Last week my niece graduated from Vanderbilt University—one in a class of 1004. (And that was only the Bachelor’s Degree people!) Steve and I made a special effort to be there, and she was very appreciative. 

The next day, we visited my Aunt Juanita, who is over half way between 91 and 92. What contrasts! One full of hope, one full of wisdom. And yet both have a bit of the other as well. 

Katie has hope—for the future, for her career, for the friends she’ll make in law school. But in her four years of college she’s also acquired some wisdom—that the inner person is more important than what’s on the outside, that dedicated study has its rewards—and no doubt other issues I’m better off not knowing about. 

Aunt Juanita has the wisdom of her years, but she also has hope—for the life to come, for reunion with loved ones gone on before, for enjoying this year’s fresh produce, that someone dear will call. 

Both enjoy sharing their lives with other generations; both know the value of family relationships. 

When I was a child, I visited Aunt Juanita most summers. When Katie was a child, she visited us most summers. All these trips took planning and intentional effort by parents as well as children, by aunts as well as nieces. Other nieces and nephews spent time with us, too. 

And we are all rewarded. We know these people and we love them. We love spending time together or catching up by phone. Even when we live miles apart, we are close in heart because of nurturing, not neglecting, those relationships. 

Is there a relationship you’ve nurtured with special effort for many years?

The short answer is, “The same way you pack for a week trip,” for that is true. We will do laundry every week, at least. Our clothes will probably be hung to dry, so we won’t take any clothes that need to be drycleaned or that will take long to dry, such as some knits. Denim presents a small problem, for it usually takes a long time to air dry. But on the other hand, we can wear denim items quite a few times without having to launder them!

The real packing problems come with party supplies. Steve and I are planning a party with a Cincinnati Reds theme, so we need lots of decorations. We’ve found a clever Disney cartoon on “How to Play Baseball,” featuring Goofy, and we can get that from YouTube, so at least that’s not something to pack. If you have old baseball decorations left from a child’s birthday party (or an adult’s birthday party), I’ll be glad to take them off your hands. 

We are taking a wiffle ball and bat, in case there’s room to demonstrate and even play a game. We need prizes for our games and special food to go with the theme. So even though we can pop corn there, we’ll be taking about 75 bags of Cracker Jacks for our party and a few bags of peanuts in the shell. After all, how can we teach about American culture via baseball without “peanuts and Cracker Jacks” to go with the song? 

Considering the true purpose of our trip, we also take lesson books, which add to weight and take up space, but they are vital to our work with our readers. This year we will not all be starting with Lesson One since there is a team preceding us and we will pick up where they left off with some of their readers. That will be a welcome diversion from all of us starting on the same lesson. Sometimes when we are all in various parts of the same room, we can hear others echoing what we’ve just said or previewing what we’re about to say, and that’s a bit disconcerting. 

A part of Steve’s packing is books to read, but I’ve eliminated some of my weight and space that way with my Nook. I’ve loaded dozens of books on my Nook and will have a good selection from which to choose. Of course I need to remember to keep it charged! 

Another part of our plan-ahead packing is for our daily devotionals. We will take turns leading the devos each morning before we start our sessions. We will need to have songs and spiritual thoughts that will challenge the adults while still engaging the children—ages 2, 5, and 11. Well, maybe the two-year-old won’t listen much, but he’ll still get to answer some of the Bible facts he’s learning. We’ll surely throw in a “Who built the ark?” just to hear his sweet “Noah!” and other such questions and answers. One of our songs will be something he can sing, too. The message of “Jesus Loves Me” resonates with both children and adults. 

At least we don’t have to pack our prayers—prayers for readers with open hearts to know Jesus Christ and for us to have the right words they need to hear. We always carry them in our minds and in our hearts and hope yours are there for us also.

What’s the longest time you’ve lived out of a suitcase?

This interminable series must end! I’ve omitted too many people that I love and admire–so many who have influenced me, inspired me, and encouraged me–and continue to do so.

Of course I most want to be like the one that is the first and the last, the beginning and the end. I’m so grateful that Jesus has replicated himself in so many of his children here on this earth–and I’m blessed that they’ve crossed my path.

