The Importance of Babysitters!

 

 

I was reflecting on what to write this evening when all of a sudden something from my old blog came to mind. Unfortunately, as soon as I got to the old blog my thought disappeared! Old age I guess. Or was it? Maybe it was God. I began to look through some of my old blogposts and found this. It jumped out at me and I knew it was what I needed to repost. I’m not sure why. Maybe one of my readers needs to think of one of their babysitters from days gone by. Maybe God wants you to give them a call and thank them for all that they did for you. I wish TT and Waneta were still alive today for me to call them up and thank them but they aren’t. Someday in Heaven I’ll be reunited with them and I can hug and thank them there. Until then. I still love you TT and Waneta!

PS. That old blog is still around if you want to go visit. Just click on this link – The Original Families Again.

 

Saturday, 16 May 2009

The Importance of Babysitters
Topic: Family

Outside of the special ladies in my family, there are two women who made a significant impact on my life. Both of them were babysitters. These weren't just ordinary babysitters though. These were ladies who taught and nurtured me while I was young, and prayed for and befriended me for years after I needed watching over.

The first special lady's name was Mabel Miller. Of course I didn't know her by that name. She was always "T.T." to me. You see, she was my caregiver when I was very young. They tried to teach me to call her "Auntie" but all I could vocalize was "T.T.". Dad was the pastor of a church in Gratis, Ohio and I was probably only two or three years old at the time. T.T. was older, but T.T. was awesome. She taught me how to climb in and out of a chair when my feet dangled way above the floor. She would make applesauce for me using a single apple, just because I wanted some. I could definitely feel the love she had for me. But the most influential thing about our relationship were her prayers. Long after we moved away from Ohio I knew that she was praying for me. Although I never saw T.T. after we moved, we corresponded over the years until she passed away not long after I graduated from high school. Although I was not little any more, she always remained (and always will be) my T.T.

The other influential lady was Waneta Finster. I was her "Thursday's Child" for several years when we lived in Peru, Indiana in the mid 60's. Unlike T.T., Waneta was young with a family of her own. She offered to babysit me on Thursdays, because, at our church, Thursday was church night. That was when we held our mid-week service and Waneta wanted to be there. She knew that if she watched me on that day, she would have to bring me home that night. Hence, she wouldn't miss church!

Even though there was an ulterior motive, Waneta loved me nonetheless. And, there was always something fun to do at Waneta's. I remember our walks outside to go mushroom hunting, our inside play dates with play dough or snapics, and licking the bowl after making chocolate pudding. One of my best loved and most remembered activities was sitting on the back of Penny the pony. I wouldn't actually ride Penny. Waneta would have her staked out in the yard and I would just sit there. But, to me it was actually riding. I never wanted to come down. Waneta would have to make a sandwich for me to eat while sitting atop Penny, because I would refuse to come down for lunch.

One of Waneta's favorite activities was writing, especially poetry. When we had to leave Peru, to move in with my aging grandfather, my brother, David, asked her to write a poem for him and to make it "especially sad". Peru and Waneta (as well as her family) were special to us.

Waneta, her husband Jay, and her children remained friends with our family. We never missed a visit with them if we were close to Peru, and they often came to visit us. When we moved to Florida, Waneta and Jay would bring their exchange students down to visit us. They were "mom and dad" to nearly a dozen international students throughout the years. That was the type of people that they were. Always helping others. Always active in church. Always loving the Lord.

Waneta and Jay eventually retired in Florida and my parents moved four doors down the street from them. Waneta was there to take care of her ailing sister until she passed away. She was at the hospital with my mother when the Dr. came to tell Mom that Dad had died of a severe heart attack. She was there to take care of Mom, to take her to church and to run errands, to get her medicine ready for the week.  

It was also there that Waneta finally had the time to do something that she had always wanted to do. Write a novel. She had begun one years before, but the busyness of raising a family required her to put it aside. One day a package arrived in my mailbox. It was a completed copy of her first book-copied and bound by her son PJ. After reading it, I knew that someday it would be published, and a couple of years later my prediction came true. She immediately went to work on another. 

Last year, after my brother passed away of cancer, I talked to Waneta on the phone. We talked about David and how much she was going to miss him. She didn't miss him for long. Two weeks later, she was running along side of him and sitting at the feet of Jesus. She never lived to see her second book published. PJ is now editing her third novel. She had just completed the first draft. You can buy her books by visiting her webpage at www.WanetaFinster.com.

A few days ago I received another package in the mail. It was a collection of Waneta's poems that PJ had put together. Included was a note to "take a look at page 28" The following is what I found. 

                   Timmy John

There is a little boy named “Timmy John”.
Of this little boy, I’m very fond!
He can run and play and do most anything,
Tis the last of February and almost spring.

