freedom Jesus Christ gives.  Because of his suffering, dying and resurrection, we have been given an eternal freedom that can never be taken away.

As our families gather for picnics and cookouts, fireworks and parades, may we pause to give heartfelt thanks to those who have sacrificed for America’s freedom and to Jesus Christ for his sacrificial gift of spiritual freedom.

 

Norma C. Mezoe began writing after a crisis in her life. She has been a published writer for thirty years. Her writing has appeared in books, devotionals, take-home papers and magazines. She lives in the tiny town of Sandborn, Indiana where she is active in her church as clerk, teacher and bulletin maker. Contact at: normacm@tds.net

Betsy Ross: Patriots, Petticoats, and Providential History, Part 1 by Kathryn Ross

by

As we mark the defining moment in history celebrated on July 4, 1776, when 55 men burdened with the responsibility to decide the course of America—tyranny or liberty; monarchy or independence—it is important to remember their decisions were not made lightly or in their own power.

They each acknowledged the providence of God in their crucial time. They sought to follow His Will to whatever end it might be, out of obedience to what they understood as biblical principles of liberty and justice.

Their choices produced a Constitutional Republic governmental system that had never been seen in the world. A Judeo-Christian, entrepreneurial capitalist society of self-governed people who grew to become the greatest nation in world history, impacting all nations with the proliferation of God’s Word and the principles of freedom.

Patriots, all.

And many of those patriots wore petticoats.

Meet Betsy Ross, a young woman providently placed and prepared by God to serve her nation in a critical time.

Her story reminds us to be ever ready to answer God’s call to play our part in His providential plan for our lives, and the lives He has called us to impact with our choices and actions.

Not since the inception of our Republic has this call been so vital, as our Republic is under full assault by its enemies to destroy it from within and supplant it with the very opposite of freedom—a socialist regime.

Welcome to Betsy’s world:

The bell in the Christ Church tower called the colonists to worship through the crisp winter air in early January. John and Betsy Ross slid into their pew across the aisle from General Washington’s empty box with a reverent nod in its direction. News of his battle in Boston on New Year’s Day had reached Philadelphia.

The year 1776, ushered in with canon and musket fire, promised more of the same to come. Escalating tensions with England produced challenges on all fronts for American colonists and the Ross’ were no exception.

The couple, married barely four years, enjoyed precious little time together as husband and wife with the rumblings of war and independence troubling their bliss.

In fact, to make ends meet, John was forced to join the Pennsylvania militia once their upholstery shop felt the financial impact of scarce materials and job competition because of the war.

But, on the Lord’s Day hope supplants fear. Civilians, officers, and enlisted gather as one family to worship He who commands Heaven’s armies. Class distinctions dissipate when saints gather to pray. In the throes of revolutionary unrest, petitions of both the high-born and the low-born rage fervent. Every word from every lip avails much.

Christ Church, centered on the street a block from the Ross’ home in one direction and the government meeting house in the other, filled to overflow when members of the Continental Congress gathered to govern in Philadelphia.

On Sunday morning, statesmen sought the Lord’s wisdom for the historic decisions they had the responsibility to make. Betsy glanced about the congregation recognizing many distinguished men destined for immortalization in history books.

She breathed a silent prayer on their behalf. They carried a great burden. With a loving squeeze of John’s hand, she met his eyes, betraying in her weak smile a sense of pride mingled with fear, then turned her attention to the hymn book.

Patriots, citizens, soldiers, and seamstresses raised their voices as one in praise and petition to the strains of Amazing Grace.

John and Betsy never shared a pew or sang in worship together again.

Within a fortnight that January, while Congress argued secession from the tyrannical government over-reach, exorbitant taxes, and crushing regulations of the English king, John Ross became an early casualty of a war yet to be formally declared.

Suffering mortal wounds in an ammunitions storehouse explosion, Betsy’s hopes for a happily-ever-after life with him, shattered to pieces. A widow at age 24, she remained to navigate a tenuous future alone, taking any work related to needle and thread.

Battle losses prior to an actual declaration of war increased throughout the colonies—especially in the New England states. Representative John Adams of the Massachusetts colony, a fire-brand advocate for independence, made quite a name for himself in the congressional debates.

