Category: Real-Life Stories

A Love Story

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On Valentine’s Day, 1948 a young couple celebrated their wedding. One witness remarked that “not many are privileged to see such love and total giving on the faces of two people. I will never forget it.”* Little did the bride and groom know that sixty-eight years later, their story would be known the world over. 

I first “met” the groom Nate Saint through the pages of The Fate of the Yellow Woodbee by Dave and Neta Jackson, a book my dad read to me. Later, I discovered more about Nate when an excerpt from Jungle Pilot appeared in my school reading book. I savored that story and years later tracked it down to read it again. Combine those experiences with stories from my dad about working at a mission hospital in Ecuador, and Nate was stamped on my hero list!

However, it wasn’t until this past month that I actually read all of Jungle Pilot: The Gripping Story of the Life and Witness of Nate Saint, Martyred Missionary in Ecuador by Russel T. Hitt. It lives up to the “gripping” claim and is the perfect post for this week because the story of Nate Saint is a love story. Or maybe it’s actually a loves story. Let’s look at these “loves” one at a time.

Jungle Pilot is the story of a man who loved to bring others into his corner of the world through writing. “I don’t want to be a great writer but I long to express myself…I want to share the stories that are unfolding all around me. Mine would only be attempts, to be sure, but these attempts plus helpful criticism from others may help me eventually to be able to tell stories with the flavor that can only come from an eyewitness.” (pg. 11) This love poured itself onto letters, journal entries and articles. What a mercy that it did because these words eventually formed the structure of Jungle Pilot. 

Early on in Jungle Pilot, we see that Nate’s story is also the story of a man who loved flying. After his first experience behind the controls with his brother Sam, “he never could get enough of airplanes,” (pg. 46). Speaking from personal experience, it is a thrill to hold a plane’s controls! Nate possessed a keen mechanical ability as well. His sister-in-law once said, “I wearied of nuts and bolts for dinner,” of the dinner table conversations they shared (pg. 52). As Nate worked his way through Army Air Corp training, it seemed that he was made to be a pilot. Then – just as he was about to start flying – his childhood nemesis osteomyelitis returned. Although he stayed in the Army, he would never fly there. “I was heartbroken,” Nate reported (pg. 66) about his shattered dream. However, he soon got back on his feet. It’s a good thing he did, too, because within a few years, Nate found himself flying as much as he could. No, he wasn’t dodging or dropping bombs with the Army, but flying with Missionary Aviation Fellowship (MAF) had plenty of dangers lurking in short runways, unexpected downdrafts and more. Thankfully, he had people around him to help him bear the load of work and worry. Of those people, a few stand out, especially his family.

Undoubtedly, Jungle Pilot is the story of a man who loved his family dearly. You’ll have to read how Nate and Marj met for yourself. (God writes the best love stories, doesn’t He?) The love evident at their wedding only grew deeper with time. Once Nate wrote to Marj about their wedding: “If I had known you before as I know you now, I would have answered the preacher with a shout instead of a quiet ‘I do’.” (pg. 183) This real-life love extended to their children as seen in Nate’s response to the news that Kathy was born. (He was in Panama at the time for medical care while Marj was in Ecuador.) “Thank God for the wonderful news in the telegram…Honey, don’t be afraid to give that little gal lots of loving. She’ll need the practice for when her daddy gets home…I can hardly wait to see our precious baby.” (pg. 139). Later, Stevie, and Phil joined the family.  Amidst all the demands of pioneer missionary work, Nate made time for talking with his little ones, sharing Bible stories and praying with them (pg. 180).

But Nate’s love extended beyond his family making his story that of a man who loved others, even the unloved. He showed love for the the missionaries in his daily service as a pilot, mechanic, handyman and friend. He loved the native Ecuadorians and the Shell Oil workers as he used his skills to help them as well. Then his love reached beyond the jungle barriers to the unknown tribes, even the “Aucas” – known as killers – who could give him nothing in return. After his death, his wife Marj wrote to their children, “For a long time you children have prayed for the Aucas…Daddy would want you to love them and thank our heavenly Father that our prayers for these Indians are being answered,” (pg. 286).

