Things You

Need to Know
Uplifting Spiritual Essays

by Terri Lea Naylor Burton

 Things You Need to Know
Essays by Terri Lea Naylor Burton

My Sister, My friend
My sister, Sidney Naylor, called me one day to tell me she was
having a biopsy to test for cancer cells. I told her not to be
concerned that there was no history of cancer in our family. A
couple weeks later she called me back and as soon as I said hello
she said that I was wrong and that she did have cancer. I told her
not to tease me, that it was not funny. She convinced me that she
was not teasing, her surgery was scheduled in Cleveland, Ohio in
just a few weeks. She told me what the doctor had said, how it was
like hearing a foreign language. She was in shock and asked me to
call him and see what he had meant. I said that I would and I began
my research on the internet at the American Cancer Society (ACS)
web page so that I could better comprehend whatever he said.
Sidney told me to be sure to get to my doctor and have my annual
exam.

When I read the ACS important signs of cancer I worried because I

was having a slight problem. I went to my doctor and she assured
me that I had nothing to worry about, that all my tests had been
normal and that I was just being overly cautious because of my
sister. I spoke to Sidney’s doctor on her behalf and got all the
information she needed. The thoughts kept nagging me that I also
needed to have a biopsy. Finally one day I picked up the phone
and called my doctor’s nurse, I explained to her my concern and
the doctor’s suggestion that perhaps I was overacting. She told me
to hang up the phone and call another doctor immediately and get
another opinion. I did and there were no appointments for several
weeks except with a new physician’s assistant. I grabbed it. This
concerned woman listened to my story, ordered a test and it came
back questionable, so she ordered a biopsy just like Sidney had in
Cleveland. The test came back and it was malignant. I was
scheduled for surgery about four weeks after my sister had hers. I
was fortunate the cancer was in the earliest stage and was
confined to my uterus.
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My sister saved my life, not only by sharing with me the trial that
she was facing but asking for my help in understanding her
journey and then encouraging me to get my answers when they
were not easy to ask. We are our sister’s keeper as well as our
brother’s and when the path is shared the burden is not so hard to
bear. I will always be grateful to her.

She was 16 years older than me, lived 400 miles away from me and
was a very private person. Yet she whispered her fears to me and
held my hand over the phone as I whispered mine back and we
wept together. God works through each of us when we are willing
to let down the walls and share our trials as well as our triumphs.

Never Alone

I was twenty one years old, married and living about eight hours
from my mom and dad. I had no relatives or close friends in the
area. My doctor told me that I had to have surgery to stop some
hemorrhaging. I was scared. Late on the night before surgery the
anesthesiologist came to my hospital room to talk with me. He
explained to me that when he saw people as large as me come into
the operating room he wanted to run away as quickly as possible.
He explained that because of my weight it was hard to determine
the amount of drugs to give me to keep me “asleep” during
surgery, that he might give me too much and cause my heart to
stop. He said that if he chose to do a spinal the chances were that
he could hit the wrong spot and paralyze me. Now I was terrified. I
told him to just call off the surgery and he said we couldn’t do that.
When he left, I asked my roommate if she had heard what he had
said to me. She said, “Yes, he said he might kill you or paralyze
you because of your weight!”

I went inside myself and hunted for peace, for God and for
strength. I felt so alone. I was an adult but I wanted my Mother to
reassure me that everything would be alright. As I lay there in
torment, tossing and turning, I heard someone walk into the room.
My foot was outside the covers just as it always was when I tried to
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get to sleep. I felt a gentle squeeze on my big toe, as my Mother

had done a thousand times, when she had come to tell me
goodnight. I looked into the face of a nurse telling me everything
would be fine but who I saw, who I heard was God speaking to me
once again through the voice of my Mother.

The surgery turned out just fine. I ended up with a spinal and was
able to wiggle my toes as soon as the surgery was complete. The
anesthesiologist told me that what he was seeing was impossible. I
told him it was just God reassuring me that he had not paralyzed
me!

When we are at our lowest points, God finds a way to reassure us

of His presence and love. Sometimes we are the ones He asks to
reach out and other times we are the receiver. Either way we are
richly blessed to experience His love and peace.

Grey's Anatomy

I was all set to share my first experience at the Gemein House in

Laurel Ridge and then everything shifted in my mind and in my
heart.

Do you watch Grey's Anatomy on TV on Thursday nights? Last

night I did and I hope if you are an avid watcher you will forgive me
if I do an injustice to the dialogue but for those who missed it, I
want to let you in on what happened.

The father of one of the young doctors died on last night's episode
(this is all fiction) and one of his peers followed him outside and
welcomed him into the " Kids With Dead Dads Club". She
explained that her Dad had died when she was nine and that she
was so sorry that her friend had to pay such a high price to join the
club. He told her that he just did not know how to exist in a world
with his father was no longer in it. She replied that the sad part is
that we never learn how to do that. Tears were pouring down my
cheeks and I was doubled over in grief-ridden pain.
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My father died when I was thirty five, my mother w hen I was forty
two. At the HELP circle a few weeks ago one of the women shared
that when her parents died she had felt like an orphan. I wanted to
hug her and say, "Yes, that is what I felt like, and some days still
do. An orphan without a home."

When my two older children's father died at forty-two, I had a few

moments with my Mother before I saw them. I remember her
holding me so tight, I was sobbing and telling her that I just wasn't
old enough or wise enough to say the right words to them and she
replied, "Oh, my dear baby girl, we never are."