New England saw more than its share of confrontations, becoming a hot-bed of dissention due to the influx of taxes required, and freedoms stripped, from the colonists there. Redcoat armies took violent stands to quell the masses. The scene played out with more regularity, spreading like a plague throughout the colonies.

The colonists, seeking to live peaceable lives under an oppressive rule, spiraled toward a historic moment from which there would be no turning back. The crisis of birth to bring forth new life is not simply the domain of women. Nations are birthed through crisis, too.

And in just such a critical moment of history, a widowed young woman would soon make a lasting mark in the birth of a nation through divine providential circumstances.

In February, General Washington arrived in Philadelphia to discuss the need for the colonies’ standard under which to muster the troops. A number of flags existed, raised by colonists as part of the campaign towards revolution.

For instance, the popular image of a rattlesnake captioned with the challenging tag line “Don’t Tread on Me” effectively stirred crowds to the purpose.

But, emotionally charged mantras and imagery seemed hardly appropriate for a united battlefield banner.

A new flag must be designed to distinctly represent all thirteen colonies banded together for independence. This would set the colonists apart from the British Union Jack in battle and become a new nation’s patriotic emblem.

To the purpose, the Continental Congress designated a Secret Flag Committee made up of General Washington; Robert Morris, the wealthiest man in the colonies; and George Ross, John and Betsy’s uncle. By spring, they drafted an idea for the colors and design—red, white, and blue, in stars and stripes.

“But, who can fashion such a thing?” Washington asked.

It had been a couple of months since George Ross lost his nephew in the explosion. He knew Betsy’s skill and her need for work. He also knew her to be a patriot.

“I think my niece, Betsy Ross, at the upholstery shop across from Christ Church may be of use there.” he suggested.

“You’ve had her mend and fashion some of your shirts, General.”

Washington nodded. He knew the quality of her work, and from Sunday worship was aware she had recently lost her husband to the cause. The committee agreed. Washington, Morris, and George Ross would pay a visit to Betsy Ross.

Their errand involved some risk should news of their plan fall into British hands. They chanced arrest for treason, putting Betsy in harm’s way, and had every reason to be concerned for secrecy and stealth in meeting.

“The good mistress has lost her husband of late,” said Morris.

“Perhaps we raise the subject of the flag on the pretext of a condolence visit from her uncle and his two friends. In daylight. To avoid suspicion.”

Loyalists to the crown were prevalent in Philadelphia. Spies might be the harmless neighbor next door. John Ross’ tragic death appeared as an advantage now, shielding a military meeting behind the veil of a social sympathy call.

On an early spring day in May, Betsy sat in her front room mending petticoats when she heard a gentle rap on the door. She slid her needle into the fabric to keep her place and set the sewing aside to see who may have come to call.

“Uncle George!” she smiled with delight and a reverent curtsy. “How kind of you to visit.” The last time Uncle George came to her door was shortly after the news of her husband’s death.

She weakened for a moment, remembering the few days she tried to nurse John through his wounds to no avail. Uncle George had always been charitable to her. She spoke with him last when they laid John to rest in the Christ Church cemetery.

Blinking the sun from her eyes, she strained to see the two men standing behind him. A cloud drifted into place to cover the mid-day glare, allowing her to focus on the familiar faces of General Washington and Mr. Morris, men of note and accomplishment.

Something told her this was not a mere social call with her uncle. A business call, perhaps? Swiftly, she ushered them into her home.

Light pleasantries exchanged between the lady and her visitors, with formal greetings and condolences paid as planned. Betsy shrank in the presence of the three dignitaries.

They brought no parcel of clothes for mending. What could their mission be? To simply offer condolences? Surely not. Was the General in the habit of such a thing with so many militia families having experienced similar losses in Philadelphia?

Furtive glances passed between the men before the General nodded. “We shall get straight to the business, Mrs. Ross.” He spoke with a soft, yet commanding voice, motioning her to sit. She did so.

“You see, Betsy, dear,” started Uncle George, “We have need of your services. Your needle and thread.”

Betsy relaxed. “Oh. I see. You have some uniforms, perhaps, that need mending? General Washington, more ruffles for your shirts?”