Yes, Jungle Pilot is the story of a man who loved writing, flying, his family, and even strangers. Yet there is one more love left and it’s the greatest love of all. Jungle Pilot is the story of a man who both loved God and trusted God’s love. Of one life-threatening experience, Nate wrote, “I wasn’t afraid to die…And more important, I knew that God loved me like a son. The proof of His love was His real Son who suffered in my place on a Roman cross at Calvary,” (pg. 91). If you read Jungle Pilot, I think you will agree that it was this love that fueled everything else Nate did. This was the love that compelled him to say, “May His will be done,” (pg. 66) when he realized his Army pilot life was grounded. This was the love that inspired him to have engraved on his and Marj’s wedding bands Psalm 34:3: “O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.” It was this love that emboldened him to serve the missionaries under hazardous conditions to help them in “giving the Word of Life” (pg. 35). Lastly, it was this love that enabled him to live out this verse: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,” (John 15:13, KJV) on January 8, 1956 when he gave up his life for the Aucas because “they too were men for whom Christ died.” (pg. 35)

There’s so much more I could say, so many stories I didn’t share. I hope you’ll get an opportunity to read Jungle Pilot for yourself and be able to feel like an eyewitness to Nate Saint’s story. May we all know what it is to love to do good things and to love people. Even more importantly, may we know the love that the heavenly Father has lavished on us – both on Valentine’s Day and every day – and may it be the fuel for everything else we do.  

If you would like to read Jungle Pilot, you can get both your own print copy AND audiobook version by making a donation of $10 or more to Missionary Aviation Fellowship (MAF) this month (for first-time donors).  

* Russel T. Hitt, Jungle Pilot: The Gripping Story of the Life and Witness of Nate Saint, Martyred Missionary in Ecuador, with an epilogue by Stephen F. Saint (Grand Rapids: Discovery House Publishers, 1997), 122. All quotations are taken from this book unless otherwise noted.

 

A Spoonful of Stories

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Does what you read really make a difference in your life?

I have been blessed to have in my life a special older lady. Several years ago, it appeared that she often got wrapped up in worry or pulled down by discouragement. I also noticed something else: the books she read seemed like the kind that would make me downright paranoid and definitely grumpy. That realization inspired me to embark on a secret mission. I like to think of it as “Operation Spoonful of Stories” to help sweeten her later years and reach a cure for worry-itis and that pesky discouragement disease. 

Step 1 was to keep mental notes of books she liked. Mysteries and non-fiction decidedly won out. Even though she was entering the winter of life, she still liked books that she felt made her brain work and taught her something about the world.

Step 2 commenced with picking out my own set of books that fit the bill of what she might like but were higher up on the happy-and-hopeful scale. Philippians 4:8 seemed liked a good measuring gauge. Maybe she would like historical fiction that was well-researched (and perhaps included a mystery), biographical works of Christian men and women or novels that gave good insights into distant cultures?

Little by little, I moved into Step 3: loaning these books to this dear lady. She read voraciously, so sometimes it was hard to keep up with her. At times she liked a book quite well. Other times it didn’t seem to suit her fancy. During this phase, I discovered that a side benefit of Operation Spoonful of Stories was having something new to talk about during our visits.

All of this started a few years ago. For me, the high point came with her deciding to read the entire Bible. When I heard she was going for that goal, I loaned her a Bible guidebook that I thought she might find useful. (I admit, I had almost gotten rid of it several times over the years because I didn’t use it much.) She loved it! To my delight, she actually gave me and my family little reviews of what she was reading and learning from Scripture. 

Watching this friend read all those books was pretty amazing in itself, but I also got to see something even more amazing: gradually, the anxiety faded away, and the downcast spirit became one of the merriest souls I’ve known. Surely, this change is really due to God’s work in her heart, but I like to think it may have something to do with Him using a spoonful of (good) stories to put her on a healthy path as well. 