I later returned to Missouri to go back to work. A couple days later

one of the ministers I worked with called me. I answered the phone
and no one said a word for a minute. Then finally I heard Tim say
that this was one of the hardest phone calls he had ever made and
that he didn't know what to say to me. I told him the fact that he
had taken the time to breathe my pain with me, even for a moment,
was enough. And it was. Are the words ever adequate?

And, after all these years, when the grief can still come with the
force of a tidal wave and knock my legs out from under me, I know
that there are those of you that breathe it with me. That you have
gone through the same experiences and more. We are becoming
family to each other in a different but loving way as we all continue
our journey home

God will continue to dry the tears, give us strength and peace.
Thanks be to God.

Can God Use Me??

I met an extraordinary woman a few years ago. I noticed right off

that she was different. She reached out to everyone she met with a
sincere interest in them. Her face shone with a deep inner joy.
Finally I approached her and told her what I had noticed about her.
Without a blink she started sharing her story with me. She was on
her third marriage, she felt she had failed God and had failed living
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a Christian life. She quit teaching Sunday School after 26 years of

service. But in her despair, something very unusual happened.
Women started approaching her. Strangers who were depressed
and lonely told her their stories They too felt they had failed, that
they were "not good enough". She felt God showing her that she
was not alone in her feelings. So she decided to open her heart
and her home to the women God was sending her. Once a m onth
they met and became family. The group continues even today and
new women are still showing up each month. She hugged me and
proclaimed that God was simply not through with her yet.

I realized I had met a living example of God's grace and love. I

found a poem on a restaurant bulletin board last week. It echoes
her story. I want to share it with you.

Think God Can't Use You?

Noah was a drunk

Abraham was too old

Isaac was a daydreamer

Jacob was a liar

Leah was ugly

Joseph was abused

Moses stuttered

Gideon was afraid

Samson was a womanizer

Rahab was a prostitute

Jeremiah was too young

David was a murderer

Elijah was suicidal

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Jonah ran from God

Naomi was a widow

Job went bankrupt

Peter denied Christ

Disciples fell asleep while praying

Martha worried about everything

The Samaritan woman was divorced

Zaccheus was too small

Timothy had an ulcer.....AND

Lazarus was dead!

Now! No more excuses! God can use you to your full potential

Besides you are not the message, you are the messenger.

~Anonymous

Ring the bells, ring the bells!

I have wanted to ring the bell for the Salvation Army for more than
thirty years. You may wonder why it took me so long to do it. I
would think about it every Christmas and wonder who one
contacted to be a bell ringer. I had never met anyone that had rung
a bell to ask them so I just procrastinated over the years. I thought
about calling the main number to ask if anyone outside their
congregation could do it. As with all things, the time passed so
swiftly with me continuing to take action. That is until this year!
Don Elliott stood up one Sunday during worship, rang the bell, and
said something to the effect that if we really want to feel the
Christmas Spirit sign up and ring the bell for one hour at Lowe's
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Food Store in King. Ah, finally my answer after so many years of

wondering how this process worked. I approached Don after the
service and asked if he had the 3:00 slot open. It was his last one
open; further assurance to me that this was meant to be.

I showed up that Saturday afternoon with a folding chair in hand. I

knew how tired my legs could get standing on cement for an hour.
I talked with the people I was replacing. They had enjoyed the
experience. People had been very nice to them. It was fairly cold in
the shade of the overhang at Lowe's but soon my thoughts were a
long way from where I was standing. My eyes were overflowing
and tears were running down my face as I saw, in my mind's eye,
children shivering when they got out of bed in the morning. I "saw"
fathers and mothers that were hungry, tired and worried about
letting their children down at the holidays because they was no
money. I "heard" them thank me for not letting them remain
invisible. They "told" me that when we ring the bell, we are their
voices and they are no longer forgotten. I don't have adequate
words to describe this moving and powerful spiritual experience. I
can tell you that it was overwhelming and meaningful.

Observing humanity for one hour was an interesting experience.

What I observed was that the better dressed people did not make
eye contact with me nearly as often as those who appeared to have
very little. The folks who seemed to have the least hurried to the
bucket to make their donations, as parents they used it as a
learning experience to teach their children about sharing, and
often they would thank me for giving my time to ring the bell.

The experience was worth the wait, I felt my heart expand enough
to allow more of God's love to fill me. Thank you, Don Elliott, for
making this easy and for being right that it would make me feel the
Christmas Spirit.
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Gifts From The Heart

