Little White Church

Little white church.  Every small rural town has one.  Ours was on 3rd and Argyle.  Nondescript.  Simple.  Easily overlooked.  Just a little white church.

Last year our little white church was demolished after having been unused for a few years.  I watched the Facebook live video of the demolition from my home 100 miles away, with tears running down my cheeks.  We were married in that church.  Our two baby girls were dedicated in that church.  We worshiped in that church for 25 years or so.  Our hearts were deeply embedded in the four walls of that little building.  It hurt so bad to watch it being dozed, even though it was obvious the building condition had deteriorated to the point it was necessary.  

I felt like the walls were surely crying out with the voices of those who loved that church.  And comments on that video were similar in nature.  "I attended Sunday School there".  "That was my church when I was a kid."  "I loved that church."  

If there were 50 people in attendance it was a "good Sunday".  A few faces in the crowd changed as children grew up and moved away, or as new folks would come through the doors and find a home for their souls.  But the core remained.  The small group of faithful members.   And remarkably, the same pastor for most of the years this church was open.  

For forty-two years the same man served as shepherd to the flock at this little white church.  He is a gentle, humble man with a servant heart.  He gave of himself to every person who walked through the doors of that church.  Correction:  he is a gentle, humble servant to every person in our small town.  Even if  they never darkened the doors of the church he pastored.  

His life goal was to be the hands and feet of Jesus and to speak hope and love, grace and salvation,  into hurting hearts.  He did it well.  It was his calling.  

It was his calling, and it was never easy.   He persevered by the strong arm of the Savior who lifted him up  and often carried him through storms.  He's been retired for several years now, and his gentle humble servant heart remains.  And his Savior is still carrying him through difficult days.  

I feel certain that the demolition of the church he served for his entire working life was painful for him.   

An unknowing onlooker might think it was a failed church.  Just too little.  It folded.  Shrunk and died.  

I disagree.  Oh, how I disagree.  Seeds were planted in that little church that have spread and grown to far reaching places as folks moved away, and children grew up to become strong servants of God in their chosen professions.  Desks in the classrooms of various universities have been occupied by children that grew up listening to Pastor Dave speak truth into their hearts and minds.  Those same children have gone on to be Christian teachers, Christian social workers, Christian mothers and fathers, missionaries, health care workers, on and on.  Light in the darkness around them, planting more seeds that God will cause to grow.  That's how it works in God's garden.  Some plant, some water.... but God causes the growth.  1 Corinthians 3:6.   

Even in little white churches and tiny groups of people.  

Appearances can be so deceiving.  When it appears like little has been accomplished, God has been behind the scenes causing hearts to grow in His grace and love.  The Word planted in hearts will remain and give direction.  I often find myself recalling specific parts of Pastor Dave's messages that I heard so many years ago, and finding hope in the words God gave him to speak.  And Scripture that he opened up to my heart.   One verse in particular that I recall Pastor Dave quoting through tears during a message:   "Fear thou not, for I am with thee.  Be not dismayed, for I am thy God.  I will strengthen thee, I will help thee.  I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness."  Isaiah 41:10 KJV

And I remember why that verse was significant to him.  He was at a point during college where he just felt like giving up.  Throwing in the towel.  God poured hope into Dave with these words.  I'm glad he didn't give up.  I'm thankful for the seeds he's planted in hearts over the years.  

I'm thankful for the little white church on 3rd and Argyle.  The building is gone, but not the mission.  Not the message of Christ.  Not the fruit of the labor.  The seeds were planted.  The fruit will continue to grow and spread.  

Liquids and solids. Undoubtedly gas, too. Adventures in grandparenting Chapter 2

After a seven year gap of no tiny grandbabies to care for I now find myself immersed in the bliss of a new grandson.  He is sturdy.  He is happy.  He is delightful.  He is a breeze to care for on the one day a week that I watch him while mommy works.  

But he is a bit of a human fountain and I have an age induced tendency to forget that fact while changing his diaper.  His mom even provides "pee pee teepees" for such tasks.  And of course, I think of using them too late.  