He lives a long way from me now -
I spect he will help his grandpa plow!
We used to take long walks in the wood
Doing all the things a small boy should

I remember most everything we did
When Timmy John was just a kid.
We used to hunt mushrooms, if you please
And chase the squirrels up the trees!

I remember on Penny’s back he rode,
While she ate grass and our lawn mowed!
He didn’t want to get off for lunch
And on the pony’s back, a sandwich he munched!

He was my Thursday’s child and full of fun,
Happy was my day when Timmy John had come!
My Indiana home is missing something now
My boy hasn’t been here for quite a while!

               By Waneta Copp Finster

Thank you God for giving me T.T. and Waneta. Thank you for giving me two Godly women who loved me like I was their own child. Thank you for the care and wisdom that they bestowed upon me. Please give them a special hug today for me.

Beginning to Think About Christmas? Check out this Blast from the Past!

Is it too early to start thinking about Christmas? If you are one of those people that like to shop early and get things done then think about this great item that we reviewed and loved a few years ago. This may be a blast from the past but it is still a much loved toy today!

It never ceases to amaze me how God places things in our life, right when we need them. life is never easy in a household that has one child is autistic and another child that we think is autistic. Our teenage son, John Allen, the only one of our three children that isn't on the autism spectrum, often seems to get  "the short end of the stick". Being a teenager in and of itself is difficult without having two disabled brothers. John Allen's wishes and desires often have to Be put on the back burner because of therapies, doctor's appointments, or other things that pertain to his two younger brothers.. There is often resentment and contention in the ranks. Sarah and I are always looking for things and ways that promote unity in our household.. When we received a Toydle Toy Fort to review for the TOS Homeschool Crew, we had no idea what a blessing it would be.

I gave a brief blip about the Toydle Toy Fort a few weeks ago. You can find that  informational review  by clicking here. Everything that I said there is true. Toydle Toy Forts really are:

• Well made in America


• Sturdily made of quality PVC piping.


• Easy to put up.


• Easy to take down and store away.


• Creative.


• Educational


• Guaranteed


• Just plain fun.

but for us the Toydle Toy Fort was much more. It was something that brought our three boys together. While building the Toydle Toy Fort they learned to:

• Work together.


• Plan together.


• Listen to each other's ideas.


• Cooperate with one another.


• Be creative together.


• Have fun together.


• Enjoy something other than video games.


• Get along with one another.

Sarah and I looked on in amazement as these things were occurring. While we watched, we also learned something about each of our three sons. When given the chance. John Allen can be a good leader. Joshua is a fantastic organizer.  Jacob is fearless and thinks that he can do anything that is two big brothers can do. take a look at some of the pictures that I took while the construction was going on. I think you'll see what I mean.

Now, I'm not saying that everything has been hunky-dory since we received our Toydle Toy Fort, but it has shown us that there is hope. I'm also not saying that the same reaction will occur in every family.  But I do know one thing – no matter what your kids will have fun.. The Toydle Toy Fort has been one of the best items that we have ever reviewed.  I would recommend it for any family. It's easy to use. Really, it reminds me of a giant set of Tinker Toys but much sturdier and much better. And, one of the best things is, that it is fully guaranteed. If one of the PVC  pipes happens to break they'll replace it for free. If you happen to leave when of the connector blocks out in the rain, don't worry about it, it's guaranteed as well. As I mentioned in my previous review, that Toydle company was started by a man named Robert Brownfield. After he brought a toy home for his son and it broke 5 min. after his son opened it, Robert realized that there was a need for well-built toys. According to the Toydle website, all of the things that his company makes are hand cut or hand formed by American hands. I can testify that Toydle forts really are well made. As you can see in the slideshow above, after my boys made the fort, they invited all the kids do come to the mission to play in it. Even with all of that wear and tear, not a thing was broken. When we finally needed the room in the mission, the fort was easily taken down and stored away in the convenient bag that it came in. As I said before, I would recommend Toydle forts to anyone.

Just click here or on any one of the hi-lighted links above to get to the Toydle website. The forts come in two different sizes. The regular Toydle Toy Fort sells for $149 and the Big Toydle Fort sells for $229.99. Each comes with specially cut, sturdy, tubes, hand made connector blocks, clips and a handy dandy carry bag. And don't forget, everything is unconditionally guaranteed! Check them out, you won't be disappointed. Other folks from the TOS Homeschool Crew reviewed Toydle Toy Forts and you can find but they had to say by clicking here. Happy Home Educating!

As a member of the TOS Homeschool Crew I was sent a Toydle Toy Fort for free in order to try out and give my honest review on this blog.

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Money. . . What IS It Really All About? - Throwback Thursday

Okay! You got me! It's not Thursday. As a matter of fact, this won't even post on Wednesday. It will post on Tuesday. Forgive me. It's been a super busy past few days. I meant to post something, though, that is amazing similar to this. Hopefully tomorrow you will be able to read that post. Until then, please thoughtfully and prayerfully read this post. As I was reading again just this evening, it struck me as to how life has a habit of going around and around in circles. It almost seems like someone else wrote this post for me to read today. It's funny how a post that I wrote many years ago could speak to me and minister to me today. I pray it speaks to you also. If it does, please leave me a comment.