I decided to share a special Christmas memory with you because

one of the things I have noticed over the years is that we tend to
give our loved ones the gifts we wish someone had given us. So
we buy our granddaughters a doll that we think is beautiful when
they really had their heart set on a movie or give our sons a watch
when they really yearned for a ticket to a football game. And the
message that we send is that we didn't listen close enough when
they told us what they were wishing for and that we didn't know
them well enough to know their fondest dreams or what brings
them joy. One year two people heard me with their hearts and gave
me a Christmas memory that I still think about after forty six years.
I was eleven years old and feeling so mature because the next fall I
would be entering junior high school and would have seven
different teachers a day and riding a bus three miles to school. I
was growing up. When Daddy asked me what I wanted for
Christmas I gave him a big spiel about how badly I needed a watch
so I would know how many minutes I had left in a class before it
was time to go to the next one. He gave me a speech (while I rolled
my eyes) that I was not mature enough to take proper care of an
expensive watch, that I wouldn't keep it out of water, put it in a safe
place when I took it off, on and on and on he went. Then he asked
what else would I like since a watch would not be suitable for a
child. Trying to show my maturity I explained that what I really
wanted was my very own Bible, one that zipped and had my name
on it. Again he explained that I wasn't ready for such a sacred
book, that he had seen over the years where I had scribbled in
books and until I was mature enough to know that a Bible or any
other book should be treated with respect, he could not provide
me with a Bible. He explained how rare books had been when he
was growing up and how he had built a library at our house for me
to enjoy (my eyes were rolling again) but no, I was not mature
enough for my own Bible. I was hurt. He couldn't see just how
mature I had become. After all I was eleven and so in my most
mature way I stormed from the room!!
Christmas morning came. I got up before the rest of the family and
went into the dark living room and plugged in the tree. There were
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tons of packages under the tree and the room was full of wonder.
A warm glow from the lights on the tree added to the magic. Soon
the family joined me and the wonderful sounds of "oohs" and
"ahhs" filled the room when the sounds of tearing paper began. It
was a wonderful time and I received a lot of wonderful gifts and the
most special one of all came in a small white envelope. It was from
my aunt Ollie, she had no husband or children and not much
money. Inside the envelope there was a $10 bill (what amount
would that be today?) and on a torn piece of notebook paper in
pencil she had written the words, "for what you had wanted in your
heart but no one knew what it was to buy it". Tears filled my eyes
then as they do even today as I remember her love and insight. We
all want someone to know that what we want in our heart matters.
All the presents were unwrapped and we were ready for breakfast.
As soon as we were through eating Daddy said he wanted to talk
to be alone in the den. I followed him there my heart beating
rapidly. He started talking to me about the mistake he had made
when he had judged me so harshly about what I had wanted for
Christmas. He said he had thought it over and had decided I was
about the most mature eleven year old he had ever known and he
handled me two wrapped packages. The first was a beautiful watch
with thin black cord straps. He showed me how to set it, wind it
and had me listen to the fine ticking sound. Then he told me to
open the last present. It was a wonderful Bible, white leather with
my name printed in gold. He took great care to show me how
Jesus' words were written in red. He had made sure this Bible had
a concordance and showed me how to use it. He explained what a
fantastic tool it would be for me to use all of my life . And then he
showed me where he had written my name inside along with it
being given in great love to me from him and Mother, and the date.
He held me tight as I cried and prom ised him I would treasure them
always and take really good care of them. I have kept that promise.
He knew I would.

An aunt who knew that a child had unknown wishes, a Daddy who
knew what an important impact his faith in me could make, made a
Christmas memory that has lasted a lifetime. It is the intent of the
giver that gives the gift its value, isn't it?
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The Simple Life

Jim's message today about letting go of possessions struck a
chord in me that began perhaps 10 years ago. I began yearning to
simplify my life, to get rid of things I no longer used. Perhaps the
seeds of this thought pattern happened years before that when my
Mother had a talk with me. Don't save things back for company she
admonished, use them and enjoy them every day. Put the quilts on
the beds and don't leave them in a dark closet. If you cannot put
things out in the light to use, give them to someone who can. My
Mother was such a wise soul and I think back on her words often.
I try to really listen to the people I meet. I want to learn from their
stories. I want to spare myself pain if I can avoid their mistakes.
Some of you know I really enjoy going to garage sales and one of
the reasons I do is because people who are having the sales often
share their stories with me. Yesterday, I met a woman that had just
moved from a 4000 square ft. home to a 1000 square ft. townhouse.
She shared how she had never used 90% of the stuff she had had
anyway. Isn't that true for many of us?

I am a retired Realtor (among other professions). It alway s amazed

me as I listed and sold houses and as we were looking to purchase
a home recently just how much clutter most of us have. Behind
closet doors there is not room to place a hanky, things are pushed
in there that tight. I use to say one day the earth would tip on its
axis because of all the "stuff" we have in our homes. Why do we
do that? Are we so indoctrinated by the media and by our society
that we never know when enough is enough?

Over twenty years ago Jeff and I sold everything but the fewest
essentials and moved to Missouri to go to ministerial school. What
liberation (along with some sadness over a piece or two) to let it all
go. What freedom it was to find everything we needed within a
minute or two because we now had so little we never had to hunt. I
truly enjoyed it. But, fast forward to ten years later and we were in
the same boat as we were before we left. A house bulging at the
seams and buying things we knew we had but couldn't find. Why
do we do that? Why do we hang on to what we haven't used in
over a year in case we will use it next year?
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Would we be closer to God if we had less stuff? Would there be

more peace and joy in our lives if we knew what we had and where
it was? Do we need to declutter so that our children won't have to
do it when we are gone? My sister says let them do it because it
would be too much like preparing for our own deaths to get rid of
stuff now. But I say, wouldn't it be more like preparing to live more
freely without the cumbersome load of "stuff" surrounding us?
It seems to be a work in progress for me but I have to tell you I
envy those folks I have met along my journey that had the courage,
the energy and the foresight to sift through the clutter and only
keep what was truly important.