No biggie.  He seems to enjoy my surprised reactions.  All he has to do is smile and laugh and I temporarily forget that I've been sprayed with warm urine.  (Ewwwww) 

A few years ago, long before this baby boy was born, his older brother (age 2 at the time) had his first long visit with sleepover at my house.  Our two older grandchildren were included and it was great fun. For whatever reason grandpa was absent on this visit so it was just me and the three grands, age 7, 5 and 2.  

No matter how fun grandchildren can be, there is an enormous amount of exhaustion involved for us grandparents.  I think it's caused by the fact that we have to remain so alert.  No nodding off.  Keep the kiddoes entertained.    

So by evening bath time this old grandma decided to take the easy way out.  I have a big whirlpool tub in our master bathroom.  Put 'em all in there together.  Leave the jets off so the littlest guy doesn't freak out.  Boom.  Such a time saver.  Quickly we can be snuggled together, all four of us, in my big king sized bed.  

The kids were excited for such an adventure and eagerly climbed into the tub.  I promised them the jets would remain off, no worries about Little J screaming in terror.  

All was well for less than one minute at which point the little guy pooped in the tub.  Never in my life have I seen my two oldest grandkids move so quickly.  If rapidly jumping from the inside of a large tub of water onto the floor was an Olympic event they'd get the gold.  I lifted the little guy out of the water and then ran to the kitchen to grab the first thing I could find to fish out the poop, which turned out to be a bent up old tea strainer thing with a handle.  

Don't judge me....I believe that there's really no established protocol for the best way to remove feces from a tub of water.  Not that I actually googled it or looked for you-tube videos for instruction.  Perhaps I should have.  

The kids stood by the tub, wrapped in towels and wide-eyed while I pondered exactly how to use the old tea strainer in my hand to get that poop out of my big tub.   Finally I determined that if I stretched my short body across the wide triangular portion of the tub it would be possible to reach most of the floating feces, which unfortunately had all accumulated in that far corner portion.  

The kids were silent, probably a bit frightened, as I leaned way over the tub.  The handle on the bent up tea strainer turned out to be not nearly long enough, requiring me to kind of drape my body above the water and stretch out as far as possible while my knees were propped up on the tub ledge.  Yes, I realize that's QUITE the visual.  And I apologize.  

In the process of all the stretching, reaching, and balancing on the tub's edge, something horrible happened.  I unexpectedly hit the switch on the tub ledge that turned on the whirlpool jets.  The water level was barely above the jets which caused a pretty powerful water-spout effect.  

Poop flew.  A bonafide pooptastrophe ensued.   

Of course I quickly hit the off switch on the jets.  Well, with as much speed as a woman my age can accomplish.  Rather sloth-like reflexes anymore.  

To clarify, none of us were struck by flying poop.  Nor was the ceiling affected.  

What did we do next?  We laughed.   And laughed.  And laughed.  Little J has no recollection of this event.  Nick and Tessa and I will NEVER forget the night that poop flew. 

And. If you come to my house I may offer you tea.  Rest easy.   The bent up tea strainer has been disposed of.  

  

The flip side of beautiful.

Are you familiar at all with 45 RPM records?  Side A generally held the recording of a popular hit song that received a lot of radio air time.  Side B was typically lesser known, less popular, sometimes never-played music.  

Back in the 1960's most homes with teenagers included stacks of these singles that were played on devices like pictured above.  For you young folks, 45 RPM records were kind of similar to the size of a CD.  But they just played one song on each side, instead of several on one side.

Side A of these records were generally played over and over, sung along with, danced to..... until they were worn out and rendered unusable.  Side B was often ignored, seldom played, songs that might cause no one to sing along, or even leave on the player long enough to listen to the complete song.  

But occasionally the B side  turned out to be a well known song.  I googled "B side songs that became hits" and the top song on the list was "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys.   "God only knows what I'd be without you".  

Interestingly enough, that particular line of that particular song reminds me of the rest of the story for this post about the B side of life.    God only knows....