Money...What IS it really all about?
Mood:  not sure
Topic: The Purple Files

I've been thinking about money lately. I think about it off and on, but this bout began the other day. I was driving to a neighboring town to take one of my kids to therapy when I passed a pet grooming business. It got me to thinking about all of the people who actually take their pets and spend 20, 30, 50, perhaps hundreds of dollars a year. For what? For someone to comb their pets fur and put pretty bows in it? Now, we could go on and on about the benefits of having a pet and how therapeutic they are, etc. I am not against having a pet. We have a cat and a dog ourselves. But is that really the best use of our money? A use that would be glorifying to God?
 

Perhaps it's because we work with low income families and support kids through Compassion International. I have seen what it's like to live with little money here in the United States and I've read about and corresponded with children who have next to nothing in life. But, I've never seen or experienced extreme poverty before. My wife and I were talking about this just today. She made the comment that perhaps one of the reason God sends us on mission's trips is to jolt us back into reality when we get back. To make us realize what is really important in life.
A blogging acquaintance of mine, Kristen, from We are THAT Family has experienced just that. A few months ago Kristen was on the blogging team that went to Kenya with Compassion International to write about what they saw and post it on their blogs. You can read their amazing posts by clicking here. I could never verbalize it in the excellent way that Kristen did, but her Kenya trip had a profound impact on her. She came back a totally different person. So much so that her husband commented that he wasn't sure that he knew her anymore. To which Kristen commented back that she wasn't sure she even knew herself. Things just seemed so empty when she got back...so odd.

On her trip Kristen experienced traveling through one of the worst slums in the world. So bad was this slum that they had to split up into groups of three or four and have a personal body guard. They were told not to stare and to refrain from taking pictures while traveling on foot to get to the Compassion project in the middle of the slum. One lady, a professional photographer did take pictures however. She took them from her hip from under a jacket. Those photographs are amazing to look at but disgusting as well. You can find them by clicking on the posts of the bloggers that traveled through this filth called Mathare Valley. Read more of Kristen's story appropriately titled "Today, I Went to Hell" by clicking here.

Kristen had experienced extreme poverty. This isn't the government housing area that Sarah and I work in, or the one in your town...this is EXTREME POVERTY! When she got home Kristen felt lost. She made the comment that she wanted to sell everything and live in her garage. She struggled with coming to terms with what she had seen in Kenya and what she came home to in America. She is still dealing with this and it has had a profound impact on how she and her family now live. I encourage you to click here and go to her blog to see what she and her family are doing now. It's amazing.

The stories that these bloggers told really had an impact on me. Since experiencing the poverty in Kenya through their blogs, I've been contemplating money a lot. I've been contemplating a lot of things a lot. And, no, it's not my depression this time. As some of you know, I've suffered from depression in the past. This time, however, it's God. God has been talking to me lately. I mean really talking to me. About a lot of things. This is just one of them. The other day I posted about another. I'll post more of my thoughts on this and other things that God is revealing to me in the future as well.
Money is just one thing that God has been dealing with me on. Don't get me wrong. I don't begrudge people that have money. Many great Christian people have had money. It's what people do with their money that frustrates me. It's what I do with my money that frustrates me.

I Timothy 6:10 says:

For the love of money is the root of all evil...
 

Notice it doesn't say that "Money is the root of all evil". It's not money that is evil, it's what you do with your money. Are you frivolous with what God has given you? A dear friend of ours who tragically died in an auto accident used to say "Hold on to things loosely". Don't allow things to get in the way of what is right and what is true in life. Contrary to what some people think, money cannot buy you happiness. In fact, most of the time it is just the opposite. Hold on to what you have loosely. Use your money and your talents to help others. Use them for the Lord.
 

Lord, although you haven't given my family much, thank you for what you have given us. Thank you for providing for all of our needs. Lord, please help us to "hold on to things loosely" as Betsy used to say. Help us to use what you have given us to further your kingdom. Not just the money that you give us, but everything that you give us. Out talents, our home, our ministry, our time, everything, Lord. Help us to use it for your glory. In your name I pray. Amen 
 

The following is a video of a group of Mathare children singing at the compassion project. Below the video are the lyrics.

Kenyan Song in Mathare from Ryan Detzel on Vimeo.
 