Now I call that a mission success.

What about you? Have you had your own “secret missions” to help someone overcome a hurdle or enjoy the sweeter side of life? Or have you been blessed by someone’s forethought? And, while we are at it, what books do you go to when you need a boost? I’d love to hear your thoughts and stories, so please comment away!

An Open Book

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Instead of calling him by his first name, they started calling him Dr. Hammer. They could talk to him about his life. The care they gave grew more attentive. They knew him as a person not just a patient. All because they knew his story.

When my sister and I compiled Grandpa’s life into a book with a self-publishing program and gave it to him for Christmas several years ago, we never envisioned it going where it could tell tales to anyone beyond our family and descendants. An audience of that size was worth the effort. But then Grandpa moved into a nursing home. 

Moving Grandpa to a nursing home was hard. Life doesn’t always bring about the ideal situations we would choose for ourselves, and this was one of those times. Mercifully, God still carries out His good work even in the challenging imperfections of this earth.

After a while of being at the nursing home, Grandpa asked for “his book”, the one we had crafted. We took a copy and left it on his shelf. Little by little, a marvelous thing happened.

One by one, we began hearing reports that the aides and nurses were reading Grandpa’s book. They would remark on “what a life” he had had. That’s when we started noticing the little changes like calling him Dr. Hammer once they realized that he had his Ph.D. in economics and had taught that subject at a university. They learned about his childhood and how he met Grandma in the Philippines and how their first date was a missionary meeting. Perhaps knowing about his Norwegian heritage and how he had served in the US Air Force gave them a little more understanding of his deep stubborn streak as well. In this way, Grandpa’s full life became an open book. We couldn’t sit and tell each nurse and aide these things, they didn’t always feel comfortable asking, and Grandpa couldn’t always put together the thoughts he wanted to share. But they were delighted to pick up the book when Grandpa told them to or when they were just sitting with him. It was such a blessing to us to see other people getting to know the Grandpa we had come to cherish. 

Beyond that, Grandpa’s book gave us an opportunity to introduce Someone even more precious: Jesus Christ. Sure, they heard us sing and saw us read the Bible and pray, but through this little book they saw how Christ is written into our lives. No, we didn’t get to see anyone become a Christian because of it, but maybe what they read planted or watered seeds. We have prayed for that. 

So, if you have a loved one who is a little bit older, I would encourage you to think creatively about how to share who that person is with family, friends and caregivers. Who knows what kind of harvest you might reap?

For Someone Else

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Timeless: Thoughts on Moving Forward Well in 2016

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Looming uncertainty. Unwanted pain. Doubting of truths once trusted. Struggling world economies. Promised but paling world peace.  Questions tumbling around in minds unsure where to look for answers.

Does that sound familiar? Well, I think it sounds like our time, but, interestingly enough, I’m discovering all of those statements could be said about England seventy-some years ago as it entered World War II. 

Perhaps we like to think our struggles are unique to us. Some of us might even like to feel sorry for ourselves. It seems sometimes Christians (of various backgrounds) especially like to think that the “badness” of their time is the worst it’s ever been because that might mean Jesus is going to come again soon and sweep His people into heaven – and away from pain, sorrow and loss – with Him.

While I think looking forward to the return of Christ is a wonderful (and good!) thing, for anyone who has studied history there’s a problem with thinking the timing is based on present problems: Life has been downright horrible time and again. If anyone had a right to think life couldn’t get any worse, it would be the people getting bombed in London or the people living in Germany during Hitler’s reign…and many thousands throughout the centuries before them. And did the world end? Apparently not.

The upside to there having been struggles in the past is that Christians can learn from how the Church faced those challenges. Take the religious branch of the BBC during WWII for example. They faced a question not unlike the church faces today.

How can the church meet a hurting people where they are and show that Christianity is for real life including all the pain?[1]

Enter Clive Staples Lewis or C.S. Lewis or even Jack as his friends would call him.