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Educated and intelligent, the Lord blessed them with bountiful financial resources. Because of that, they are eager to share. They paid all the expenses for a youth minister and his wife to go to the Pepperdine Lectures. They financed an impoverished young man’s Christian college education–even a car. They no doubt helped other people that I don’t even know about. And they don’t give only money–they devote much personal time to helping the needy around them.

Our friend B was uneducated, but intelligent and a hard worker with loads of creativity. He built up a successful business and then sold it to work full time in spreading the kingdom–at his own expense. He even sponsors a full-time missionary so that person doesn’t have to go around to various places asking for support.

Our friend D has been blessed to be successful in his job as well. I hear of his giving a few thousand here, a few thousand there, where there is need. Our church has been blessed by his generosity even though he is not a member there.

My friends J and M bought the house next door to them, a lovely home, as a retreat destination for missionaries needing rest and sustenance from the rigors of the mission field. They share it freely with anyone in need of rest and restoration. I want to do that.

As I think about these people, I think that we are very different financially, but we are not.

Here’s an example: Steve and I, with our children and grandchildren, are going on a six-week mission trip this summer. Our children are asking for financial help from friends and family. Steve and I are not.

But in this week’s mail came a very generous check from K and B who are on a fixed income. It’s for the family, and we are incredibly touched by their generosity.

I look around me and see so many people, both friends and strangers, who are in poorer circumstances than I am. I don’t have to give thousands to please God. I have far more than the widow who gave her mite, so I must look for opportunities to give generously and frequently. These friends would not want me to use their names, but I want to be them. I want to share my resources with those in need.

Has anyone ever surprised you with a generous financial gift?

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I was convicted that I wanted to be a Christian and be baptized, and my parents, who’d put me off earlier, agreed. The evening was exciting. Immersion by a man I admired. My sins washed away. I was clean and fresh and new.

My parents kept in touch with Bill, and he’d sometimes stop by to see them since they were en route to his wife’s parents. But I did not. I married. Moved to several states. Had children, one married, one in high school. 

I finally had some summer days to enjoy short trips with friends. I invited my friend Marcia to go with me to a Nashville series of lectures, sermons, and singing called “Jubilee.”

I saw Bill Long’s name on the program too late to go hear him, but I went to the room where he had spoken and waited outside the door.

I recognized him instantly and approached him tentatively. I said, “My name is La…” and before I could get the words out, he enveloped me in a huge bear hug and said, “You’re Lanita Bradley! Don’t you think I know you, girl? I baptized you!”

I was thrilled. I couldn’t believe he remembered me after 40 years. We had a great conversation. I left feeling clean and fresh again.

I’ve thought back on that encounter many times. I want to engrave on my mind and heart the faces and personalities of those I’ve intentionally influenced for Christ. I want to greet them with open arms at every opportunity. I want to be Bill Long.

Have you ever been surprised when someone remembered you?

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At the annual department picnic, I rarely had a conversation with Nena because she was always playing with the children. On the floor or in the grass, she would entice the toddlers and respond to the older children with equal joy. All the children loved her, but she and our daughter had a special bond.

For Kelsey’s fifth birthday, Nena offered to take her to lunch at the restaurant of her choice. Though we were expecting the choice to be McDonald’s or Chuck E Cheese’s, Kelsey chose the revolving restaurant at the top of a local hotel. (Smart girl!) Nena was delighted, for she loved nice restaurants as well. The two of them enjoyed a delightful lunch there, and Kelsey came home with a box of treasure–old necklaces and bracelets from Nena’s own jewelry collection. Of course it was all costume and I knew Nena was glad to get rid of it, but I was impressed that Nena would be so attuned to a little girl’s interests that she would give her a gift no money could buy.

After Edd and Nena retired to Reno, Nevada, where they’d lived previously and had many friends, we stayed in touch, usually by Steve calling Edd or my calling Nena.

After Edd died, I tried to call Nena more often. When Kelsey married, Nena sent her a beautiful handmade quilt she’d bought just for Kelsey and saved a few years till Kelsey got married. We sent her a wedding invitation, but of course she couldn’t come.

Afterward, I mailed her the program and lots of pictures and called to tell her the details. She said, “Oh, I checked the time difference and I knew exactly when that wedding was happening. I know the Art Museum (location of the wedding) and I pictured each part of the wedding as it happened. What a joyful day for you!”