Adhi e dala malo
Am going home on high

Dala gi yesu Ruodha
The home of Christ my Lord

Dala mar auma
The home of splendour

Tinga malo adhi anee dala
Lift me up, so I may see my home

Neuru achako achako wuoth madhi ka wuonwa
I have began, began this journey to the father

Gimaneno ndalo mabiro piny ni rumo
I realise that this world is soon ending

Neuru achako achako wuoth ma dhi ka wuonwa
See I have began this journey to the father

Gimaneno ndalo mabiro piny dong’ gunda
I realize this world will soon be uninhabited

Adhi e dala malo
Am going home on high

Dala gi yesu Ruodha


The home of Christ my Lord

Dala mar auma
The home of splendour

Tinga malo adhi anee dala
Lift me up, so I may see my home

Tinga malo tinga
Lift me up lift me

Tinga malo tinga
Lift me up lift me

Tinga malo tinga
Lift me up lift me

Tera adhi anee dala
Take me to see home

Wach ni awinjo
I hear this message

Wach no aneno komaka gi wuoro
This message feels me with awe

Omaka gi wuoro
Feels me with awe

Gimaneno ndalo mabiro piny ni rumo
I perceive this world is ending soon

Wach ni awinjo
I hear this message

Wach ni aneno komaka gi wuoro
This message feels me with awe

Gimaneno ndalo mabiro piny dong’ gunda
I realize this world will soon be uninhabited

Courtesy of Compassion International: http://blog.compassion.com/mathare-community-outreach-talent/#ixzz0vQ9FmI4Q

 

 

Kenyan Song in Mathare from Ryan Detzel on Vimeo.


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Throw Back Thursday - Our Shooting Journey

 

I saw this on Facebook today and it made me think:

 

 

I'm not going to try to answer the question that the  banner asks. That would take too long. However, I do remember our high school having an indoor shooting range in it and no one thought anything of it.

 

Some of you may also know that shooting has been a big part of our lives but especially our oldest, John Allen's, life. For those of you who aren't familiar with our journey, it all began over 10 years ago when we were looking for a sport for John Allen. If you remember from reading my post on John Allen and the rare disease that he was diagnosed with in Happy Rare Disease Day - John Allen's Story , then you will know that John Allen has an artificial left eye. Because of that, it was very difficult for him to play most sports. Finally we found shooting and found that he really excelled at it. A few years ago I wrote a series about our families interesting journey in the shooting sports. In honor of "Throw Back Thursday" I've reprinted the first post in the series below. If you want to continue on in the series there will be a link provided. Happy Reading!

 



 



Our Shooting Journey - Part One - How it All Began!

John Allen at a the Daisy National Air Rifle Championship



I'm going to be quite honest. I almost didn't go. Really, I didn't want to go. Before I explain what I'm talking about, however, let me go back to the beginning.

Most of you know that John Allen shoots air rifle competitively. His shooting "career" began when he was in third grade. We had been looking for a sport that John Allen would excel in for a few years. When he was 15 months old, John Allen was diagnosed with retinoblastoma, a rare form of eye cancer. By God's grace, the doctors were able to remove the tumor, but had to also remove his left eye.

Being blind in one eye is difficult for a child who wants to play sports. They have no depth perception so hitting a ball with a bat or trying to kick a ball with a foot can be challenging. Try closing one eye and trying to touch the tips of your two pointer fingers together in front of your face and you'll see what I mean. We signed him up for t-ball and he did ok because the ball was stationary. When we tried coaches pitch (where a machine pitches the ball to the batter) things were a little different. He couldn't hit the ball if his life depended on it. Finally, during the last game of the season, he got a hit. The whole crowd cheered - they knew what was going on. There were tears of joy streaming down our faces until we realized that John Allen was just standing there. He didn't know what to do! He'd never hit the ball before. We had to yell for him to run. I can't remember if he made it to first base or not, but it didn't matter. He had accomplished something that was important to him. We knew, however, that in the competitive sports world of our town, he wouldn't last for long in baseball.

Soccer was another story. He actually wasn't too bad. He was able to kick the ball and had players around him who were encouraging. A couple of times his team actually was the number one team in his league. Still, we knew that when he was older he would never make it on one of those traveling teams.

One day I heard that the daughter of one of the teacher's aids at John Allen's school (this was before homeschooling), had a college scholarship in shooting. Hmmm...shooting...I had never thought of that. After all, you only need one eye for shooting don't you? When I asked the aid how her daughter got started in the shooting sports she explained that youngsters many times begin with competitive BB gun shooting through the Daisy BB Gun Shooting program. She gave me the number of one of the local team coaches, I called to find when the shooting season started, and our shooting journey began.

Our shooting club, Bend of the River, begins practicing in January with the main state matches in March and April. The first Saturday is usually an all day thing with a lot of safety training. The main folks at Bend of the River, Charlie Pardue, his wife Nancy, and his sister Mary Jane, are fantastic.  We were total newbies when it came to shooting and had no idea what was going on but they welcomed us and John Allen with open arms. The head coach of the team, Meghan, began working with John Allen right away and was very complimentary of him. It seemed that he had finally found a sport in which he could do well. We didn't attend the pre-state and state match that year because we thought that he wasn't quite ready (remember we were total, ignorant newbies) but we did next year and it was the beginning of his shooting success.