“Not quite uniforms. And, no—no ruffles this time.” General Washington drew a small sheet of paper from his inner overcoat pocket and unfolded it on the table next to Betsy. “A flag, Mrs. Ross. A battle flag.”

Scuffling sounds in the street, just outside the front door, hushed the group with a palatable tension. Betsy’s hand rose to her lips, stifling a gasp. General Washington motioned for silence. He crept along the wall towards the window, shielding himself, to investigate the source of the noise.

Might spies have followed General Washington to her doorstep? Had the war Betsy feared for so long come to her own home?

******************************

Watch for Part Two of Patriots, Petticoats, and Providential History in the August issue of RUBY Magazine! To learn more about Betsy Ross and the Betsy Ross House Museum, visit http://historicphiladelphia.org/betsy-ross-house/history/

Listen to a dramatization of the whole story on The Writer’s Reverie Podcast, by Kathryn Ross at www.thewritersreverie.com. Click Podcasts on the menu bar and scroll down to access Patriots, Petticoats, and Providential History.

 

Looking for guidance on writing and publishing your book? Contact Kathryn Ross and ask about her Book Shepherd Publishing Services at Pageant Wagon Publishing.

Writer-speaker, Kathryn Ross is Pageant Wagon Publishing—igniting God’s Word and biblical principles as a vibrant light of literacy and learning in the life of your Christian family. Inspired by the stillness of birdsong, silent reflection, antiques, and teatime, she filters her love of history, classic literature, and the arts through God’s Word, to inform her words. Her passion to equip women and families in developing a Family Literacy Lifestyle produces readers and thinkers who can engage the world from a biblical worldview. In addition, she mentors authors as a book shepherd, assisting them in the development, editing, design, and production of the book God has called them to write. Miss Kathy blogs and podcasts at www.thewritersreverie.com and www.pageantwagonpublishing.com

 

“After The Storm” by Pat Jeanne Davis

by

The weather forecast called for a sunny, dry day, so my husband and I and our son decided to go on a picnic. Later, while walking a favorite trail along the creek, a storm arose. My family dashed for the car, thankful for its protection.

We drove out of the valley and onto the main highway, homeward bound. As we got closer, the sky revealed a spectacular rainbow in front of us. “The sign of the covenant God made, a promise to never again destroy with a flood,” my son said from the backseat.

The weather forecaster had gotten it wrong. Our Heavenly Father’s predictions, however, are never in error. The summer storm, with its destructive potential of lightening, thunder, strong winds, and heavy downpour, is comparable to the darkening times in which we live.

As I looked into the clearing sky and gazed upon that rainbow of promise, the word “hope” sprang to mind—the certainty that what God has promised is true, has occurred, and will happen in accordance with His Word.

In 2 Corinthians 1:20, the Apostle Paul says, “For all the promises of God in Him are Yes, and in Him Amen. . . .”

Hope is never a static or passive thing. Look up the word, and you will find reference after reference pointing out the active results in the lives of those who truly have a biblical hope and live accordingly. Such a hope doesn’t leave us idle, drifting or throwing up our hands.

Be Hopeful 

A biblical hope is not an escape from reality or from our problems. At times a stressful situation is not of our making and is out of our control.

Perhaps your family, your business, your own hopes and dreams are crumbling around you.

These are days when we must place our hope in God alone. Belief in a sovereign, loving God gives us the insight to know what is true, and we do not lose hope amid life’s disappointments and setbacks. Our hope will be based on God’s promises. It will be dynamic and life sustaining.

Today, as in the days of Noah, wickedness is rampant; warnings are refused. Waywardness will be recompensed. But if we dwell on the news that is so readily available, we can become disheartened by the extent of evil. The fabric of society appears to be ripping apart, a time foretold in God’s Word (2 Timothy 3; Luke 21:25, 26).

As the world self-destructs, its violence born from Godless roots, we can turn to Psalm 91:5 for assurance: “You shall not be afraid of the terror by night, nor of the arrow that flies by day. . . .”

Only when we call to mind the Word of the Lord do we find peace and hope for the future. The Prophet Jeremiah knew this source of hope: “O the Hope of Israel, his Savior in time of trouble . . .” (Jeremiah 14:8).

