Nancy

Applicious

October 15, 2018 by Nancy 15 Comments

The scarier the world gets the more mundane my blog posts seem to become. Cats, books, pumpkins…it seems in an attempt to diffuse the scariness nothing is too commonplace to become the topic for a blog these days! Given that, and how scary and sad the world has been this month, today’s subject is the apple. That’s right, that red orb that bounced around in your metal lunchbox in third grade. Let it bounce you to a saner, happier time!

Of course the apple is much maligned as the forbidden fruit that Eve ate and gave to Adam in the Garden of Eden, but this is only because artists have depicted the fruit as an apple. The Bible never says what kind of fruit it was. It could have been a kumquat for all we know. (Isn’t kumquat a funny word? I always wanted to use it in a sentence. Now I can check that off my bucket list. Writers have weird bucket lists.)

Apples are mentioned in the Bible however. In Proverbs, the collection of the wise teachings of Solomon and others, we find, “A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver (Proverbs 25:11).” There’s some wisdom there alright. We should peel away at that teaching until we get to the core of it. If only we limited our conversations, our texts, and our tweets to words aptly spoken. Not apple-y, but aptly, meaning suitably or appropriately. The world would be a better place already.

Fall is apple season, and any grocery store shopper can go cross-eyed trying to decide between the Red Delicious, Gala, McIntosh, Granny Smith, Golden Delicious, Fuji, Honeycrisp and more. Gourmet cooks know which apple works best in which apple dish, but I just pick shiny ones that look fresh and have the fewest worm holes. Biting into a worm isn’t how we like to get our protein!

Those fortunate enough to live close to an orchard that hosts an apple festival may be able to pick your own bushel then get busy making apple butter, apple pie, apple cake, apple tarts, applesauce, apple fritters, apple crisp and the ever popular apple cider—now offered in upscale bars as well. How well I remember such an apple picking adventure with my son and his family at an orchard in Virginia. It included a cold but fun hayride!

So have I succeeded in getting you to forget about this morning’s news and dwell instead on the joy of biting into an apple with all its crunchy sweetness? There is joy to be found in all the ordinary things of life. And hope as well. Martin Luther wrote, “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”

Pick up an apple and praise God for making it just for you. Even in a piece of ordinary fruit we can find joy and hope if we give God the glory. “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him (Psalm 34:8).”

SIMPLY THE SAVIOR Turns Twenty

September 29, 2018 by Nancy 24 Comments

It surprises me to realize that the first book I wrote under contract (not as a work-for-hire assignment) turns twenty this month! I wrote Simply the Savior during a time when there was a lot of emphasis on simplifying life. Magazines carried headlines like, “10 Easy Steps to a Simpler Life” or “You Too Can Embrace Simple Living.” Book clubs were reading Sara Ban Breathnach’s best-selling book, Simple Abundance, and her publisher soon took advantage of its success to spin off sequels, journals, etc.

All these things caught my attention because I had a strong desire to simplify my own life, and so had left a full-time job to work at home. But everything I read seemed to have a “new age” feel that didn’t quite satisfy me. “Wait a minute,” I thought. “I’m pretty sure Jesus had a lot to say about what really matters—about living a simple, uncluttered life.” I opened the Word, and Simply the Savior was born.

When writers read a nonfiction book they wrote twenty years ago, it’s like reading a tattered 20-year-old journal. I smiled when I read illustrations featuring small granddaughters who have since gone to college, gotten married, and traveled the world! And then there’s the surreal feeling you have as a writer reading something you wrote so long ago as you think, “Not only do I not remember writing that, I don’t even remember knowing it!”

Yet I just read Simply the Savior again and I wouldn’t change a word. Yes, my spiritual journey has deepened my faith and my understanding of Scripture, my marriage is twenty years stronger, and I’ve had to accept that being 50 wasn’t old enough to write about gray hair and wrinkles. But the 15 chapters such as “Simply Believe,” “Simply Listen,” “Simply Forgive,” and “Simply Love” are full of Holy Spirit inspired truths.

Back cover photo of the author who thought she was old!

Because it’s a book about Jesus, and we are promised in Hebrews 13:8 that He is “the same yesterday and today and forever,” everything I was inspired to write back then still holds true—even if I don’t remember writing it. In fact, my not remembering is a strong reminder that the book came through me, not from me.