So, where was the place that I almost didn't go? What was the thing that I didn't want to do? Find out tomorrow in my next installment of this week long shooting series - Our Shooting Journey - Part Two - Success!

PS. Do you want to see some early pictures of John Allen at the 2008 National BB Gun Championships in Bowling Green, KY check out this link - http://share.shutterfly.com/share/received/album.sfly?startIndex=64&sid=8QYt2bJozZMOQ&fid=12fec66ee21c8d8e . He's in pictures 74, 75, 520. Enjoy the view of John Allen at his first national competition. Boy how far he's come!

 

Click here to get to part two of this series about - Our Shooting Journey.

The Father and the Son - A Mother's Day Story

This was originally written as a review for a homeschool unit study. I have since revised it into this story.

The father and his son sat together in the shade, leaning against the trunk of the old oak tree. It had been a hard day. They were both tired from working in their large garden and doing yard work. The air was sweet with the smell of springtime honeysuckle and roses - especially the smell of roses.
The yard was full of rose bushes. They were tucked between the azaleas and the hostas. They were planted beside the clematis and the iris. There were seventeen to be exact. Nine his dear mother had planted. Father would buy her one every Mother's Day. The other eight were the ones that father silently picked out and planted on each Mother's Day since she died.

The boy glanced over at the newest rose bush planted just days before. It was a pink variety that he knew that his mother would have loved. He didn't remember much of his mother. She passed away when he was only four years old. His father talked of her very little so the things that he did recall he clung to like a rare treasure. Still the memories were becoming foggy in his mind.

In the dimness of his memory was the picture of a kind but strong woman. She was full of life and vitality. Always doing for others, but never too busy to love and cherish her own family.

The boy also remembered the day of the accident. He recalled the last time that she hugged him and kissed him. His thoughts turned to the knock on the door and his father's rushing out while the kindly neighbor woman enveloped him in her arms and took him to her house to spend the night. The days that followed were a blur. His father's grieving - the confusion of a young boy who realizes that his mother is never coming back. Those were dark days.

The days had changed however. His father was always a cheerful man who loved living and loved his family. Although things were different, the father soon threw off the appearance of sadness and acted his cheerful self again. The father loved his son and wanted the best for him. He knew a sad home was no place to raise a young boy. So, with the Lord's help, he determined to make their home a happy home. And he did. The boy and his father were extremely happy and loved each other immensely. Still, occasionally, the boy could see a small wisp of sadness in his father's eyes. He knew that at those times Father was thinking about Mother. Those looks became more frequent in the spring when the roses were blooming and especially around Mother's Day when it was time to plant another bush.

The boy glanced at his father. Father's eyes were pointed toward a beautiful orange rose bush but his mind was far away.

"Should I?" the boy thought. "Is now the time?"

The boy had always longed to know more about his mother, but lately he was yearning to know more about mothers in general. For most of his life he'd had no mother. What were they like? He watched his friend's mothers and how they reacted to their sons. It always seemed to him that a mother's and son's relationship was a special one. He loved his father deeply and never wanted to hurt him, but their relationship was not the same. His face reddened slightly as he thought about the kindly neighbor lady who tried so hard to give him some motherly affection. His lips curved up as he thought about the embarrassing pecks that she would plant on his cheeks and the sudden hugs that she would give him. He knew what she was doing and loved her for it. Still, she was not his mother. She had her own brood to care for and to give her motherly love to. What was a mother truly like?

"Father," he suddenly blurted, "What is a mother like?"

Father's eyes came back to life and he glanced at his son.

"Mmmm? Your mother?" he said. "Oh she had soft brown hair and your beautiful green eyes..."

"No, Father." interrupted the boy. "Not my mother, but...you know...mothers. What are mothers like? What is it like to have a mother?"

"I mean," stammered the boy as he stumbled for words after his sudden outburst, "We just celebrated Mother's Day and I don't even really know what a mother is. Oh father, I don't want to hurt you, but..."

The father didn't have a harsh bone in his body, but somehow his face softened even more than usual.

"Oh my son," he exclaimed as he wrapped his boy in his arms. "It is I who has hurt you. I have tried to be everything to you but in doing so I have failed to teach you about a mother's love."

They sat in silence for a few minutes and then his father unwrapped his arms, smiled and said in a matter-of-fact-tone, "But, it is not too late!"

He leaned back against the tree. "How do you teach a boy about mothers?" he mused as he plucked a long blade of grass and stuck the end into his mouth.

He thought for a moment and then suddenly jumped up and exclaimed, "I know just the thing! Come with me."