Be Obedient

Jeremiah had a most difficult message to deliver. He loved Judah, but he loved God much more. The Book of Jeremiah records the final prophecies to Judah, warning of oncoming destruction if the nation did not repent. The prophet calls out for the people to turn back to God, “Yet they did not obey or incline their ear . . .” (7:24). He recognized the inevitability of Judah’s destruction due to its unrepentant idolatry and immorality.

As painful as it was for Jeremiah to deliver a consistent message of judgment to his own people, he obeyed what God told him to do and say. We too are to obey even when it is difficult to trust in God’s perfect plan.

Jeremiah reminds us, “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord . . .” (17:7).

Be Praising

The consequences of sin and disobedience were severe for Israel. God allowed the Babylonians to besiege, plunder, and destroy the city of Jerusalem. Solomon’s Temple, which had stood approximately four hundred years, was burned to the ground. God reveals through this story that a lifestyle apart from His commands leaves us destitute and lost.

Jeremiah, an eyewitness to these events, is credited with writing Lamentations. This book consists of five heart-wrenching cries of anguish because the Chaldeans had broken down the terraces and completely destroyed the walls of Jerusalem.

The third lament stands alone as a song of praise in the midst of misery and crumbling ruins. There in the middle of the book is Jeremiah’s song of hope: Jerusalem would be rebuilt because God’s mercy and compassion never fail; they are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22, 24).

Be Expectant

Today the consequences of sin and disobedience surround us. The systems of this world are not based on Christ’s righteousness. We live in a time when institutions, including the family, are falling apart around us. These are desolate times. We too weep for the destruction and loss of life we see.

But the Lord is not slack concerning his promises. Jesus is the fulfillment of the prophecy in Jeremiah 23:5, 6. The prophet describes Him as a Branch from the house of David, the King who would reign in wisdom and righteousness. Just as Jeremiah did, we must place our hope in God. His great faithfulness will carry us through this great time of trouble upon the earth.

When our Lord’s disciples inquired as to what would be the sign of His coming, Jesus describes all the things that must come to pass before the end of the age (Matthew 24). Our Lord instructs us to watch and pray so that day does not take us unawares.

While we await the further revealing of God’s purposes, we can say with a strong and confident expectation, “Nevertheless, we, according to His promise, look for a new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells” (2 Peter 3:13). And while we wait for the storm to clear, we can live as we should—expecting, praising, obeying, and hoping.

Pat Jeanne Davis

Pat Jeanne Davis writes from her home in Philadelphia, Pa. She is married and mom to two sons. Pat loves to work in her flower garden and travel. She has completed two historical inspirational novels and is represented by Leslie H. Stobbe and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. She loves to hear from her readers. Please visit her atwww.patjeannedavis.com

The Accidental Editor, Nina Newton, RUBY magazine

by

The Accidental Editor, Nina Newton, Sr. Editor, RUBY magazine

A few weeks ago, one of our regular contributors to RUBY magazine, Joan Leotta, suggested that we include an article about me. Me? Who would be interested in knowing about me?

But after I thought about it a while, I realized that we probably do have lots of readers and some of our writers who don’t know the history of RUBY magazine and how this ministry came about.

So, here is Joan’s interview with me, Nina Newton, Sr. Editor, RUBY magazine.

I hope you enjoy learning a bit about RUBY!

When did you start RUBY Magazine?

Actually, I didn’t start RUBY magazine. It was started back in 2007 or 2008 by another woman who began with a newsletter that she created for her friends and family. The name of her newsletter was Ruby Women, and it included devotionals, craft and quilt patterns, recipes, and humorous articles.

I connected with her in 2009 after I lost my job at a local bank when they closed all of the branches in our area, and she asked me if I would be interested in helping her do some marketing and promotion for her little “ezine.” At that time, it was a PDF file that she would create and send to the people on her mailing list.

At the time, that sounded like a good thing to do, in light of the fact that I was not working away from home, and I kind of like to write and do that kind of stuff – so I agreed to help out.

Within just a few weeks, however, she emailed me and said that she was having some health issues and would no longer be able to keep the Ruby Women ezine going unless she could find someone who would be interested in taking on the full responsibility of publishing it.