I’d never thought of picturing any occasion I was missing. I was touched at her long-distance involvement.

I usually called her and we’d talk for an hour. (For me that’s highly unusual. I’m not a phone talker.) But one day she called me.

“I’m not as young as I used to be and I’m trying to clean out some of my stuff so my children won’t have to deal with it.

“I’m sending you a package. Just want you to know why you’re getting it. The gray pearls were Edd’s gift to me on some occasion I forget. But I remember taking them to a jeweler and replacing the cheap clasp with one I liked better. They’ve always been special to me and I want you to have them.

“I’m also sending some linens. My children don’t much use table linens and I know you entertain and you’ll use them.”

I was shocked, and even more so when the package arrived. Several tablecloths with matching napkins, linen placemats with matching napkins, and then the precious pearls. How could this woman be so practical and so generous?

Now that Nena’s gone to her reward, I miss those calls. But as I think over the kind of person she was, I think, “Yes, I want to be Nena Miller.”

Have you thought of someone you’d like to be?

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They called their big house “Central West,” and offered it constantly for church and family events for the last 27 years. They hosted everything from weddings to volleyball games—a weekly event in the summers.

 They were the ideal grandparents, hosting a “cousins’ week” every year that made me fear to be a grandparent, knowing I could never live up to the fanfare and folderol that went on there every summer. Ruth wrote long stories about the adventures and activities of each grandchild, which she and her daughter eventually published in a keepsake book. 

Both Bob and Ruth were very educated and professionally successful, but they had the common touch when it came to relating to people. Bob, now 80, still fixes people’s cars constantly, no doubt saving them hundreds of dollars, though his skills are not connected to his Ph.D. His truck is available to anyone who needs to move or haul. He gives generously to all in need, sometimes to the dismay of his family and friends. 

When our son knew that Ruth was dying, he traveled to her home for one last visit. He told her that he and his wife wanted to be like Bob and Ruth, and they have started by buying a house with a guest house next to it. “We want to follow the example you and Bob have set,” he said. 

When he heard that Bob was selling his house, he inquired about buying Bob’s elaborate volleyball setup. “We’ll need to get started having Sunday night volleyball pretty soon,” he said, “since we want to be Bob and Ruth.” Of course Bob wants to give it to him—unless someone from Central buys the property and continues the volleyball tradition there. 

Our daughter and her husband commented on the impossibility of their buying Bob’s house. “Not now,” she said, “but we do want to be Bob and Ruth some day.” 

As I talked to Ruth not long before her death, she said, “Sometimes I kind of get Bob and Jesus mixed up in my mind.” I understood that. I think lots of people feel that way about Bob, which totally baffles him. No surprise there.

So if you can’t be Jesus, who do you want to be?

How have you started working on that?

I was enthralled by her good deeds and skills. Nancy was the epitome of the Christian woman I wanted to be:  poised, attractive, an outstanding cook, a great hostess, a sweet wife, a loving mother (well, at that time I had no desire to be any sort of mother, but I admired her parenting), a visitor to the sick and elderly—I could go on and on. To this day, she hasn’t changed. She still makes me feel a bit inadequate, but I love her so much I don’t mind. 

Last week Steve and I were talking about our experiences living in Kansas the second year we were married. We were befriended by a middle-aged couple, Jud and Earleen, whose children were married and lived away. We’d met them a double way: we went to church together and Jud was our mailman. Earleen also became, on the rare occasions that I needed one, my hairdresser. 

They took us to their bosoms without hesitation—spontaneous invitations to lunch or dinner, taking us along when they went to Chicken Annie’s to eat, stopping by after work to deliver a letter Jud knew we’d been waiting for. A very special memory was watching the FIRST Super Bowl after eating Sunday dinner together. 

I said to Steve, “I want to be Jud and Earleen to young couples here!” I’d never thought of it that way, but it seems a worthy goal. 

“I’d like to think we are,” Steve answered.

I hope he’s right—but I know we aren’t to the degree that Jud and Earleen were. People are so much busier now, and communication with families far away is much easier than it was then. Homesickness probably doesn’t strike as hard as it did in 1967, when long distance calls were expensive, interstates were just being built, and flights were rare. 