I'll never forget the day two years ago that I woke up to a text message on my phone from my sister telling me about a "full of cancer" diagnosis for a little girl we loved.  And later on that day I was sitting in the office of our church when the words "Stage 4 Neuroblastoma" came across by text, confirming our fears for our family's 8 year old Ella Grace. 

Flipping our lives from Side A to Side B.  

The months that Ella spent fighting cancer were just awful.  She won the fight, healed in the arms of Jesus after her brave and painful journey.  But her family is left with the question "What will we be without Ella?"  

I became involved in a close way during Ella's fight against cancer.  From her time at Children's Mercy in Kansas City I first became acquainted with a room at the hospital called the Parent's Room.  It was there that I witnessed the servant hearts of selfless individuals who would come into that room, prepare food that they purchased with their own money, and set up a meal.  Family members of the very ill young patients were welcome to eat meals for free.  The room was well equipped with comfortable furniture, televisions, computers, laundry equipment..... and other Parent Rooms were equipped with larger family rooms and nap rooms.  Nearby the hospital were free standing homes that had been refurbished to comfortably accommodate families for longer term overnight stays.  

It was my first experience with Ronald McDonald House and the wonderful service they provide.  As I sat in that little Parent Room and watched the meal prep, my heart was touched in a way that is hard to put into words.  I witnessed regular people meeting the needs of folks they did not know, might never see again..... reaching out to hurting parents going through the worst chapters of their lives.  

And I commented to my niece Amy, who was there with me, that it must feel so good to be able to serve others in this way.  To be able to spend a few hours out of a day, a few dollars from your pocket, and serve hurting people in such an important, such a tangible way.  We both were overcome with gratitude for these folks.  

When Ella's battle took her to New York City I expected that big city Ronald McDonald House would be a different story.  It really wasn't.  Same servant hearts, being the hands and feet of Jesus.  I know that many of the people serving at RMH aren't necessarily believers in Christ.  I actually thanked one young man there working at the NYC RMH for "being the hands and feet of Jesus."  His response was silence, his face displayed that he really wasn't interested in hearing my words.  He wasn't rude, and I didn't press the issue.  It's okay.  No harm done. I continued to express my deep gratitude to him.  We were truly, truly grateful for the service they provided.   It's okay that he didn't know he was being used by Jesus to meet needs and answer prayers! 

The cool thing about Jesus?  He can use anyone with a servant heart. 

For me, the beauty of the B side has been a passion for volunteering at the local Ronald McDonald House.  Because of my personal experience with Ella's cancer treatment I can serve others in similar situations with a deeper compassion.  I can't explain to you in words what it feels like to be able to give back.  It's a heart deal.  An action that changes your very soul.  Being the hands and feet of Jesus. 

The flip side of beautiful.... can still have beauty.  Lasting beauty.  Heart-changing beauty.  Broken, but still deeply beautiful.  

The thing is, you really need to be open to looking for the beauty in the B side.  While it's human nature to just dwell in a sad place, there is great therapy in stepping outside your comfort zone and reaching out in a way that you might never have dreamed of before your own personal tragic experiences.  Ella's mom, Abbi, along with several other members of Ella's family,  have done that in so many ways for other parents of critically ill children dealing with pediatric cancer.  

Truthfully, it's scriptural.  God leads us through our own sad chapters to prepare us to help others in the same situation.  "Praise the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort.  He comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God"   2 Corinthians 1:3-4.  

If you haven't experienced the B side in your life yet, hang on.  You will.  We all do.  But trust me when I say that there is still beauty in the flip side of beautiful.  And it's worth looking for.  

✟ Father of mercy....God of comfort ✟

P.S.:
If by chance you have some interest in volunteering, I would encourage you to find a nearby Ronald McDonald house.  It can be as simple as checking their website for supplies they need, buying something from the list, and delivering the items to the specified location.  You can also sign up on the website to prepare a meal with a few of your friends.  

And next time you eat a meal at McDonald's, consider putting a little cash in the collection container for Ronald McDonald House.