Well, why not, I thought.

So in 2009 I took over as the senior editor for Ruby Women ezine. It didn’t take long for it to begin to grow and develop into a full-fledged online magazine with writers from all across the USA as well as several other English-speaking countries.

In September of 2009 we expanded our readership when we began publishing RUBY as a digital document, available on the RUBY blog, as a monthly publication.

The ministry of RUBY continued to grow with more and more writers and readers until in the summer of 2016 we began making RUBY magazine available as a print publication. It is still published monthly, and we have over 120 writers who have contributed to our magazine as well as over 600,000 impressions over the lifetime of our publication.

RUBY magazine is a small publication, with limited resources, but God has continued to use this ministry to reach and touch the lives of thousands of women around the world. Today we continue to publish both the online digital document as well as a print publication every month.

The digital document is always available for FREE to read online on the RUBY blog, and the print publication is available for purchase through Amazon each month.

The Accidental Editor, Nina Newton, Sr. Editor, RUBY magazine

Did it grow out of your other business? (Tell us a little about that too)

No, it was quite unexpected that this ministry opportunity presented itself to me when I wasn’t looking! My other businesses include free-lance writing, editing, and teaching as well as adjunct instructor of writing at a local Christian university.

In addition I have recently started working as an ESL teacher for children in China. That is a perfect job for me, as it allows me to work from home where I continue to be a “stay-at-home-mom” with our two teen-age daughters.

I also have an Etsy shop where I design and create refashioned garments, shoes, and accessories for women and children. Along with a few other “hobbies” which keep me busy most days!

What is the editorial philosophy of the magazine? How does the magazine’s philosophy line up with your Christian world view?

That’s a great question! Since this was all quite unexpected for me, I just picked up where the other editor left off . . . devotionals, short stories, crafts, recipes, book reviews, inspirational articles, and humorous pieces. As things have evolved, I have felt very comfortable with the direction RUBY magazine has taken.

I like to describe RUBY as a Christian Women’s Day magazine. We offer advice, encouragement, and inspiration primarily for the woman in her home, for whom the primary ministry in life is her family.

Of course we have readers who are single, and women who are not mothers, women who are moms and grandmas, and all different ages. But our focus is on the traditional woman who finds her greatest joy and fulfillment in her ministry within her home and family. 

The Accidental Editor, Nina Newton, Sr. Editor, RUBY magazine

What do you want readers to see in the magazine? Is it a tool to help them grow closer to Christ?

Our primary objective is to encourage women to realize that their ministry within their home and with their family, for many, is the greatest service they can offer to God.

So, we want our readers to grow closer to Christ through the inspirational articles and devotionals, and offer all Christian women a voice where they can tell their own stories. It is primarily a platform for Christian women to express the stories that God has given them to be a blessing to other women. 

The magazine is beautiful. What made you decide to go to a four-color magazine?

Because the original magazine / newsletter was designed to be not only informational but inspirational, it just seemed natural to go with a full-color design. In the beginning, when RUBY was an online digital publication, it was easy to create it with an artistic feel.

When we decided to put the magazine into print, having an aesthetically attractive publication was a consideration that was important for the continuity of the image of RUBY.

I think the answer to this question is . . . . because I think it’s pretty like this!

Where do you get your art? Do you work with specific artists? Do you do the art placement (layouts) and cover design yourself?

Again, many things have come together out of necessity, including the art work. I have found numerous websites where I can obtain images for free, sometimes I purchase art work, and frequently we have contributors who send in art work.

I try to find just the right image for every article that we include in each issue, so that our writers know that their work is respected and appreciated.

Yes, I create the layout of each issue myself. I choose the cover image and do all of the text placement.

It might be interesting to note that I am not a trained graphic designer, so I’m pretty sure there are easier ways of doing what I do each month to create RUBY magazine, but I do the best I can with my experience and resourcefulness, and I think it usually turns out pretty good!

The Accidental Editor, Nina Newton, Sr. Editor, RUBY magazine

I know you have a basic core of freelancers, but are you open to other submissions as well?

Absolutely! We are always open to new contributors, especially because our primary focus and reason for existence is to offer Christian women a voice.