Mission Blitz
I am trying to think back to how it all began, at least in my mind. I
suppose it was nearly a year ago when Jim spoke on a Sunday
morning of how we all need to be in service helping one another.
He told stories of several families that needed help but the one I
remember the most was about a man living in a house with huge
leaks in the roof. I was both agitated and moved by his message. I
felt I was inspired and ready to vote but didn't know where to
register. Where were these families? I agreed I needed to help
them that I even wanted to help them but how could I go about it? I
told Jim how I felt. Others must have bent his ear also because he
shared with the elders that he felt a need to help the community
and that there had to be a way that we could give back like he had
seen done at Laurel Ridge. And then he said, with a glow in his
eyes, that if other churches responded and did the same thing, it
would multiply and many more people could be helped in our
community. Everyone agreed that the time was right and that we
could do it.

Later after some groundwork had been done, Jim brought another
message to us on a Sunday morning and at the end of it he asked
who was willing to help, to be Christ to those in need. The entire
church came forward. It was a moving experience as we prepared
our minds and souls for service.

It took a lot of work by many people. Countless hours locating the

people that needed the help of our church, meetings by dozens of
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people on how these tasks could be accomplished and other

meetings to see how everyone in the church could be involved, by
praying, working, donating, cooking, etc. Finally it was taking
shape and the date arrived.
We kicked it off with a Thursday evening Mission Blitz dinner. The
room was filled with love and enthusiasm. Teams had been
formed, money and donations had come in, breakfast and dinner
would be cooked each day and Jerry Beefus would serve as
Chaplain at vespers.

As the week progressed, the stories started floating in. People

were telling the workers that their neighbor needed more help than
they did, people needing the help were feeding the workers,
thanking them, and sharing stories. The workers were returning to
the church with their bodies tired and sore but their hearts
overflowing with love and excitement. I saw more hugging,
laughing and handshaking during the Blitz than at any other time
in our church. I heard more positive stories and commitments from
people and I heard the yearning to do yet more. Never have I been
more proud to belong to any church or to be associated with such
fine people . Never have I felt more "Christian".

Good deeds are contagious, I started hearing families saying they

were going to have a Blitz and call in other members of their
families to help Grandma. What if, as Jim says, we have indeed
started something really, really good? Often he closes the worship
service with these words, "We came here today to worship, let us
now depart to serve."

During Mission Blitz, we truly did, didn't we? In one way or another
our prayers and hearts were connected to do good. Now we get to
decide whether it was just a flicker of a candle in the night or will
the flame burn forever and ignite other candles??

A Love Story
I want to share a special love story with you this Valentine month.
It is the story of how Jeff and I met twenty two years ago:

I had been divorced for two years, I had met a man and we were
planning to be married. Logically and emotionally, it seemed like a
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pretty good plan but things changed almost overnight. We were to

have a date one night but during my day at work I kept having a
nagging thought about a newspaper article I had read months ago.
It was about an interdenominational singles group that met once a
month in a city about fifty miles from where I worked. I had a
strong urge to go. I felt God encouraging me to go. Intellectually I
did not want to attend. I did not even remember which church it
was or what date they met. But the thoughts did not let up. Finally I
grabbed the out of town phone directory and looked up churches. I
called the first one that caught my eye. A man answered the phone
and I explained to him about the article I had read and asked him if
he happened to be familiar with where the group met and when. He
laughed a big belly laugh and said, “Lady , this is your lucky day,
the meeting is at this church and it is tonight at 7:00 pm, come join
us.” That to me was a sign from God that His hand was on this get-
together but still I did not want to go. I did not want a new
experience.

I drove to the restaurant to meet my date, this man who planned to

marry me. I was arguing with Spirit all the way. God was telling me
He had someone much better for me. I got out of the car and
starting walking toward the restaurant. Again, the Voice began
telling me that I needed to take the high road and go to the
meeting. I answered in exasperation (yes, sometimes I do argue
even with God) and I said, “I’ll go, but if this is You, make it simple,
make it quick and let me recognize him.” I was not in any mood to
meet another man, to hear his story or to tell him mine.

I entered the restaurant and explained to my date that something

very important had come up and I would not be able to stay for
dinner.

I got back into my car and headed for the meeting. Oh, how I
dreaded being in a town where I knew no one and going to a
meeting where I would be a stranger. God and I went around and
around all during the trip. When I walked into the fellowship hall I
saw seventy or more strangers but finally in the crowd I saw a
woman that I recognized. I had been introduced to her briefly about
2 months ago. I asked if she remembered me and if could I sit with
her. There was a man with her, she explained he was her friend
and he pulled out a chair for me. He asked me deep questions, I
answered and countered with ones of my own. When I got home
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the gal called and said he wanted my phone number and was it
alright for her to share it. He called. We began dating. He shared
his favorite spiritual books, art and music and I shared mine and
we talked and talked. We never stopped. We didn’t spend time on
trivial issues, we got to what was really important to us spiritually.
We found that our spiritual philosophies were very similar. This
was more than just a romance, we were connected at the deepest
level. We both recognized how rare this was. I shared the story
with him of how I was led to meet him that first night, he
understood and believed, along with me, that God had brought us
together.

And so we married, another miracle had occurred in my life!