He scurried into the house as if on a mission with his boy hurrying behind him. “We're going to do a unit study on Mother's Day this week for homeschool.” he said as he sat down at his computer.

“What do we know about putting together unit studies, Father? We've never done anything like that before.”

“I'm sure it can't be too hard. Look at this!" He said after he had typed in a search for Mother's Day, "Look at all of the things we could do. There are web sites on Mother's Day crafts and Mother's Day recipes.”

“And,” he said excitedly, “here are some fun Mother's Day worksheets that we could complete!”
"Let's keep searching! I'll bet we can find a lot of fun ways for us to learn about mothers. We'll learn together." said Father enthusiastically.

And so they did. They had a wonderful time watching the videos and listening to special Mother's Day songs. They worked on the worksheets together and enjoyed learning about the history of Mother's Day. Each day they read about a different Biblical mother and what the Bible has to say about mothers. The boy even coaxed his father to tell him about his grandmother. He laughed at the stories his father would recall from the days of his youth. As the week went on, the boy began to understand what a Godly mother was, but, as each day passed, the boy became sadder.

The father noticed the change in his boy's demeanor but didn't know quite what was wrong. Finally, on Friday, while they were watching another video, the boy could stand it no longer. Before the movie was even finished he jumped up and ran from the house. Father found him beneath the same oak tree where they were sitting a few days earlier. The boy was sobbing uncontrollably.

The father put his arm around his son and held him close. He waited patiently for the lad to calm down enough to talk.

"What is it my boy?" he asked softly. "What is troubling you?"

"Oh Father," exclaimed the boy as he fought back another round of tears. "I have enjoyed learning about mothers so much...but...each day we seem to read about different things that we could do for our mother." "But, " he hesitated and hung his head, "I have no mother." And with that a fresh stream of tears began to trickle down his cheeks.

"My son," said the kind father. "Did we not learn about Ruth and Naomi in our studies this week? Ruth loved Naomi and left her own country to travel with Naomi back to the land that she had come from. Do you remember why she did it? She did it because Naomi was kind to her. She treated her as if she was her own daughter. She was the Godly mother that Ruth had never had."

As the boy listened he stopped crying and looked into his father's face with an inquisitive look.

"Son," continued the father, "You may not have a biological mother here on earth, but you do have mothers. Mothers that are kind to you and that love you. Think of Miss Esther, your Sunday School teacher, who always has a kind word for you and congratulates you when she hears of your accomplishments. What about dear old Mrs. Finster who always bakes two pies or two batches of cookies ~ one for herself, and the other to be sent home to us? And then, don't forget Mabel the kind lady who lives next door. She has five children of her own, but never seems to run out of hugs and kisses for you whenever you are around. They have already shown you what being a true, Godly mother is all about. They are your mothers."

The boy sat and thought and then, suddenly, his face brightened.

"I can't be sitting around here anymore, I have work to do." he exclaimed as he jumped up.

"Where are you going, Son?"

"I'm getting ready for Mother's Day. I know that the holiday is over, but shouldn't mothers be celebrated more than just one day a year? I'm going to honor my mothers today!"

And so he did. He used the ideas from the unit study. He made a special Mother's Day card for Miss Esther, his Sunday School teacher. He baked some heart shaped cookies for dear old Mrs. Finster. He lovingly made a Mother's Day craft for Mabel, the kind lady next door.

That evening his father helped him deliver his gifts. The boy sat with each recipient and thanked them for "adopting" him and being the mother that he didn't have. It never failed that as the boy and his father left, there were tears in the recipient’s eyes.

As they arrived home and the father was passing the kitchen table he noticed one more wrapped package sitting upon it.

"Son," he called, "Did we forget to deliver one."

Unbeknownst to him, the boy had silently entered the room behind him.

"No," said the boy softly as he picked up the gift, "This one is for you. You see Father, all of those dear ladies have been Godly examples of what a mother should be, but since Mother died, you have been both my father and mother. You are the one most deserving of my love on this special day."

The father carefully unwrapped the gift. Within the paper were the workbook pages he had completed in the past week's study on mothers. They were lovingly bound together with ribbon that the boy found among his mother's old sewing kit. Many of the pages had asked the student to describe different aspects of their mother. For some reason, those pages caught the father's eye more than the others. Suddenly he realized why. On each one of those pages his son had not written about his mother at all, but about him. As the father slowly closed the book, he noticed that on the front was a beautifully drawn picture. It was of a rose bush.

Now it was his turn to cry while his son placed his arms around him.

That night, as the boy lay in his bed, it dawned on him that he finally knew what a mother was. And, somehow, the memories of his real mother became all the more clear to him again.

This story is lovingly dedicated to:
My wife, Sarah Tinkel, whom I dearly love.
My mother, Dorothy Rose Tinkel, who passed away on February 14, 2011.
My mother-in-law, Carolyn Adcox, who has been a dear mother to me for the past 19 years.