He was a man acquainted with pain, having lost his mother at a young age and having served in WWI. He had once been a skilled skeptic of Christianity but became one of its greatest advocates. And although he was a university professor, he managed to reach the British people via the “wireless” in a way that common people could appreciate even as they managed ration cards, hid in bomb shelters, wrestled with ideologies like nationalism and Communism and heard that their loved ones were never coming home.

But it didn’t all come easy to him.

In fact, his first attempt at speaking to a group of British soldiers on Christianity was decidedly disappointing.[2]

 However, thanks to some encouragement, he didn’t give up there. And from his labors grew a modern classic called Mere Christianity.

I haven’t finished the book C.S. Lewis & Mere Christianity: The Crisis That Created a Classic yet, but I have listened to the companion radio threatre drama C.S. at War, and I think there are several tips we can all gain from the life of C.S. Lewis. 

  1. He kept learning, even from his own failures. 
  2. He had the humility to let his radio talks be edited and revised. 
  3. He sought counsel. 
  4. He genuinely cared for people. 
  5. And it was the Lord Who made his efforts successful.

Maybe if we want to move forward well in 2016 – both looking forward to Christ’s return and living well in the meantime – we need to take some time to look backward. After all, on this earth, some things could very well be timeless.  

1 1Paul McCusker, C.S. Lewis & Mere Christianity: The Crisis That Created a Classic. Focus on the Family (Colorado Springs, 2014), pgs. 30-31.

2Ibid., pg. 105.

 

Simply Stepping Stones: What Thanksgiving Is Really About (It’s Not Just the Pilgrims)

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All things considered, I think you could forget the Pilgrims and still celebrate Thanksgiving this year. 

But, no, just eating a stuffed bird or watching men chase each other with a funny-shaped ball does not count as celebrating Thanksgiving. If that’s all we do, let’s be honest, please, and call it Turkey Day or even Football Day.

(Note: I don’t actually have anything against turkeys – especially when they’re on my table – or funny-shaped balls; I just would like us to call things what they are, even holidays.)

Back to Thanksgiving. 

It’s not that the Pilgrims would be all fine and jolly with you forgetting them entirely. At least William Bradford would be concerned. And with good reason. 

He understood a particular aspect of humanity: unless you’ve gone through the suffering required to reach a goal yourself, you’re apt to not value the reward nearly as much as those who did suffer. Bradford wanted the Pilgrims’ descendants to treasure what they were given, so he wrote an account of their struggles called Of Plymouth Plantation. (It’s worth cracking the cover. I believe Grandma called it “fascinating”.)

But, as far as Thanksgiving Day itself goes, I think the Pilgrims really wouldn’t mind if we happen to talk about them less. Squanto and Samoset probably wouldn’t be bothered either.

Why? Quite simply, it’s not about them.

Yes, Thanksgiving is a good time to remember our history, but it’s still not about the Pilgrims.

Then what or who is it about?

In Bradford’s own words, this group of sojourners who became known as the Pilgrims saw themselves as potentially “but stepping stones” to something – or you could say Someone – much more important than themselves. 

“Last and not least, they cherished a great hope and inward zeal of laying good foundations or at least of making some way towards it, for the propagation and advance of the gospel of the kingdom of Christ in the remote parts of the world, even though they should be but stepping stones to others in the performance of so great a work.” [1]

Then who is Thanksgiving about?

Thanksgiving is – or is supposed to be – a day when we take time to be thankful not just to each other but really to God, the God Who sustained the Pilgrims, the God Who prepared Samoset and Squanto to help them, the God Who has been directing the stories of our lives ever before and ever since the Mayflower anchored off America’s shore, the God Who makes plants grow and created that turkey on your table. 

God really is the One the Pilgrims would want you to be thinking of and thanking this Thanksgiving, even if you forget them. After all, the Pilgrims may be simply “stepping stones”. 