Sara Ban Breathnach’s book Simple Abundance sold five million copies and is translated into 28 languages. Simply the Savior sold 10,000 or so and was translated into German. Yet I received a note from a reader who said she kept a copy of my book in the glove compartment of her car so she could pull it out and read it when she felt a panic attack coming on. “Lord,” I said, “that’s enough for me.”

And I’ve accumulated twenty years of gratitude for having this little book in my life. My publisher, David C. Cook, also owned Best to You at that time, a Christian social expression catalog for which I wrote product and catalog copy. So they did their own version of spin-offs: a promotional paperback and both a lovely framed print and a mug designed with the chapter titles from the book.

This first book opened up my life as a speaker. I went where I was invited, and there were many and varied opportunities. I remember a small gathering in a little church basement where the rhythmic hissing of oxygen tanks permeated the room as I spoke to a circle of older church ladies—perhaps stirring in me a heart for the books I’ve written for the elderly recently.

In contrast, I also remember speaking to the women’s ministry of the much larger First Presbyterian Church in downtown Colorado Springs. Twenty years later my son, Tim, is the lead pastor of that church. I mentioned him in the book as a young seminary student with his first baby in his arms. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.

I’m not one to force my books on anyone (thus I haven’t sold five million copies of any of the six books I’ve written!), but there may be a few copies available from used booksellers online, or you can download the Kindle version here if you’d like to read Simply the Savior again, or for the first time. Simplifying once is seldom enough. Material, emotional, and spiritual clutter happens. And as the book says, “It is simply the Savior who gives us all we need to live a life of simple joy.”

Happy 20th Anniversary, little book. You have blessed me so.

A Harvest of Memories

September 13, 2018 by Nancy 16 Comments

What is it about the first crisp morning of fall that brings a rush of nostalgia—especially to those of us with more than a few decades behind us?
Of course so many of our memories are back-to-school ones. Even before the temperature begins to change, several of the stores I frequent set out their offerings of school supplies. I blame back-to-school memories for the fact that I’m a glutton for the smell of new pencils and colored markers, the feel of fresh notebook paper, and the aisles of all things “back-to-schoolish.” I have to stay away from such displays because one year I bought a purple binder I didn’t need, well—just because it was purple!

Yes, the memories in the back-to-school category are plentiful indeed. I remember wearing a new plaid dress to the first day of school each year—the only new outfit I would have until Easter. I wore my hair in a ponytail throughout elementary school, but my mom would always take me to get my bangs permed before school started. I would show up looking like I had a Brillo® pad glued to my forehead! My school photos prove it.

But fall nostalgia doesn’t stop there. At any age autumn makes us think of cozy sweaters, warm socks, hot chocolate in front of a fire, and front porches decorated with an array of brightly colored pumpkins and other gourds, corn, and mums. It’s the time of year when we may go for a walk in an old jacket just for the joy of hearing the leaves crunch under our feet. Having an old dog as a companion completes the experience.

I grew up in Tennessee, so my memories of fall drives through Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg to the Great Smoky Mountains through the years are replete with recollections of the fall displays on every corner. No cornstalk or scarecrow goes unappreciated in that part of the country in the fall!

And of course fall means the return of football, as my husband is so quick to point out. For him, the nostalgia centers around two-a-day practices and the year he was a high school running back playing for the state championship! Ah, the glory days. When he sees the football team practicing early in the morning on the dew-covered field at the high school near our house, it all comes back to him.

My teenage football memories center around cheering at high school games, but that little girl with the curly bangs remembers watching her parents go off to University of Tennessee football games on September Saturdays. My mom always wore a wool suit (no matter how warm the temperature on game day), heels, and a bright orange mum corsage. I was sure she’d be the prettiest fan there!

For many farm families, fall brings more than a harvest of memories. It brings the actual harvest of the last of the crops and the joy of sharing the bounty with friends and family—or getting it to market. It’s also a time to cut and bale the hay, storing it in the barn for winter. As a girl, I loved throwing my school books down as soon as I got home on warm fall days, running to the barn to jump on my horse, Dolly, and riding through the freshly mown fields near our house. The smell of hay still transports me there in an instant.

