“Hello.”
“Jan, it’s me.”
Hello…Goodbye
I smiled. “Hey, me. Are you on your way home? Because I’m making lasag—“
“No.” His voice was sharp, yet soft at the same time.
I frowned. “Are you still mad about this morning? Matt, I’m really sorry…”
“It’s not that.”
Something wasn’t right. A random butterfly suddenly took off in the pit of my gut.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. My heart pounded.
“Matty? Are you there?”
“There’s been…an…accident…on the site. We…don’t know what - it all happened so fast…”
My grip tightened on the phone and I jammed my ear into the receiver. I didn’t want to ask. But I had no choice. I swallowed. “Are you…okay?”
A short burst of breath. Then a sound that resembled a sob. “No…I’m…bleeding pretty bad. Trapped under a pile of rubble. It hurts, Jan.” His voice broke.
I swallowed the bitter bile as tears flooded my eyes, spilling over the rims to my cheeks. “We need to get off the phone! I’ll call 9-1-1. They’ll get you out, Matt!”
“Help’s already on the way. But it’s…it’s bad. I don’t think I’ll -”
I choked on my sobs and shook my head violently. “No, no, no! Don’t say it, Matt. You’re going to make it. You’re going to be just fine.”
“I love you, Jan.” His voice was a whisper.
I placed my hand over my mouth to muffle my cries. The last thing he needed was to hear me falling apart. He was going to be okay. I just needed to keep him talking. “About this morning…”
“It doesn’t…matter.”
“Yes, it does matter. I should never have said those things. I’m so sorry…”
“I know.” He paused, gasping for breath.
My chest tightened. “Matty, honey, don’t leave me. Just hang on, baby, help is coming. Please. The kids and I can’t live without you.” I wept fiercely, then, shoulders heaving, and the walls closed in around me. After several seconds of uncontrollable anguish, I took in a couple of deep breaths. I couldn’t think about myself right now. This moment was about my husband. The thought of him trapped, dying, alone…almost broke me again and set off a fresh wave of emotion. But I needed to compose myself.
For Matty’s sake.
All was silent, except for the sound of my heart, pulsing in my ears. I stood, statue-like, listening for breathing…movement…some small sign that he was still there. I closed my eyes.
“Matty? Are you still there?”
Several seconds went by. I squeezed my eyes shut. No…please God. I need to hear his voice again.
“Pray with me.” Matt’s voice cut through the phone line and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
The words I’d dreamed of hearing my husband say. My non-believing, agnostic husband. I’d longed for this day. How many times over the years had I cried out to God, asking Him to change my husband’s heart? How many arguments had ensued over Matt’s unwillingness to accept the truth that there was a God who loved him enough to die for him? Arguments like the one we’d had that morning…
But not like this; it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
With a voice and a strength not my own, I prayed with my husband. And after all these years, he finally accepted Christ into his heart.
Only seconds before Christ accepted Matty into eternity…
It’s been four years since that moment. The moment that not only changed my life, but altered my perspective, too. There have been many times when I’ve thought about that day and cried. But more and more, I find myself smiling. Not only because I am grateful to have spent those last few moments on the phone with my husband, but because it was the moment when I received a guarantee that I would see him again someday.
I’ll be honest. It’s still hard. But during the darkest times, the Holy Spirit reminds me that “hello” will come again. And when it does, there will never be another goodbye.
Beautiful Battle
By David Andrews
In this beautiful battle
Where you contend for me
In a war behind my eyes
That I often fail to see
In this beautiful battle
Remind me I am free
As I put on your light armor
Darkness stops then flees
In this beautiful battle
I am safe from all harm
You shelter me with your love
And hide me in your arms
In this beautiful battle
You speak to me from above
You tell me I am beautiful
I feel your extravagant love
In this beautiful battle
Where you captivate my heart
Your love and grace define me
As I become your work of art
God Is Always
By Rebecca Grubb
My heart was broken
When I said goodbye
I had nowhere to run
Nowhere to hide
I said I didn’t need you
I walked among the shadows
For I thought it was true
But truly I’m weak
I’m alone
My bones were breaking
I started to hope
My heart would stop bleeding
You would find me
Again
But little did I know
You were never gone
You were the light that shone
Through the night
You were the dawn
Like waking from a dream
I found something real
I’m sorry I couldn’t see
Your love I now feel
Your face in heavenly light
Your grace saves us all
You, I shall no longer fight
And heed your every call
You gave hope that remains
I know there’s a place
Beyond sin and shame
Where we’ll meet and find peace
Jeremiah 12
By Larissa Hinton
Dig into the soil
feel the dirt crumble
between your fingers
Feel the moisture
clinging to your hands?