“Know ye that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.  

For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.”

~Psalm 100:3-5, KJV

 

1 William Bradford, Of Plymouth Plantation: Bradford’s History of the Plymouth Settlement: 1608-1650, pg. 21.

Worth the Tears: The Story of a Struggling Reader

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 As Katie stared at the bold black letters on the page, tears dripped down her cheeks. Her teacher wasn’t surprised. This was the daily routine.

Every day they worked on reading together. It seemed like it was never going to get easier. Katie wondered why her teacher couldn’t just read to her; she liked listening to stories! Learning to read on her own, however, seemed just painful. 

It wasn’t that Katie’s teacher hadn’t laid a good foundation. They had gone over phonics thoroughly.  Still, only three-letter words seemed hard. Katie’s dramatic emotions didn’t help. She even declared that she didn’t want to read. And every day the tears came.

Thankfully, Katie’s teacher could see beyond the surface. Katie’s conflict ran deeper than letters and sounds. Unlike some children, Katie’s greater struggle to read wasn’t brought on by letters moving backwards in her head or a non-verbal bent. A big part of Katie’s struggle was that she couldn’t see. The letters blurred together, not just because of her tears and even with the best glasses she could get. Along with that, Katie was learning a lesson even harder than reading: Because of her vision issues, she was different from other kids her age. While they might fight to remember when an e is silent, she might fight to simply see that it was an e and not a c. That realization hurt. Of course, the fact that she could see at all was something to be thankful for, but a six-year-old’s life isn’t always governed by logic. (Actually, no one’s is…)

Knowing all that, her teacher did battle with her and those BOB books. Sure, she probably pulled out her hair a few times and even shed a few frustrated tears of her own, but she wanted Katie to read normal print books if she ever could.

Mercifully, the teacher got a little help. A gentleman read to Katie on a regular basis. She had been read to before – that’s how she knew she liked hearing stories –  but as the days went by she slowly discovered that books were her ticket to adventures and the places and people she wanted to learn about. She just had to take hold of it.

Months of tedium and tears continued. Then one day, all the pieces came together. Katie decided she wanted to take hold of her ticket to adventure and board the train herself. There were so many people and places she wanted to learn about! She also figured out that if she could get up early and snuggle into her favorite blue chair, she had the perfect place to read. There was no one to mind that she held the book two inches away from her nose. She read books like the Little House series that she had loved listening to and new mysteries She felt rather satisfied when she read a biography of Daniel Boone that had hundreds of pages. Lessons in Braille fed her new-found love for letters, even though she continued to read mostly with her eyes

And she kept reading. Through two international moves, junior high, high school, and right on through college when she gained her BA. By this time Katie knew that she relished stories. Even more than that, she knew that she loved God’s story.

You see, Katie had been given a key to not only escapades and faraway places but also to God’s Word, another book she read for herself. Within those pages, she learned that God doesn’t make mistakes and that even if we don’t understand why He gives us certain circumstances and life may be just plain hard, He is worthy of our trust. Stories from history that she read gave her hope that God can use even the challenges in our lives for good purposes.

Now Katie still reads – though not as much as she might like – and contacts help her see better, but she also seeks to share stories with others to give them at least a glimpse of the hope she’s been given. 

Maybe not every struggling reader will be like Katie. Maybe God has other stories to tell in some of their lives. But, for all of you who are or will be traipsing through tedium and tears this school year, I hope it’s an encouragement. Teaching a child to read – to whatever extent he or she is able – is a great gift. You never know what God might have in store for your student. I think Katie and her teacher decided it was worth the tears, don’t you?

And just who was Katie’s teacher? Of all the people in the whole wide world, it was her mom. And the gentleman who read to her? He was her dad. 

I should know because I am Katie. Funny how a girl by any other name can be-one-and-the-same, isn’t it? And, yes, I’d say it was worth the tears. I’m thankful Mom and Dad thought so, too. 