What about you? What memories of fall do you treasure? Savor the nostalgia this year. Let it seep into your soul like a bowl of steamy oatmeal on a frosty morning.

Welcome, fall! We’ve missed you.

Miracle Molly

August 27, 2018 by Nancy 12 Comments

Someday you’ll read on Facebook or in this blog spot that we had to say good-bye to our cat, Molly, but not today!

In April we lost our cat Beau to cancer. I still wake up in the morning missing him. In May, Molly was diagnosed with kidney disease. (Note to self: Don’t have two cats the same age.) We noticed she wasn’t eating and was losing weight. The blood test the vet ran revealed that she was in serious need of immediate fluid injections and recommended an emergency vet for overnight IV treatment. You don’t want to know what that cost.

For the next couple of weeks we alternated infusions in the vet’s office and at home (and no, we aren’t medically trained!) with blood tests to see how she was responding. This meant additional expenses and many trips in the dreaded cat carrier for Molly.

She did respond to treatment and started eating again. Still, after a weekend of praying and crying (me) about what to do for her, we decided that we didn’t believe in extending her life beyond its natural conclusion, especially since we’re not signing up for extreme measures when our time comes. If that was it for her, we would just love her and let her go when it was time. A hard decision, but one that gave us and her peace.

We informed the vet that Molly would now be in palliative care. We would watch her to make sure she wasn’t experiencing any discomfort, and hope to bring her in for her final trip to the vet before she suffered any dire consequences from the disease.

For about a week we watched her closely. She sat and stared at us with a “cat stink eye” as if to say, “Why’s everyone staring at me all the time?” Given that we thought she only had a few days left, we relaxed the cat “house rules” for her. I let her wander out with me when I watered the pots on the downstairs patio, and you’d think she’d gone through the wardrobe into Narnia so thrilled was she to be sniffing around in forbidden territory. We also left the bedroom door open all night so she could come and go at will, because after all, the poor dear didn’t have long to be with us.

That was three months ago and Molly will celebrate her 15th birthday this week! In style, I might add, because it didn’t take long for her to not only appreciate her new privileges, but to actually expect and demand them! How dare I try to sneak out to water pots without her. She protests loudly from the other side of the glass door if not allowed to accompany me. And not only is she in our bedroom all night, she jumps on the bed in the early morning light, meowing and poking at me until I get up to feed her the soft kidney-care food she’s come to love. We are enjoying her in spite of her newfound diva status, however, and she’s reveling in our extra attention.

Who knows why we have all been given this sweet time together? I prayed, “Lord, please heal her or take her.” I didn’t want to have to make another one of those painful last trips to the vet so soon after taking Beau. It may be a miraculous answer to prayer that she’s still here.

And we don’t know if this will make any feline medical journals, but we’re pretty sure some cats have at least 10 lives. We’re enjoying Molly’s 10th, and we’re glad we don’t have to say good-bye just yet.

Happy Birthday, Miracle Molly!

Stairway to Heaven

July 26, 2018 by Nancy 16 Comments

I’ve climbed the beautiful, spiral staircase at the assisted living community where I volunteer many times without thinking of it as the stairway to heaven. But for some reason, today as I climbed from the first floor with its lovely entryway, library and dining room, to the second floor with the activity room where we have The Hope of Glory Bible study, that’s exactly what came to mind.

Maybe my long-term memory was activated by being in the presence of those older than I who cherish this intact part of their brains, and I was reminded of the prom theme we had my junior year in high school. Two by two couples lined up for the coveted prom photo. Girls in long satin dresses boasting wrist corsages leaned in to boys in brown suits sporting their father’s ties. Behind each couple was the backdrop the prom committee painted on butcher paper of a long spiral staircase. Glittery letters at the top read, “Stairway to Heaven.”

Of course, our idea of heaven in the Sixties was a really hot date and getting to stay out later than usual to go to the after parties, or the less sanctioned parties held on the banks of a Tennessee lake. Gratefully, it’s not this temporal, somewhat carnal, concept of heaven that I show up to talk about to the assisted living residents. Rather it’s the gospel truth that we won’t have to climb the 21 steps I counted today to get to heaven, or even take the optional elevator! It’s the message that there’s only one step needed, belief in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.