Our vision is somewhat different from other publications, as I’ve discovered over the past several years of attending writers’ conferences and connecting with other writers, some traditionally published and some just getting started.

We are not looking for “perfection.” We are listening to stories. Every woman has a story, and often times those stories are lost when the voice doesn’t quite measure up to some standard that some editor somewhere has determined to be good enough.

 

So, we want to hear every woman’s story, even if she has not achieved a high level of eloquent expression, grammatically correct sentence structure, syntactically excellent phrasing, or an artistic turn of phrase.

 

I teach college students to write, and I have also edited numerous fiction books, so I understand how important all of these technical skills are for a writer. But if we don’t capture the stories, we truly miss so much of our heritage.

Are you the only editor?

Yes, at the minute I am. I have had help from assistant editors in the past, for which I am truly grateful, but it is a lot of work and a lot of time commitment, and since we do not have any funding sources, these have not been paid positions.

I have been designing and creating RUBY magazine for over nine years and I have never received any financial compensation. All of the expenses for keeping the ministry of RUBY going have come directly from my family’s household budget.

So we keep expenses low, and pray that God will bring someone along who shares the vision for this work and who also shares the passion that I have for providing a platform for Christian women to tell their stories.

The Accidental Editor, Nina Newton, Sr. Editor, RUBY magazine

You publish articles, devotionals, poetry, reviews, food articles, DIY, crafts,  and even some fiction—how do you select the mix for each issue?

Another great question! Each month I encourage writers of all ages and writing skill levels to submit articles for an upcoming issue. Then I go with what comes in.

Usually we have several inspirational articles, a couple of book reviews, several poems, sometimes a short story or two, and occasionally an article on fun things to do with a family or a few recipes or a new craft project.

That’s one of the things I enjoy the most about putting each issue together. There is such a variety of articles that we receive, and that keeps it interesting, I think, for our readers. 

What advice would you give to a writer of any particular type who wants to publish their work with you? In addition to the guidelines, of course.

The most important thing when submitting an article for publication in RUBY magazine is to just send it in! I know that writers are afraid of rejection, but here at RUBY magazine we WANT to hear your story. We have a place for YOUR voice, so send me an email and let’s talk! I love to meet new writers. You can always email me at editor@rubyforwomen.com

Do you have an editorial calendar? Themed issues?

Nothing that is rigid. We, of course, go with the flow of the seasons, so the December issue will always focus on Christmas, and the May issue will always focus on Mother’s Day, and the September issue will always include back-to-school articles as well as harvest recipes. That kind of thing.

We really are rather low-key and if something comes in that isn’t quite right for one issue, we’ll save it for another issue.

What do you look for in a writer?

As previously mentioned, I am looking for an honest, heartfelt, sincere story. That’s the main ingredient for getting an article published in RUBY magazine. I’m an editor. That’s what I do. I can help a writer with things like split infinitives, dangling participles, and prepositional phrases.

What I can’t create on my own is YOUR story.

Everyone has a story, and that’s what we’re looking for in a writer. Someone who feels God has called them to share their story with other women so that in our struggles we might be an encouragement to one another. 

What publishing organizations do you belong to in order to promote the magazine?

The only place other than our own social media sites that we promote the magazine is www.christianwriters.com  And even then I am not always able to keep up with the promotional aspects of this project.

Sharmelle Olson continues to help me with that by keeping the RUBY Facebook group and community updated, but I have not had time to do as much promotion and marketing as I would like.

That’s another area of this ministry that needs someone else to come along side and share the vision and the goals of RUBY. 

What are some other ways you promote the magazine?

Primarily we promote the magazine on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Google+.

Right now, Ruby is free—do you intend to sell ads at some point?

RUBY is free to read online. It always has been and, as long as I am the editor, it always will be. The objective is to get the stories and the words of encouragement and hope into the hearts and minds of as many women as possible.

The print publication, however, is available for purchase each month from Amazon. It is typically priced at $8.99 which covers the cost of publication. There is no profit in the sale of RUBY magazine.

We do have opportunities for advertisers in RUBY magazine, of course for family-friendly businesses, but this again is an area that I have not had time to pursue.