 

Passed-Down Partialities: People, Poems, Pianos & Pies

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Not so long ago in a land not too far away, there lived a little girl named Ruthie. She lived on a farm with her father, mother and sisters. They didn’t have much in the way of things, but they were surrounded by generally kind neighbors. Ruthie relished the parties for birthdays and the celebrations for national holidays. She also cared for the neighbors’ children when a helping hand was needed. Along the way, one thing was for sure: Ruthie learned to love people. 

As Ruthie grew up, she discovered another love: music. Finally, she had the opportunity to take a handful of music lessons. That gave her the courage to play both the piano and organ for church!

While she loved people and music, Ruthie also enjoyed time by herself. She didn’t even mind being the one to stay home and clean! (Every family needs a little Dutch-ness, perhaps?) However, she also enjoyed a good story. Her family didn’t have many books, but she read The Best Loved Poems of the American People. Perhaps the rhythm of the words struck a chord with her music-loving heart. At any rate, she kept that book for decades to come.

Even after grown-up Ruth left her small hometown, her partialities perpetuated. People, pianos and poems continued to be parts of her life. She also carried sweet memories with her. Remember those parties with the neighbors? Ruth couldn’t help but share the stories, especially about the pies! Mrs. Cacak always baked such wonderful pies! As Ruth traveled far and wide, maybe pie became like a taste of home.

Lo and behold, one day Ruth found that she had become a grandma! Where had the years gone? Well, whether on purpose or not, Ruth passed down her partialities to the next generation. She showered the new little people in her life with love and showed them how to love other children. Once they started taking piano lessons, she played and sang along, imparting her interest in hymns. She shared her book of poems. And, lastly, she offered the stories of her childhood, including the palate-pleasing pies.

Have you ever wondered over how God weaves our lives together? Isn’t it amazing how He even carries on the work from generation to generation? I think Ruth’s story is a good illustration.

You see, I am one of Ruth’s granddaughters. Her passed-down partialities have had a huge impact on my life. I hope to carry on her love for people, especially children. If she hadn’t played piano in church, I might not have either! It was with her Best Loved Poems of the American People  that I spent happy hours, and now I post about poems on my blog. And if she hadn’t shared sweet memories with me, I may not have been as inspired to bake pies a-plenty.

This is why younger people like me need older people like my grandma. They give us perspective and pass down passions and pastimes. And, from what I’ve seen, older folks need us young chicks to remind them that their decisions affect others and they need to be thoughtful about what they value. Certainly, there are many other things – even beginning with “p” – that Grandma could have invested in and that could have made my life much different. So if you’re an older person, please consider your ways well and seek out someone with whom to share your gifts. And if you’re a younger person, watch for what you can learn from the older people in your life. Won’t it be wonderful to see what God’s masterpiece looks like someday when we get to see His woven work?

Thank you, Grandma, for passing down these things to me. I’m glad you enjoyed the cherry and raspberry pie I was able to make for your birthday! You know the secret ingredient, don’t you? Love.

Grandma's Birthday Pie

Raspberry Ramblings

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Ah-hah! There was another bright red berry. Alice’s pink-stained fingers plucked it and placed it – point up – in the wooden crate in her other hand. Through the bushes, she caught a glimpse of her nine-year-old brother’s face. Tattle-tale red spots stood out on his chin.

“Maurice! Quit eating the berries!” Alice squawked. 

“It was just a squishy one! And I’m hungry.”

Alice sighed. She glanced over her shoulder. They were only three rows into the raspberry patch. It seemed like they had a hundred to go. Two of her older sisters were working their way through from the patch’s other side. At first, that had seemed like a good idea. Now Alice wasn’t so sure. “Well, just make sure you only eat the squishy ones,” she reminded. 

Alice and Maurice kept going for a few minutes. Then Maurice said, “I’m hot.”

“I’d tell you to quit complaining, but I’m hot, too. I’d sure like to be fishing right now.”

Suddenly, Alice found herself in the shade of a big shadow. Even before she looked up, she smiled. She knew that shadow. 