As I share this story with you, I realize once again, that I still
“argue” at times with God’s leading, intellectually wondering
which are the “right” decisions when all along my heart truly
knows the answer
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With A Grateful Heart

First of all, to understand the depths of my gratitude you have to

understand a little bit about how we are. We have a hammer, a couple
of screw drivers and a set of wire pliers. In a pinch we can figure out
how to use them. Neither Jeff nor I are mechanically inclined. It leads
us into situations where we are cursing, crying or rolling on the floor in
laughter. We have learned throughout the trials and errors and the
repair bills to accept this weakness in our partnership.

With this last move, we bought a house with six dead shrubs, two dead
peach trees and a huge stack of dead tree limbs. We had no way to cut
anything down or anywhere to discard it, so I called Paula and asked
about "renting a teen". She said she better come take a look at the
work and see if a teen could handle it. She took a look at the challenge,
grinned great big and said it looked like a wonderful bonfire and kindling
to her. You have to love that woman and her attitude! I do.

A couple months later, here she came with youth leaders and young
people in the church bus. They worked us in on the way to a Mission
Blitz house nearby. The kids jumped off the bus, some gave me a hug
and everyone began to work. It took them EIGHT minutes. They were
all smiling big, young and old as they worked as one to finish the job. I
was elated. Eight minutes and all that concern for my yard was over
and the unsightly mess was gone. I laughed and waved as they drove
off.

Then the deafening silence of all those wonderful voices being gone hit
me before I walked up the front porch steps. Tears flooded my eyes. I
wasn't young anymore or able to do even what seemed so simple to
these kids. I didn't have family to call as ask for help. It was only
"yesterday" that I had been full of vim and vigor and my Mom was
sending me to do tasks for her sisters and neighbors. The years have
gone by more swiftly than I could have ever foreseen.

We are greatly blessed with church family that are willing to use their
time and energy to help people like us and many more who are in
greater need! My heart is full of thankfulness and I especially want
those of you that came to our aid that day to know that it was only eight
minutes to you but to us it was a burden lifted.
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I Remember....
When the seasons are about to change and Fall and Winter are on their
way; when the school bells chime and the buses are out in full force, I
can expect that my thoughts will return to my home in the mountains
and memories of long ago.

It was a cold, blustery night and the snow was beginning to come down.
At 6:00 pm it was already dark. Daddy was not home yet but we had
already eaten dinner. It was good to be inside where it was warm. I was
about five years old. Things were quiet in our house. My sisters were
doing homework and Mom was cleaning the kitchen. Suddenly, there
was a knock at the door. It was seldom that someone came to the
house after dark. Mom turned on the porch light and there was a man
and three little girls at the door. The man explained that he had no job
and that his children were hungry. "Could you spare some money or
some food?", he asked. Mom brought them to the table and heated up
leftover food from our dinner and added canned applesauce and lots of
milk. I had never seen anyone be so hungry. I hung back in the
shadows and watched. Mom offered seconds and thirds and still they
ate with vigor. She packed food that she had canned and made
sandwiches. She talked with them, hugged them and they returned to
the dark night.

Before she cleaned the table, she lifted me onto her lap and started to
rock me in her rocking chair. "Terri", she said, "you must remember this,
when people are hungry, feed them, make sure before they leave that
the children are full. Sometimes people have alcohol problems and if
you give them money they might buy liquor and the children will
continue to be hungry. The Bible says that there are times we care for
angels unaware. I think that is who knocked on our door tonight".

I remember it like it was yesterday, my heart pounding with the loud

knocking on the door, the strangers coming in to our home, the children
so tiny with huge eyes filled with hunger and the how humble their
Daddy was. I remember with pride my Mom stretching food and giving
them plenty to take with them. She treated them like family, like there
was nothing unusual about their requests.

About twenty-five years later I became a foster parent in West Virginia.

Again I saw the faces of hungry children; kids who were eight and nine
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years old that had never been asked if they wanted seconds on milk or
food. I had to learn as an adult that hunger still existed in this country
and it was within a few miles of my home. I remembered my Mom's
words as I too treated these children as though their hunger was not
unusual and tried to make them feel at home. My Mom planted the
seeds in me to help the hungry when I was just a little girl. I hope I
passed this compassion on to my girls. I hope someone, somewhere
touched your heart in this way too.

Divine Intervention?
We were going on vacation. I was only ten years old but I can
remember the days of preparation and packing that Mother did. We
were headed to the high mountains in West Virginia. It would be a long
and winding five hour trip. We were going to rough it and stay in a
"cabin" that one of my Dad's friends was loaning us. We would bathe in
the river (we could use Ivory soap so that it would float so we wouldn't
lose it). There was no heat in this place so oil lanterns and a wood stove
would have to do. I couldn't wait! It sounded like such an adventure to
me. Dad said maybe one night we could sleep on pine needles that we
would gather and we would name the stars.

Finally the day of departure arrived. Daddy worked long, twelve hour
days but he got us all up bright and early and we took off in a car
packed full of supplies and four sisters. Now, here is the clincher. We
had been on the road a couple hours with me already asking "how much
further is it?" and all the sisters complaining about being crowded and
could my parents take me up front with them? Dad even offered me a
nickel if I could be quiet for fifteen minutes (this may have scarred me
for life!) and I complied to prove I could.

Suddenly Mom broke the silence, "Mark, I just realized that when I shut
the electricity off for the house to save money that the chest freezer
went off too. Every thing will thaw out and have to be thrown out in a
week's time!"
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And here is the wisdom: as Daddy turned the car around he patted my
Mom's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "God works in mysterious ways.
Perhaps this was His way of slowing us down to protect us from harm.
We will just trust in that and be grateful." And so a five hour trip ended
up taking about nine hours but we arrived safely. It was one of our best
vacations and also one that we teased Mom about forever.