I Saw Jesus on a Garbage Heap

From time to time I like to get creative. My review of the Amazing Science! videos a couple weeks ago was one such example of me trying to write a creative review. Every so often, however, God leads me to write something other than a "way out" review. Sometimes he leads me to pen an imaginative story instead. The following is a short story that God gave to me a year or so ago. I published it on my angelfire blog, but thought I would transfer it to this blog as well.

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. John 8:36

I went for a walk the other day through a neighborhood that I wasn't familiar with. You would think that after all of these years I would know every part of my small town, but there was one section that I always avoided. That day, however, something compelled me to walk that way. I didn't know what it was at the time. Only that there was a reason why I had to go. So I did.


It was the kind of street that your mother always warns you about. An area where you really shouldn't walk alone. However, as I walked, I felt peace. As if it was where I should be at that moment. It was an inner peace. It had to be, because there was nothing on the outside that would convey peace at all. The houses were shabby and rundown. The lawns unkempt. It didn't get any better as I walked. The houses, if that's what you could call them, became mere shacks, and the shacks became mere boxes, hardly even livable. Junk filled the yards. Graffiti filled the walls. Still, I felt comfort. There was a voice within that said I should be there.


I walked on until there were no structures at all. Only junk. And then I saw it. The mound - no, the hill - no, the mountain of garbage. Stinking, filthy, trash everywhere. But there was something different about this trash. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on at first until it finally dawned on me what it was. It was the trash itself. This wasn't ordinary refuse that you would see on a regular garbage heap. This was different. There were no soup cans or soda bottles or cereal boxes. Instead I saw a can of discouragement, a bottle of depression, and a box of rejection. To my right there was a package of worry and a bag of fear. On my left there were scraps of disobedience.


As far as my eye could see there were large pieces and small pieces but each had the same type of label. Some labels were disgusting to my eyes - murder, pornography, abuse. Others weren't as repulsive - gossip, lies, hurtful words. All, however, were pieces of garbage. Worthless piles of waste.


I stood wondering what it all meant. Why was I there? Why was I so driven within that I had to walk that way and see that horrible site? I didn't belong there. I wasn't any of those things.


Then, something caught my eye. Was something moving? What was it? There was no wind - not even a breeze. It wasn't something moved by the air. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then I saw it again. Something, indeed, was moving slowly through the pile of trash. My curiosity got the best of me and I walked closer to see what it was. It was a person. In fact, as I came nearer to him, I recognized who it was immediately. It was Jesus!


Jesus was on the top of that garbage heap! Why was he there? Why would Jesus be in the middle of a dump? And what was he doing? At first I couldn't tell but then, finally, I saw. He reached down to pick up a piece of trash. I saw clearly what it was, it was a jar of guilt. Then, the most amazing thing happened. As he grabbed that filthy jar it became a hand. And as he picked it up, it ceased to become a piece of trash, but became a young women. And then, as she stood, she was no longer filthy, but beautiful. Not with an outward beauty, however. It was an inward beauty. A beauty that I had never seen before. A radiant beauty that could only be given by Jesus himself. Next, he reached down for a box that said anger. Soon, there was a young father standing before Jesus, just as radiant and shining as the young women.


I watched in awe as one by one Jesus reached for garbage but instead pulled up beautiful human beings. A bottle of rejection became a young boy. A package of addiction became a teenage girl. An elderly woman came from chunks of fear and a middle aged man came from pieces of uselessness. All were as shining and beautiful as the young women and young father were.


Then they began to run. I watched until they disappeared but there was no more wonder in my mind. I knew what had happened. I knew why they ran. They were free. Free from the bondage of sin to which they had been shackled. Free from being trash in a garbage heap.


I watched with joy. I cheered them on. It was a glorious site. Until my happiness turned to tears. You see, I was still standing there. I was not running with them. Then I realized why I was there. I belonged there. I belonged in that pile of trash. As I looked at myself I was no longer me. I was a piece of filth. I could see myself and I didn't have just one label, I had many. Dishonesty, unfaithfulness, and worry were there. Guilt, selfishness and rejection were included. My list went on and on. Indeed I was nothing but garbage. Filthy, stinking garbage. There was no hope for me. I would never run. I would never be free. I felt so small. So all alone. So unworthy.


Then, it happened. He walked my way. He saw me. He saw me with all of my sins. With all of my labels. With all of my baggage. And...he looked beyond it all and he touched me. He grabbed my hand. He pulled me up. And he looked at me. He took my face and he looked at me. There was that force. The force that I had been feeling this whole time. The force that drew me to this place. It was Jesus. Jesus had called me here. Jesus had called me to himself, and, then, Jesus had picked me up and set me free. I now had the joy. I now had the hope. I now had the radiance that I had seen and so longed for in the others. I began to run. I began to run like they had. Because, now I was free. The Son had set me free, and I was free indeed.