“How’s it going here?” Alice and Maurice’s sixteen-year-old brother Dan asked as he stopped next to them.

“We’re hot,” Alice said.

“And hungry,” Maurice added.

“Hungry? How many pancakes did you eat for breakfast?” Dan reached over the raspberry canes and ruffled Maurice’s hair. “Well,” Dan got a berry box from the little wagon next to Alice, “why don’t I help you two out for a while?”

“That’d be swell!” the twosome chimed. 

“I’ll go ahead of you, Maurice. You can get the berries that I miss.” He winked at Alice as he stepped over the row and started picking.  

Alice grinned. If she had to pick a favorite out of her six brothers and sisters, she was pretty sure it would be Dan.

While they kept picking, Dan reported on the baby animals he had cared for that morning, and they laughed when he told about the wobbly lambs and the crazy chickens.

Just then, Alice spotted red farther in than she usually had to reach. Her small hand wriggled through the brambles, trying to avoid the prickly points, but when she pulled her hand out two small scratches showed where the canes had gotten the best of her.

“Why did God have to make raspberry bushes with thorns on them?” she asked.

Dan answered from the other side of the row, “I don’t think I know the exact answer, but I’d say it’s because of sin.”

“Like Dad says?” Maurice asked.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “And like the Bible says. But, you know, a lot of things in life are like raspberries. If you aren’t willing to work to get them, and maybe suffer a little, you might miss out on something really sweet.”

Alice pressed her lips together as she reached for another deeply-hung berry. This time she didn’t even look for scratches. Still, she sighed, “I used to like berry-picking, but we’ve been out here every day this week, and I’m tired of it.”

“Me too,” Maurice agreed. “Hey, but Dan’s here, and he doesn’t even have to be!” 

“That’s ‘cause he’s Dan, and he’s just plain nice,” Alice said.

Dan laughed. “Well, it is true that sometimes you just do things because you love people. Just think about how nice it is that we can actually sell these for money – “

“Even with the Depression going on,” Alice added.

“Right. And how Mom and Dad appreciate it that you’re helping,” Dan continued. “They do a lot for us after all.”

Alice pursed her lips and thought on that as they kept picking.

After a while, Dan straightened up. “I hate to say this, but I’ve got to go into town.”

Alice started to say she wished she could go with him but changed her mind. “All right. Thanks for the help!”

“Hey, thanks for your help, Stump,” Dan said, patting her head. “You, too, Maurice.”

Alice wrinkled her nose, Dan was the only person who could still call her “Stump” and get away with it.

“Tell you what, if you keep working on these, I’ll take you fishing on Saturday. How does that sound?”

“Really, Dan?” Alice’s blue eyes danced.

“Sure thing! If it’s raining, we’ll come up with something else. And, Maurice, if you can tell Mom that you haven’t eaten any of the sell-able berries from now till suppertime, I’ll have a treat from town for you.”

“Hmmm,” Maurice thought. “I’d really like that.”

“It’s a deal then. I’ll bring something for you, too, Stump.” He winked at Alice again and then went off on his long legs.

This scene is from my imagination, but it’s based on real-life stories. I’m interrupting my series on the War for Independence because today is a special day. Today would have been my Grandma Alice’s birthday. 

Grandma often recounted to us how painstaking raspberry picking seemed in her childhood as she and her siblings had to carefully place each berry – point up – in a box. However, she was grateful for the raspberries because they were one of the few crops her minister-farmer’s family could sell for money during the Great Depression. She also shared how her older brother Dan watched out for her, and that she really did have to endure the nickname “Stump”. (That’s another story for another time.) Her love of fishing continued into her grandmothering years. 

With those details, I imagined the above exchanges and actions. I could imagine further on that Grandma never forgot Dan’s words about reaching for the raspberries and doing things out of love for others. As Alice grew up, much of her life reflected those two themes. She sacrificed many times both to attain a goal and for family and friends. Her kind words, funny jokes and rambles down Remembrance Lane sweetened up lives like raspberries on vanilla ice cream. 