I have thought of that day many times through the years, as I took a
wrong turn, forgot something and had to backtrack, etc. It was a good
lesson to learn young, a unique way perhaps, to look at God's love and
timely intervention.

Gemein Experience

Last August I knew that it was time for me to join a Gemein group. Our
youngest daughter had just left for college and I felt a deep yearning to
be in a community of spiritual seekers. I wanted to be accepted, loved
and understood by this group; I wanted family.

I have been in many small groups over the years as we have traveled
and lived in many different areas. They usually start out with "ice
breaker" type games that show us we have many similarities and can
feel at home with one another. The group may never go beyond the
surface of getting to know one another any deeper than this exercise on
the first night, though the group may meet for years. I didn't need more
of this. I wanted to know these folks on a deeper level. I wanted to
know their beliefs and the reasons behind their faith. I wanted to know
how they handled the storms that take us to our knees in life; how they
found the strength to go on. I wanted to know how they came to know
God, if they had ever been angry with God, lost their faith and turned
their back on church. I wanted to be a better person from having heard
their stories because their truth would touch a chord in me. I wanted the
forty weeks of meeting two and one-half hours once a week to pay
dividends and not be an appointment just to be kept. My expectations
were high and I asked myself before that first meeting if I was willing to
give what I expected to receive.
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We went around the circle of seven people that first night telling each
other what we wanted from the group, indeed what we were looking for
in these forty weeks. I listened intently as each person shared. I knew
immediately that I was with like-minded people. They were thinkers,
intent on their spiritual journey, ready to be honest with one another
about their short comings and their strengths, about their faith and their
doubts.

I learned a long time ago that where there is honesty, the ground not
only becomes hallowed, it becomes fertile and miracles could happen
right in front of our eyes. That is what I found in this group. Sometimes
in the miracles we received even more than we asked for.

Is that what you are looking for, a community where you can truly be
yourself and be loved and accepted? I recommend Gemein to you and
hope that you will find all that you are searching for in a group of
kindred spirits.

Gemein House Retreat

Last fall I felt a strong calling to go to Laurel Ridge and stay at the
Gemein House. Logically I did not want to go. Spiritually I knew that I
must. I had read the article that Jennifer Sealy had written about staying
there. I spoke to her after I had made reservations. She assured me it
was the right thing to do and that I would not feel afraid or alone. She
was right. I have always traveled a lot by myself and that has never
concerned me. But, did I want to stay in a tiny cabin in the woods, cut
off from telephones, television and computers as well as people? The
gal that took my reservation explained to me that the cabin would be
unlocked, the key on the table. She said there would be staff at the
office down the road during the day but that I would see no one during
my stay. Big difference from staying at the Hyatt!

I was going for different reasons than on my usual travels. I was going
to listen to God, to feel His Love, His guidance. I was quite simply going
to be restored. I didn't grow up a Moravian and I didn't spend summers
at Laurel Ridge. This was all unfamiliar territory to me. That is until I
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arrived, saw those mountains and trees and felt the familiar touching
me. I walked into that tiny cabin and instantly felt safe. I built a fire in the
fireplace and settled in to read the notes other people had written about
their stays. Their words touched my heart. We all had common needs:
silence, soothing, healing, guidance, acceptance, and on and on their
words echoed my yearnings.

I stayed three nights. I was never afraid. It rained and rained and I kept
that fire going the whole time. I opened windows so I could hear the
patter of the rain more clearly and oh, the smells of the wet forest
mingled with the wood smoke. I put on a hooded jacket and I walked
and walked in the rain feeling like a teenager without a care in the world.

The cost is only fifteen dollars per night. Imagine only $15.00. Donations
above that are welcome but that is the official cost. A slice of heaven, no
housework surrounding me calling my name, no meals to cook, no
meetings to attend, no phone to ring and on and on the list goes.

Don't you want to go? I am heading out again this spring. I found what I
went there expecting. I will again. Life is like that for the most part, isn't
it? We just have to keep seeking and finding answers all the way home.

Love Is A Verb and It Grows

Last year I wrote an article about the first Mission Blitz our church had
and how it transpired. I finished the story with a question, "Will it be a
candle that burns brightly and then blows out or will it light other candles
and burn even brighter?" I am happy and proud to tell you that the light
grew and nine other churches (Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptists and
Community churches) in our county joined us to help our neighbors.

Months ago ministers started meeting together from all the churches
discussing the plans of how nearly 60 families could be helped. Then
team captains were chosen, teams were formed, and the picture
became clearer. It was decided that each church would bake enough
loaves of bread that a loaf could be given to each family that we
served. All the teams met at King Moravian church on a Thursday night
to worship. The bread was stacked high on the communion table. The
choir sang "In This Very Room" and as the words were heard that there
was enough love, I believe that every person in the sanctuary could feel
it in their hearts. The church was full of volunteers ready to start their
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tasks. You could sense the energy as strangers introduced themselves

to each other and friends that had not seen each other for years hugged
and tears of joy flowed down their faces.

Pastor Jim gave a short message that was profound: if we did the work
without love for the people we were serving it would be an empty
gesture; that only love made the difference in our service. Other
pastors spoke the same message in different ways. It was clear that
everyone's prayer was that people not only be made more comfortable
by the work that was to be done but more importantly that they would
feel the spirit of Christ touching their lives.