Well deeper, we’re
going to need it.
Throw three seeds
it’s good luck,
let’s hope they bear good fruit
just for us
that plant may be greedy
for moisture, warmth
and rain but its
blossoms bloom beautifully
while the others
just wilt and die
look there’s the juicy fruit
take a bite
Bitter, eh?
I like it just fine
The bitter the root,
the bitter the tree
it’s evil simple as
one two three
the evil grow and prosper
just like this very tree
feeding, snatching, greedily taking
money, stability and
the life off the sweat of others
but don’t worry about this
tree won’t last
after all, they all die
with no heir to carry
on their awful legacy.
Morning Musings
By Linda Tracy Miller
This morning, as I arose from bed,
A million thoughts rushed through my head.
About my life, about my day…
How would I ever find my way
From one impossible task to another
Without my earthly mate and lover?
The answer came, as it surely must,
That it could only be done with faith and trust.
The One who has sustained me, even longer
&nbs
p; Than mate or parents, and is so much stronger
Than ever I could imagine or hope to be,
Is never failing and still beside me.
His Love will keep me.
His Grace will sustain me.
His Arms will enfold me,
When I feel alone.
He never is weary.
He never is uncertain.
He never will leave me,
No matter where I might roam.
Someday we will meet face to face.
And He’ll greet me as one of His Children,
As one of His Own.
A room in His mansion is mine to call home.
So this day, as all others, is another God morning;
Better than just good morning could ever, ever be!
Beautiful Mystery
By David Andrews
Take me into your perfect love
The love that never ends
Take me back to your mystery
Where we were forever friends
Take me into your mercy
Where it’s whiter than the snow
Take me into the beautiful
Where your living waters flow
Take me into your perfect grace
And remind me I am free
Take me back to your mystery
Lift the fog so I may see
Take me into your presence
Here I stand with open arms
Take me into the beautiful
And protect me from all harm
Consume me in your perfect love
The love that casts out all my fear
Take me back to your mystery
With arms wide open I am here
In your beautiful mystery
In faith we walked before
In your beautiful mystery
Lead me back to you once more
Gift of Grace
By Delores Liesner
When the court called to ask if I’d be guardian for my mother, I wanted to shout, “No!” but I knew there was no one else. Mother’s illness developed into a difficult personality who alienated most family members as well as many from her community. We had no ground to build on, but I knew the scriptures said to honor your parents. I was duty bound. Stuck. Trapped. And so I sighed, and whimpered, “Yes, I will be her guardian.” Obedient, but reluctant and fearful, I did as instructed to renew contact.
Prior attempts to survey Mom’s health and living conditions were met with anger, weapons, and hurtful words, and I will not deny the emotional storm that rode into town with me, and my accompanying granddaughter, when I answered the call of the court. That day God instructed me to love her without words, and my animated eighteen-year-old Aimee made it possible. Her chatting allowed me to concentrate while driving Mom to see her sister, the family farm, and the homes and schools where she had experienced good memories. Mom loved eating and enjoyed being served at Four Seasons, a fancy resort built on Miscuano Island. Knowing she would, like me, want several things on the menu, we prearranged for the waitress to wrap several choices she wanted but did not order.
The end of that day was really a new beginning. Before I left, Mom asked me to help her remove her shoes. I knelt before her, and she touched my head like a benediction, surprised that her little girl had silver in her hair.
Seeing God honor Mom through my silence that day confirmed that she needed nothing from me but to be a carrier of God’s grace, to share the extravagant love that I’d experienced. Suddenly it seemed so obvious - how could I give any less than I’d been given?
Finally freed from the insidious trappings of guilt, bitterness and responsibility, I changed from taking care of her, which is an act of blind obedience, to giving care, an act of choice. New life was breathed into our relationship.
When I read the original meaning of grace: to endue with special honor, I had a new incentive. An idea and an urgency rose up to plan Mom’s coming birthday as a way to honor her. Mom often mentioned she wished she had written a book of her life story. Never Too Late was the appropriate name of a senior wish program that enabled the raising up of Mom’s memories for a special gift. They helped obtain a young English teacher from a nearby college to interview Mom and record stories from her life in her own words. Months later Erin emailed me the narratives to combine with old photos and recipes. The result was a giant size memory book in her favorite pastel pink, which was completed in time for her big day. When I read the story about how Mom had entertained seniors years ago in the very place that was now her home, I recalled some letters stuffed in a scrapbook. Sure enough one detailed her pride to participate in the Senior Follies and included the name of the fellow who began the events! Through the Internet I was able to locate him and he provided a video of Mom singing and tap dancing for the “old folks” when she was in her 70s! Our son helped transfer that into DVDs – one of the entire program, and one containing only Mom’s solo that she could watch anytime she needed a reminder that it really happened.