Most of the residents at this facility, lovely as it is, are there because they need help of some kind—either due to physical impairment or loss of mental acuity. Although they don’t dwell on this fact, the blessed among them realize that their next destination is heaven. Together we explore how this late season of life in which they find themselves is still life, and that God has a purpose for them as long as they have breath. Then they will enjoy eternal life with Him!

It could be because I’ve been to two memorial services within a week that I’m reflecting on heaven now. Both were for women who lived long, full lives, leaving behind memories of stories told, quilts made, meals served, grandchildren cherished, and husbands adored. Hearing about their lives, and their strong Christian faith shared through generations, makes every remaining minute of my life seem more valuable to me somehow—more primed with possibility. They ran their races well, leaving me with a longing to make any time I have left count for something—especially for those things that are small in the eyes of the world, but large in the eyes of heaven.

In my book, Take My Hand Again, I talk about how hard it was to say goodbye to the assisted living residents I came to love through our time in Bible study, and today I was reminded that I’m still vulnerable to that kind of heartache. And I’m not alone. I just finished the engaging book A Dog Walks into a Nursing Home by Sue Halpern, who also grew fond of the residents she took her dog, Pransky, to visit each week. The author recalls standing at a distance at the graveside service of a friend and resident named Fran because she had the lovable labradoodle with her. She stood amazed as she saw all the people who gathered to honor the woman she and Pransky had only come to know and love in her last years. They had no idea how many lives Fran’s had touched, they only knew she had touched theirs.

Love hurts, but it’s always worth it. And there’s this stairway to heaven, where the loss and pain of aging is no more! There we will celebrate together all the love we’ve received, and all the love we’ve given away.

The Hope of Glory, A Devotional Guide for Older Adults, and Take My Hand Again, A Faith-based Guide for Helping Older Parents, are both available on Amazon.com.

Strike Up the Band!

June 17, 2018 by Nancy 15 Comments

Whenever I see a field of yucca plants in bloom this time of year it always reminds me of a marching band, each member stepping out in a tall hat with a plume on the front. Yucca plants thrive in dry climates and are drought-resistant, so unlike the wildflowers that would have preferred a rainier May, they are in their glory now in Colorado. Walking through Rampart Park near my house is like being at a band festival, with competing groups marching in every direction!

Yet on these competition fields a smattering of wildflowers has dared to pop up. Three years ago when we moved to our neighborhood we had experienced a very wet spring, and the fields of wildflowers were breathtaking. This year I’m delighted with the occasional Indian paintbrush, cinquefoil, or wild penstemon.

I know physical trainers advise clients to vary their workout routines, and many people besides Robert Frost extol the road less traveled, yet I think there is something to be said for taking the same walk through all seasons year after year. Doing so establishes a rhythm to our life on earth—and the heavenly delights we encounter along the way will always vary.

Now that summer is in full bloom, my almost daily walks through Rampart Park provide both the stability of the familiar route and the excitement of change. Which dogs will be at the dog park today, and will the dachshund and the German shepherd get along better today than yesterday? Has the black-tailed weasel returned to his hole by the sidewalk?

Baby rabbits hop away from my footsteps in every direction, pausing at the edge of their thickets as if daring me to see them before they dart inside. I love that they have a safe place to abide when the dogs come by (sadly some not leashed by their owners), and I’m reminded of John 15:5 where we are encouraged to abide in Christ and trust only in Him for our safety.

As I walk I can gaze across the valley to a neighborhood on the mountainside where I know a family I dearly love is stirring and getting ready for their day, and I send a prayer their way. I can check out the snow melt on Pikes Peak and watch for approaching storms. I can greet the neighbors and strangers I meet and exchange pleasantries to brighten my day and theirs.

But most of all, as I walk I can praise God for the glorious creation around me, and for my physical ability to walk through it and enjoy it. I promise Him I will never take my walks for granted, because I know too many people unable to enjoy such simple satisfaction. Maybe I stick to the same route, but every walk is different. And I am grateful. Strike up the band!

Like several bloggers I follow, I’m slowing my pace this summer. I’m hoping for one post a month, with a promise to step it up in the fall.