Reverently, a team leader from each church, came to the communion

table and picked up a blessed loaf of bread to take to their "family".

Wheel chair ramps were waiting to be built as were decks, sidewalks,

interior floors, roofs, siding, bathrooms, etc. God's people were ready to
go to help.

The weekend went quickly and before we knew it we were all meeting
together for a potluck meal and communion at Trinity Methodist church.
I had wondered if the church would be nearly empty with people being
exhausted but it was filled to overflowing. People were tired but
enthusiastic, they laughed and cried as they shared their stories. One
man stood up and told of a crew that had refused to leave their work site
to come eat because they were not completely done. Pastor Jim said
he had stopped to check on them and they were "filled with spirit and
fire" and determined to get the job done. They made it to the church in
time to join everyone for worship!

And what a service it was as the pastors recalled the work, the
challenges and the joys of working together. Communion was served
as people from nine churches walked the aisle to the front. Many
different ages and backgrounds were represented but what I will always
remember is this: the air was filled with God's spirit and love and
without a single doubt we were more alike than any different.

Pastor Jim wondered aloud at a small meeting last year before the first
Mission Blitz what it could be like if the vision grew and church after
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church would reach out to join in and help the folks in our county. We
found out what nine of them could do. I look forward to next year when
even more will be accomplished. I am having a vision of my own where
there are no empty pews in these churches because everyone will want
to be a part of a place of Love that reaches out and upholds each other
and their neighbors. After all, isn't that what Jesus said it was all about?

Remembering A Christmas Past

This week I have been remembering back to the first Christmas sermon
I can remember. I was about five years old. I was so excited because
the paper mural, which was huge, had been put on the wall behind the
pulpit. There were life size shepherds, angels and wise men along with
Mary, Joseph and the precious baby Jesus. The guiding star was bright
in the night light showing everyone the way to the manger. I thought it
was a beautiful picture and it signaled the change of focus in the
church. The wire had been strung across the front of the raised
platform and dark burgundy curtains had been hung so that a three act
Christmas play could later be performed by the teenagers. All of us little
ones simply memorized short verses to recite. The big gas stove had
been lit to keep the church warm and I enjoyed seeing the flames and
feeling the heat.

I loved our minister. We called him "Preacher John" and I can

remember him always opening his arms to me and lifting me high into
the air. He called me, "Sambo". He was in his late twenties and was
still attending seminary. He and his wife had three young sons. Often
they would come to our home after church to eat lunch and visit until it
was time to return for evening service. Sundays seem to last at least
twice as long as they do today. No one was ever in a hurry to go home.

But I must tell you about the sermon, the one that has been etched in
my heart for over fifty-five years. Before Preacher John began to speak
my oldest sister (by sixteen years) who was home from college for the
holidays, came up front and completely from memory told the story of
"The Littlest Angel". I was enthralled, I was amazed, I was proud. My
big sister could tell a story with no book to read from and the
congregation could hear her. I could hear her with my ears and with my
heart. It is a beautiful story.
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Then Preacher John read the Christmas story from Luke and his
sermon began. He intertwined there being no room at the Inn for Jesus
with the story of the "Little Match Girl". I heard him, I felt Mary and
Joseph's pain that there was no where to have their baby, I felt the little
Match Girl's hunger and freezing hands. For a moment I felt what it was
like to not have a mother or father to take care of me. God used this
sermon to touch my heart and changed it forever. This message
prepared me to open my heart, my life and my home to adopt a baby
girl whose birth mother had no home or time to give her when I was
twenty-five years older. I actually thought back to that Chistmas
message when our Kati was coming to us.

Can you imagine that a sermon from the heart of one person can make
an imprint so large on a young child's heart? It did. When my father
died thirty years later and Preacher John was asked to return to officiate
the funeral, I had the chance to tell him what a difference he had made
in my life. I am grateful for that opportunity. So often time passes and
the chance to let another person know they touched us slips by.

My Mother used to tell me, "Some of us will plant the seed, others will
come along and water it, and yet others will see the harvest. None of
these works are more important than the other. If you feel God nudging
you to do your part for another person by word or deed, don't question
which role you play. Do what God asks of you and know that you are
part of His plan".

Thank you for letting me share my stories with you. As I do I get to

experience the joys and the memories one more time. Merry Christmas
to each of you and may all of our lives and hearts continue to be
touched in this special and holy season.

Guest Essay: The Power of Faith and Prayer

(by Terri’s Daughter)

I have been grateful and privileged my entire life to have a mother like
Terri. It is my hope that in sharing these essays, that at least one person
will be deeply touched, and inspired, as I so often am, when talking to
my mother. I wanted to share another story with you, one that happened
in my youth, and I was too young to know what was happening at the
time. As I’ve grown older, it has been one of Mom’s stories that has
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often inspired me and reminded me that there is more to our lives than
meets the eye.

It was the early 1980’s, in the midst of one of the deepest recessions
this country has ever had—well, until now. My parents were agonizing
over whether or not they were going to move from Fort Wayne, Indiana,
where we were living at the time, and my parents both had decent jobs,
back to West Virginia, where both of them were from and had family.