I would love to have a few advertisers each month to help offset the cost of publication, but at this time that would require more “woman power” than I currently have available.

The Accidental Editor, Nina Newton, Sr. Editor, RUBY magazine

How many subscribers to you have? How has the number of subscriptions / readers grown since the magazine began?

We do not have subscribers for a couple of reasons. One reason is that it would be difficult to encourage people to subscribe to a magazine that they can’t see ahead of time.

When you go into a grocery store and pick up a magazine, you might decide to purchase it once you see what is in it and see that there are articles that interest you.

Because RUBY is a digital document, on the one hand, it doesn’t seem that people would subscribe to our magazine if we restricted it only to those who paid for it.

On the other hand, to set up a system for subscriptions to the print publication would, again, require more time, energy, and expense than we have available at this time.

It would require keeping track of all the subscribers, and then purchasing the magazines and paying shipping costs to my office, and then repackaging each magazine to the individual subscriber, and then paying shipping costs again to send out the individual magazines.

I’ve given it a lot of thought, but right now subscriptions are just not a possibility.

Thank you, Joan, for suggesting this interview. There is a lot of information here about the ministry of RUBY magazine and community; I hope our readers find it interesting!

“Waiting for Retreat” by Helen Ellis

by

May is one of my favorite months of the year. Moms know that Mother’s Day is the singular day when they are celebrated, pampered, praised and given gifts, flowers and cards. I certainly acknowledge that I look forward to my children – who are young adults now – showing their love and appreciation for me.

Two of my daughters were born in May so that’s another reason to celebrate the month when tulips and daffodils are in full bloom and warm weather sticks around. But, I also admit that my number one reason for loving May is our church’s’ annual women’s retreat.

From a Thursday afternoon until midday on Saturday, the women of our church unplug from our routines, come apart and come together to be refreshed by the Lord.

My first retreat was about six years ago. I really didn’t know anyone from my church too well and I admit I possessed a degree of apprehension. After all, I’ve known Christian women who have been clique-ish, prone to gossip and sometimes downright mean.

I have a few close women friends, but none of them attend my church. I’d driven up to the Christian camp where the retreat was being held and bounced around in my Saturn along a rut-pocked dirt road. Signs pointed the way to our cabin and I parked the car and heaved a sigh.

I prayed, “Lord you know I don’t know what to expect, but I’m here. My expectation is from You. Touch my heart. Heal me. I pray that everyone here will embrace each other as sisters in Christ, as we gather to worship and hear Your word – in Jesus name.” Then I went in.

I greeted my sisters who’d already arrived with a grin and a bear hug.

After putting my things in my room, I came out to the kitchen and joined a game of Scrabble already begun. Women slowly trickled in and found their rooms. Laughter rang out from different parts of our cabin and I began to exhale.

A couple of ladies invited me to walk down to the lake. We sauntered down the road in the cool of the late afternoon to a glistening lake and just lingered there. The lake was lovely and to my amazement there were no street noises, just birds chirping and cicadas buzzing (or making whatever sound they make).

I closed my eyes and allowed the breeze to blow through my hair and caress my skin. There was a calm serenity there as we sat drinking in the silence of the moment.

Our pastor’s wife led us in worship that evening, strumming her guitar and singing love songs to Jesus. There were about 20 women – young and middle-aged, single and married, all there to be refreshed and recharged in God’s presence.

We sang from our hearts and many shed tears as our hearts opened like flower petals to the sun. She asked, “Did the Lord speak anything to you as we worshipped?” Many talked of feeling God’s presence, others spoke of God calming their fears, and many just wept, overwhelmed by it all. We were still for a time.

Then our leader ministered the word of God, speaking to us from Psalm 23, about our God being our Shepherd. There was so much truth and such valuable insight into a very familiar passage of scripture.

We spent about 36 hours together worshipping God, sharing from our life experiences as we learned more about how much God loves us. And we talked.

We don’t often get the chance to really talk during church or even at a church event. But we were able to talk to each other, unhurried without kids to pick up or rushing off somewhere.  And all of us need someone to really hear us.

We chatted as we ate our meals together, we sat up late in our pajamas gabbing, we played “Quelf,” a truly kooky, fun game!