The thing is that we can’t have real love for others anymore than we can single-handedly make raspberries grow! If the ability to identify and give others-first love comes from the field of a human heart, it will shrivel up eventually. It needs a deeper root so to speak. As Grandma learned along the way, that Root is the God of love, Jesus (I John 4:8, 2 Corinthians 13:11, John 15:12). Awesomely, He’s also the One Who makes raspberries grow! (Colossians 1:16-17, Genesis 1)

So next time you’re rambling down a raspberry row or relishing a raspberry cobbler, maybe it would be a good time to reflect on God’s love for us and to recognize the sweet gifts He has given us – like Grandmas and raspberries. They may only be with us for a season, but the memories they give us continue to offer a harvest. 

Without Hindsight: History in the Present

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As I’ve looked at history, I think I’ve sometimes viewed the characters as if they knew their actions’ outcomes. It was all fine and well for the Patriots to be so brave. They must have felt very sure of themselves. Of course they were going to win! How could anyone have wanted to give up?

But they didn’t know the end of their story. They were like I am in 2015, in the middle of the adventure and wondering what might happen next. Are we doing right? Is there any way we’ll win? Or will we be relegated to the failures of history? Is it going to be worth the cost?

And they had reason to wonder. By the winter of 1776, not even six months after the Declaration of Independence was signed, George Washington’s Patriots were underfed, shoeless, unpaid, and suffering sickness and defeats. Since they didn’t know what was coming, 2,000 of them left when their enlistment expired. [1] Even before that show of hopelessness, Washington wrote to his cousin,

“In confidence, I tell you that I never was in such an unhappy, divided state since I was born.” [2]

Yes, these were days to “try men’s souls” as Thomas Paine put it. [3] The realities remind us that the War for Independence wasn’t glamorous. The men who fought in it weren’t given messages from heaven saying that they were going to be famous someday. They struggled with decisions, made mistakes and had to face them, and needed to confide their feelings to friends.

Somehow this knowledge comforts me as I live within my own life’s tale. While it’s true that as a Christian I know I can look forward to a “joyfully ever-after”, I don’t know when that’s coming or what lies between now and then. Somedays I think, I don’t know what tomorrow holds; how can I possibly make life-altering decisions? 

Let’s face it. Life gets complicated and hard sometimes. That sure wouldn’t be news to George Washington! And yet, he and a (comparative) handful of others pressed on. For some reason, God chose to suddenly bless their efforts – with their crossing the Delaware and surprise attack on Trenton on December 25, 1776, for example – and here I am over two-hundred years later with gratitude for that.

Here’s another thought I’ve pondered: If you’re going to be a soldier who sticks with it, you’d hope your cause would be worth it, wouldn’t you? For me, that’s where listening to God comes in. As the “Author of life” (Acts 3:15, ESV), Jesus knows the end of the story. I think that’s a good reason to rely “on the protection of divine Providence” like the signers of the Declaration of Independence said they did. [4]

So I press on – praying, reading, watching, listening, working, waiting for God’s directing hand. What might happen if we’re not “sunshine patriots” or “summer soldiers” [5] who give up when life gets hard? Maybe we won’t have history-shaking victories. But at least generations to come could look back and say, “They didn’t give up. They persevered in something eternally worthwhile. They set an example for us. Let’s live up to it.”

 

1 David McCullough, 1776: The Illustrated Edition, pg. 197.

2 David McCullough, 1776: The Illustrated Edition, pg. 191.

3 Thomas Paine, “The American Crisis” http://www.ushistory.org/paine/crisis/c-01.htm (accessed 9 July 2015).

4 “The Declaration of Independence” http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/charters/declaration_transcript.html (accessed 9 July 2015).

5 Thomas Paine, “The American Crisis” http://www.ushistory.org/paine/crisis/c-01.htm (accessed 9 July 2015).