I don’t doubt they had a difficult conversation, probably one of many,

about the subject. I think both of my parents had been homesick for the
hills of West Virginia since about the time they left. My parents loved
each other deeply but they had, I think, a challenging relationship. My
mother was a questioner and a talker, and my father was one of those
“strong, silent types,” who tended to just “drift away” into himself rather
than to have emotive conversations with anyone. Anyway, at the end of
the conversation, at about 7:00 p.m. on a Sunday night, my mother
found herself in tears, on her knees in prayer. My father was downstairs
and she was alone.

She prayed a prayer very like “Dear God, I can’t take this any more,
trying to figure out what we should do, what we are supposed to do.
Please either open up the gates so that I don’t have to agonize about
this and don’t have to question any more, or slam them shut so hard
that we don’t have any doubt that Indiana is where we are supposed to
be.”

She had barely finished wiping the tears away when the phone rang,
and she heard my father answer it (which was an anomaly in itself. My
father was painfully shy until his late thirties, so shy that he could barely
order a hamburger.)

When the phone call was over, my dad came upstairs, shaking.

“Remember when I interviewed for that job in West Virginia three

months ago?” he asked her.

She knew what he was going to say, even before he asked her that
question. “Yes…” she said, “of course…”
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“Well, the man just called and said if I still wanted the job, it was mine.”

Mom was undoubtedly in tears again. I’m sure they praised God at that
moment, and Mom told Dad of her prayer.

A few weeks later, we were packing up to make the long, long trip to
West Virginia, where both my parent’s hearts once were, and where our
family home, and my heart, is now.

When does a stranger call to offer a job at 7p.m. on a Sunday night?

When God says so, that’s when.

I was raised with a healthy belief that there was a power greater than
me, that prayer and awareness of God would enrich my life, and that
there was always help available, both seen and unseen, if I would just
be brave enough, and sensible enough, to ask.

I will be eternally grateful for these lessons I was given and for such
wonderful parents.

Guest Essay: Another Mom Moment

(by Terri’s Daughter)

This particular story, like so many that belong to my Mother, is not really
mine to tell. I will leave it to her to share the context and the particulars,
but there was one moment I have been told about that I have held in my
heart for nearly thirty years now, and this central conversation is
something that I feel good about sharing with you.

A woman came to my mom’s door, she was a public official. She had
some power, over my family, and in particular, over my sister, who is
now almost thirty. She was self-righteous, angry, and convinced that
she was in the right.

This woman said to my mother, “You are not going to have this happen
in the way that you want, or the way that you think. Plenty of people are
in line before you, and there is no way that we will let what you are
asking for happen.”
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My mother looked this woman in the eye, calmly, and said, “Listen,
Lady. If this is God’s will, and God’s work, there’s nothing that you, your
boss, or your whole department can do to STOP it from happening.
Have a nice day.”

Guess who was right? In the long run, it was made completely clear that
what my Mom (and dad) hoped for was apparently exactly in line with
God’s will for our family and my sister.

Long before she learned about the thoughts and religious understanding
of people such as Charles and Myrtle Fillmore, Emilie Cady, and others
who taught about the “science of mind,” my mother understood that
there is always more to life than meets the eye, that we can be as self-
important as we want to be, and that it’s wonderful to dream and hope
(as she and my dad were doing about this particular issue) but that the
truth of the matter is that we are not in utter control of our lives.

When what we dream of and hope for, is in line with what God wants, or
with the “master plan” then those dreams come to fruition. It’s as
complicated, and as simple as that.

I hope that I’ve inherited my mother’s strength and faith, no matter what
happens, to be able to look “the powers that be” in the flesh in this world
in the eye and remember… that God is in control.

My Mother’s Mother: Who is the Victim,

Again?
(by Terri’s Daughter)

My mother’s mother, Elsie Jayne Taylor Naylor, was an interesting

woman, who also had a remarkable faith in God. She passed that down
to all of us who came after her, including my mother.

She was also a remarkably practical woman in many more ways than I
knew when she was alive. If you had known her, you might have been
tempted to dismiss her as a simple country woman who didn’t know
much about the world.

One would have been mistaken, to make that assessment.

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One of my favorite stories about my Grandmother and her three girls,

involved times that nearly any parent would be familiar with.

Most likely in every family, there comes a day, maybe many, in which
the child comes home, angry and outraged, over some hurt inflicted by
a fellow classmate. I’m sure that sometimes, perhaps often, the child in
question really was wronged.

Apparently, at these moments, when one of her daughters came home,

angry and complaining over something a classmate or neighborhood
child had “done to her,” my Grandmother would listen to her daughter
carefully and completely, while the child “spoke her piece.”

Then my Grandmother would look her daughter in the eye, and ask the
question of questions:

“Yes, but what did MY little girl do?”

The obvious implication there, that my mother, at least, understood

instantly, was that when someone treats us badly, very often we have
contributed to this, in some way. The idea too, I believe, was that we are
not to think of ourselves as being victims, but as participants in a
situation, and rather than surrounding ourselves with hurt and
resentment, a more productive use of our time and energy would be to
examine ourselves and what WE brought to the situation.

I think my grandmother knew that, and tried to teach it to us all.

I wish you could have known her, and that everyone could have a
grandmother and mother as wonderful as mine.

I was well into adulthood before I understood fully how lucky I am.
Someday I hope to be a mom, and to have the opportunity to share the
wealth of wisdom I learned from these two strong women, and so many
other wonderful people in our family.

Thank you for sharing our stories.

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