We laughed so hard that our stomachs ached and tears streamed down our faces.  I got to pray with many of my sisters and my sisters prayed for me.

There was no rivalry, conflict, jealousy or gossip – but a genuine, heartfelt fellowship centered in Jesus Christ. And the Lord truly was at the center of it all.

My mind often goes back to that first retreat. I’ve attended many since then. Each retreat is different, unique and so special. Our God, the Lover of our souls, knits our hearts together and makes us one.  He meets each of us, at the point of our need.

This month, we’ll meet at a beach house in Old Lyme, CT. We’ll worship together and study the Bible. And the Lord Jesus will meet us there. He always does.

 

Minister Helen Ellis, wife and mother of 4 great kids, has preached and taught in prisons in NJ and CT for more than 15 years. An avid painter, she specializes in oils, acrylics and watercolors. She and her husband Andrew live with their family in Norwich, CT.

“The Back of the Closet” by Sharon L. Patterson

by

The Back of the Closet LG

Just recently, not long ago

in the middle of a teary-eyed flow,

the Lord made clear

what He wished me to know

about the past anguished year

.

Astonished at what He revealed

concerning the layers he needed to peel,

but the analogy shown

was truly something I could own –

something I could feel.

I am a lover of order to a fault,

always cleaning even when I ought

to quit and take some rest ~

another project, a further quest ~

almost like a battle fought.

But the year that had just passed

was even harder than the last,

and all I could do was cry

and wait for the Lord to answer my

pain-filled prayers that I cast.

Into the waves of the storm

that did not let up at night or morn –

every hope seemed dashed,

my boat of expectation crashed

with my soul disheveled and torn.

What came up out of me

reflected a grief I could not see,

and disappointment from days gone by.

Somewhere beyond my conscious eye~

at the back of the closet they hid quietly.

Until the moment God had chosen

to bring to light what was frozen –

in a heap I had not seen –

and had missed every time that I cleaned

the front of my closet’s emotion.

Only God knew what was there

and only He could share

what needed to be cleared

at the back of the closet beyond my fear.

His hand reached with knowing care –

to thoroughly clean and sweep

that putrid and loathsome heap.

I was dry as dead bones in the desert wind

yet, He breathed me back to life again:

the storm calmed and I could sleep.

I was asked what was different now

and exactly how

had I been restored to hope?

What I could not bear I could now cope

and my woeful story turned to wow!

When God cleaned the back of the closet!

 

Click HERE to read another one of Sharon Patterson’s blog posts here at RUBY magazine and community.

 

Sharon Patterson

Sharon Patterson, retired educator, career military wife, and leader in women’s ministry, has written inspirational encouragement in various forms from greeting cards to short stories, poetry, and Bible studies for over thirty years. She has authored three books, and is a contributing author for several of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. She and her husband Garry live in Round Rock, Texas. They have three sons and five grandchildren.

 

 

“Raindrops from Heaven” by Twila Belk Book Review by Miriam Jacob

by

“Raindrops from Heaven” by Twila Belk gives us inspiring, hope-filled devotionals for each new day. Twila Belk skillfully weaves her amazing gift of words with biblical truths combined with thought-provoking questions. It is a special date with God to bestow life-giving words of hope for each day’s troubles.

It shines light on Jesus whose grace is sufficient for all our needs. This precious book of gentle reminders of God’s love is a beacon of hope for the day and a lamp of comfort at night. The devotionals make a perfect start to the day, for all those going through tough times, with troubles that overwhelm beyond imagination.

Twila’s passion to share her love for God shines brightly on every page. Her words speak to our hearts each day with a gentle touch of God’s spirit to refresh, encourage and inspire us. This is a beautiful book with short, to-the-point readings of one thought and one application to start your day with God and His Word.

It is for everyone who needs a quick, easy-to-read devotional to get spiritually inspired. “Raindrops from Heaven” is Twila’s “voice” to speak words of hope to a troubled world desperately in need of God’s love. Here is precious refreshment for our souls, to receive encouragement in the sunshine and thoughts to ponder on a rainy day.

Raindrops from Heaven by Twila Belk is now available from RUBY’S Reading Corner!

RUBY’S Reading Corner where you will find a wide variety of daily devotional books