Jud and Earleen were angels for us, 21 years old and 14 hours from home. I want to be them to young couples today. I want the Spirit’s guidance to know what couples need that from us. 

As I think this over, I find that over the years many people have prompted me to want to be like them. I’ll do more posts about the people I want to be–sometime in this life. 

Meanwhile, who do you want to be?

A well-cooked sausage patty on a fresh-baked homemade biscuit is the perfect meal or snack when time or energy is lacking. (Even stale ones aren’t bad!) You get plenty of protein for the long haul and ample carbs for the present. 

This is especially true when there is a death and you’d like to supply food the family can really use. The sausage biscuit can be eaten without utensils, standing or sitting or walking around. 

I learned this 28 years ago when my father died and caring neighbors brought us sausage biscuits (and some brought ham biscuits.) I’d never given them a thought before, but they met perfectly my need for food when I really didn’t care about eating. 

Two years ago I took some sausage biscuits when an elderly neighbor died. I shoved them in the door to her son, whom I’d never met, at 8 on the morning of the funeral. That afternoon, he appeared at my door bearing a huge bouquet from the funeral. 

“We thought you’d enjoy these flowers,” he said. “Your sausage biscuits were great for our breakfast. We hadn’t shopped and thought we’d just go without breakfast. Those were perfect!” 

And I enjoyed bouquets—and shared some—from that large arrangement for days to come. 

This week I went twice in the evening to the home of a neighbor whose husband had died. When she still wasn’t home the second time, I left the foil-wrapped package on her porch, then called and left a voice mail telling her to check and see if animals had gotten it or if it was still there. 

Two days later when I went to the visitation, she pulled me over to friends to introduce us and told them how the sausage biscuits had been lifesavers for their breakfast for two mornings. It was almost embarrassing. 

In general, I’m not a very good neighbor. I don’t keep up with everyone and their families and their illnesses. Even though I think it would be a good idea, I just don’t have time. Those are not neighbors I knew well. They were acquaintances. But because of the simple sausage biscuit, I now feel closer to them and they to me. 

So when you think of doing something that you think is too trivial to matter, think again. That may be the prompting of the Holy Spirit to do just what’s needed in that situation. “Quench not the Spirit” (I Thessalonians 5:17, KJV.)

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[Note: Even though she went on about the “homemade” biscuits, I admitted freely that they were made with Bisquick. My tip here is to use buttermilk instead of regular milk in your Bisquick biscuits and they’ll taste even better. Those are the only two ingredients required.]

The hurts he discussed were both physical and emotional, but most of us have more emotional hurts than physical ones. 

One of his points, suggested by another member at Central, was that we must leave vengeance to God because only God knows the heart. I remember times that, as a teacher, I was quick to punish a child for hitting someone else, only to discover that it was in defense of an underdog. Of course that didn’t make it right, but it reminds me that I didn’t know that child’s heart as God did. 

In our Life Group following lunch, we shared stories of times we were hurt and how we handled it—both well and poorly. For me, discussing the sermon during Life Groups is an incredible opportunity, because often I think of things during the sermon and would like to discuss them with someone. Most sermons trigger some sort of memories! 

One story was that our friend’s mother had had a falling out with her own sister and didn’t speak for years. But our friend did not break her relationship with her aunt, in spite of family pressure to do so. She refused to become involved against someone she loved. 

Another part of the discussion was on how to handle relatives that you know are going to hurt your feelings. Now that’s cutting to the heart of the matter—that relative that knows you well enough to push your buttons OR the relative that is clueless as to how he or she is continually hurting your feelings. Several of Steve’s summary points addressed that situation:

• Expect to be mistreated. (One member said it helps to know going in that he’s going to hurt your feelings, so you prepare yourself to shrug it off.)
• Talk to the person. (This is not easy but often useful.)
• Develop a tough skin. (And I’d add to that a sense of humor. “Oh, crazy Uncle Fred again!”)
• Forgive and move on. (Hard to do.) 

Steve ended with the saying that “forgiving is for the other person; forgetting is for yourself.” I think the forgiving is for yourself as well. When I have truly forgiven someone who wronged me (or mine), I feel as if a literal load has been lifted from my shoulders; it seems that instead Jesus throws his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze as though to say, “Now isn’t that better?” 

How have you handled a situation when you have been hurt by someone?