Retread from February 2, 2011

After yesterday's Compassion International post, I thought perhaps today wouldn't be a wise time to post another Compassion International offering, but how could I say no to this one. It was one year ago that we began sponsoring our dear Yvone. Yvone is the only girl that we have amonst all of the boys that we sponsor. She has been a real joy to correspond with. So, in celebration of our one year anniversary with Yvone. Here's my retread from February 2, 2011.

We did it again! We've taken on another correspondence child from Compassion International. If you remember, Compassion has many companies (or even individuals) that give quantities of money to sponsor a child or many children but can't are aren't willing to write to that child. Writing to the child is a big part of Compassion's ministry, so, Compassion began the correspondence program. That's when another sponsor can sign up to write to a child that doesn't have anyone that writes to them. You then become that child's correspondence sponsor. We sponsor one child through Compassion - Marcelo from Bolivia and have four other boys that we correspond with - Feyber from Colombia, Somi from Indonesia, Emmanuel from Tanzania and Ismael from Nicaragua.

Well, John Allen and I had a great idea for a Christmas gift for Sarah. We requested another correspondence child and, you probably can guess from the font color, this time it's a girl. We thought that perhaps a girl would make Sarah a little more interested in Compassion. Up until now she has listened to the letters and prays for the kids, but the writing has always been mine and the boys thing. Well, she's promised to write to whomever Compassion sends to us. We didn't get her for Christmas, but received word the other day that Niyonsenga "Yvone" from Rwanda is our new daughter!

Sarah was particularly excited that she goes by Yvone because Yvonne (two n's) is a family name. Both her mother's and sister's middle names are Yvonne and I think it goes back even further than that. Anyway, here's our new Yvone's picture and information. She is 13 years old and her birthday is June 20. Please pray with us as we write and try to disciple Yvone. Her father is dead and, although it seems her mother is alive, she lives with her grandmother. Thanks for all of your prayers for Yvone and our other Compassion children. If you want to know more about the Compassion program please click here. You won't regret it!

Niyonsenga Yvone

Retreads!

No, not tires, posts. I've decided to go back in time and see what I wrote in past years on this date. I was just thinking about this post today, and, wouldn't you know it, this was originally posted way back in 2009 on this date. Here it is again. Enjoy!

 



Recently, due to the wonderful technology of Facebook, I have been getting back in contact with some of my high school friends. This post is dedicated to them, but I think all of you will enjoy it. The above picture was taken from our senior year book. I hope there is no copywrite!

I had to laugh today when President Obama made his comments about his girl's school closing because of snow. I had a similar experience when I first moved to TN. First let me tell you about snow in Pennsylvania. I lived in the small town of Clearfield, PA from 2nd grade until I graduated (really I grew up outside of Clearfield in the "Village of Glen Richey", but I'll save that for another post). Winters in PA began in November and lasted until around Easter and sometimes longer. I can remember when it would snow a foot or so, then have a few clear days but not above freezing, then we'd get another layer of snow, then have a few more clear days etc. etc. The snow drifts would sometimes be over my head! Of course that wasn't necessarily very high when you are nine years old, but you get the point. Do you think they ever canceled school? Never! One day I went out to go to school, stepped off of our front porch, and promptly fell down. There was a layer of ice on the sidewalk and no matter what, I couldn't get up. Mom thought I was joking until Grandpa came around the house. We lived on a small farm, and he had been down feeding the pigs. It seems he had fallen and slid all the way down the hill to the pig pen - slop buckets in hand. He promptly said "Get back in the house Tim. You're not going to school today!" Did they cancel school? Nope! Another time our bus had to go down a steep hill on a back country road. We started slipping down the hill until the bus was actually sliding sideways. Thankfully the road was not as wide as the length of the bus and the two ends of the bus got stuck in the opposite snow banks. The bus driver told us to get out and walk home, there was nothing she could do. We found out later that a local farmer came and pulled the bus out with his tractor. That is no joke! That really happened. It would never happen today!

Fast forward, twenty years, to when we first moved to Tennessee. One night it snowed and I woke up to a dusting of snow on the ground - what we would have called a "skiff" of snow in PA. After a while I heard the neighbor kids out playing so I went out to ask what was going on. They informed me that school had been called off. After I picked my jaw up off of the ground, I asked one of the parents about it. It seems that it doesn't snow enough in TN to warrant counties buying all of the snow plows, salt trucks and coal trucks that cities up north have. But, that's not all! School was called off for the rest of the week, even after it seemed the snow had all melted. I was told that on some of the back roads it was so shady that there may still be "black ice" and so they couldn't take the risk of allowing busses to drive on them. If PA would have had that same rule, we would have had to go to school all year long, and we'd still be in middle school! Ah, the good old days! I'd love to hear about some of your snow experiences when you were a kid. Write and tell me about them.