Knowing Mom was proud to be politically involved, current and past Presidents and her state’s governor were contacted for birthday wishes. All seven sent cards or autographed photos which she displayed and bragged on to anyone who would listen.
On her birthday, she proudly wore purple with a matching corsage and sat among family and friends, as well as staff and residents of her home care. Each person who greeted her added a flower to the growing bouquet. Her face lit up, eyes aglow at the giant pink memory book, proudly confirming the stories as they were read back to her. At 93 she’d already forgotten sharing them and wondered how the reader knew Mother had learned to bake at 9 years old and carried lunch to school in Karo Syrup pails. Tears of happiness came when everyone applauded while watching her Follies singing and dancing. “See,” she said, “I did something good for others.”
Hours later after the last guest wished her a “Happy Birthday,” I brought her to her room for lunch. “I don’t think I can eat a bite,” she said, “I’m already filled up – filled up to the top with happiness.”
“Me too, Mom,” I croaked, surprised with the joy of the moment.
I hadn’t known – you cannot give the gift of grace without receiving it right back.*
The Beach
By David Andrews
Down to the beach of golden sand,
I walked with a small stick,
The tide was out, the sun was low,
I knew I had to be quick.
I found a piece of untouched sand,
That the tide had washed so clean,
It glistened in the morning sun,
It sparkled and shimmered it seemed.
I used the stick and started to write.
Those heavy words that had held me back,
All the things that I had to let go,
My troubles, my worries, my lack.
Before too long I had filled that beach,
Down by the water’s edge,
I walked back to soak up the view,
Of all my words etched in black.
The sun rose up, the waves rushed in,
And covered my words that day,
God took my story of my sin,
And washed it all away.
The tide groaned out, the sun sank low,
And on that golden shore,
The sand was untouched by human hands,
The story of sin was no more.
Closing
By J.R. Bingham
Martha Jenkins doubted another customer would come tonight. Saturdays drew in the heaviest business in the afternoon; the last thing most people had on their minds at 8:30 was to shop at a Christian bookstore. Still, it had been her husband Roger’s practice to keep the store open regular hours Monday through Saturday so customers didn’t have to wonder when they closed. Martha never dreamed of going against his wishes.
She turned the key in the register, causing the cash drawer to spring open. She lifted it out and sat down in a chair behind the counter
to count the day’s earnings.
Martha couldn’t remember the last time she’d closed the store. Normally, Jeff Abbott did. Roger hired him nearly ten years ago when Jeff was still in high school. The teen had come in looking for a job. Even though they just started the business and hadn’t budgeted to hire employees, Martha and Roger both liked him and realized having more help would free them up a little. The decision paid off big. Jeff and Roger worked in the store Saturdays while Martha concentrated on developing a website from home. She also took care of advertising and other forms of marketing, including putting together a weekly circular in the Saturday newspaper. Local churches began buying all of their Sunday school, office, and ministry supplies from them. Word got out about their bargain-priced music, hot-new movies, and cool toys, and the customer base grew. Everyone liked the friendly teen who seemed to know every Christian song and artist around. They also liked Roger and Martha, and often came in to talk to them and have prayer.
Within a year, profits were so good that the husband and wife team decided to add another employee. Alicia Young just graduated college with a degree in radiology. During her interview with Martha, Alicia explained that she enrolled knowing there was a two-year waiting list for the program, but by the time she had her degree, she discovered that her specialized field was overcrowded, with no job openings in the area.
Martha liked her immediately. Alicia had a bubbly enthusiasm about knowing the Lord that few Christians had - or people in general, for that matter. Martha knew Alicia would shine as an employee.
Her hunch proved true. Not only was Alicia a star worker, but she was there for Martha when Roger passed away, providing food, love, and support. Martha came to think of her as a granddaughter.
Not that she thought any less of Jeff. He cancelled several plans, including going on a whitewater rafting trip with friends, so he could run the store while Martha was on funeral leave. They were great young Christians; it brought joy to her heart to know that the two were going out on their first date together this evening. They had dinner plans before going to a Christian concert. Alicia had the day off, and Martha let Jeff work first shift so he could take her out. It was the least she could do. Maybe, just maybe, they would get married one day and take over the store. Martha couldn’t imagine it going into better hands.
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