The Gift of Sky

Emily hosts a lovely blog called Chatting At The Sky. On Tuesdays, she hosts "Tuesdays Unwrapped." "Share a photo," she says, "a story, or anything that offers a glimpse into your own journey of discovering the gifts in the midst of the ordinary."

Here's my picture gift for today, and a how it came to be.

From early childhood, I’ve been enthralled with all things in the sky. The stars. The moon. The sun. The planets. The clouds. I remember as a little girl staring into the heavens on clear nights, wishing for all I was worth upon the brightest star I could find. And don’t tell me there wasn’t a man in the moon. You came too late. I had seen him. I had talked to him. His eyes kept watch over me always.

These days, I no longer talk to the man in the moon (although the Maker of the moon and I have great conversations), but I am still fascinated by the heavens. And I especially delight in sunrises and sunsets. I consider them personal paintings from the Creator to the created.

The thing about sunrises and sunsets, I’ve never seen the same one twice. And while they’re all divine, there are some that cause me to grab my chest and go, “Wow!”

Saturday evening, my husband and I were seated at an outdoor table at Fisherman’s Wharf overlooking the marina in beautiful Destin, Florida. The view of the water, dotted with fishing vessels and yachts, was mesmerizing, but I was somewhat disappointed that the sun was shrouded in a thick blanket of clouds. I would miss a glorious sunset.

As twilight deepened, I happened to glance eastward, and that’s when my mouth fell open. The setting sun’s reflection had created a most magnificent work of art. Had it been a clear night, I would’ve missed this glorious sight altogether—God wrapping up the day in His own matchless way.

I reached for my camera, then clutched my chest and said, “Wow!”

Danny's Gift

Charlotte and Ginger host Spiritual Sundays, which is a welcome departure from the weekly mundane. I hope you'll click on over and see who all is participating today.

Here's my offering for this Sunday. It's a story that inspires me to be thankful in all circumstances, and I hope it will inspire you.

DANNY'S GIFT

At 5:30 a.m. Sandra Klaus crawled out of bed. It was the Lord's day, as most people called it, but she felt less than hallowed.

"Why must I live like this?" she muttered, snatching her Bible, teaching materials, and pillow. "This is the pits."

Sandra's husband Ron was in seminary, and every weekend found them driving 120 miles, one way, to the small church he pastored.

During the two-hour drive, Sandra found herself deep in the pit of discouragement and self-pity. Life isn't fair, she thought. I have to work all week at my job, and on weekends I have to work at Ron's. She managed to spend a few minutes reviewing her lesson before taking the wheel so Ron could look over his message one final time.

As the car rolled into the graveled drive, Sandra swiped at her hair with a brush and plastered on the smiling face she knew the folks would be expecting.

It was exceptionally hot as they made their way into the tiny church that morning. The church had no air-conditioning, which only deepened Sandra's ill feelings.

At the end of the service, Ron and Sandra stood at the front door greeting church members as they departed. Ron shook each hand and offered an uplifting comment, while Sandra groaned about the intense heat.

In a few minutes, the parking lot emptied. Ron and Sandra collected their things and drove another twenty miles for lunch at a member's home. It would have to be a quick meal, since Ron had to drive yet another thirty miles to lead an afternoon service at the nursing home.

On the drive to the nursing home, Sandra prayed the pianist would show up.

She didn't.

"Why are people so undependable!" she growled, knowing she'd have to struggle through the only three songs she could play. There was no time to brood about it, however. The nursing home residents were straggling in. Sandra greeted each one with a fixed smile and the same question: "How are you?” She didn't bother to listen to their replies until Danny came in.

Danny, a young man in his early 20's had been severely injured in a car accident some years back. His days were now spent in an adult "high chair" with wheels. With little control of his limbs, Danny was a pitiful sight.

Taking Danny's chair from the nurse, Sandra pushed it to his usual spot in the back row. "There you go, Danny," she said, looking at his face. "Good to see you. How are you?”

Danny’s answer was garbled, as usual. Smiling, Sandra nodded and started to walk away, then stopped. She felt drawn to Danny. Perhaps the Lord would have her listen to this young man.

"Not today, Lord," she begged. "We're already running late. . .” But still, she sensed God pleading with her to stay. So, pulling up a chair, Sandra said, "I'm sorry, Danny. I couldn't understand what you said. Try it again."

Struggling to form words correctly, Danny forced out something that sounded like, "Icanoco . . ."

Try it again," Sandra coaxed.

"Icanoco . . ."

Over and over, Danny tried to say something, but to no avail.

"Let's do one word at a time," Sandra suggested.

Danny started with, "I."

Sandra repeated, "I."

"Ca."

After numerous wrong answers, Sandra said, "Can. I can.” This brought a smile. "Now what, Danny?"

Danny emitted an "n" sound, which Sandra quickly interpreted as "not.” "Okay. I cannot," she said. "You cannot what, Danny?” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ron was impatient, but still she knew she had to hear this one out.

Danny labored. Then, almost intelligibly, he said, "Come."

"I cannot come?" Sandra asked.

Danny nodded.

"Of course you can, Danny," she assured him. "Look, you're already here. What do you mean you can't come? To the service?"

Danny's head waggled from side-to-side. "No," he said, "I cannot come pla . . .” But then his words were lost again.

"You cannot come play?" Sandra asked, groping for understanding.

No, that wasn't it either. After a while, Sandra realized Danny was merely answering her question, "How are you?” His answer was simple: "I cannot complain."

Suddenly, she understood why the Lord forced her to listen to Danny. She'd spent her entire day complaining, when she had so much to be thankful for.

"Danny's words should have been mine," she says. "Now, when life caves in around me, and I'm tempted to feel sorry for myself, I remember Danny and his message that day: 'I cannot complain.'"


Adapted from the book, Silver Linings (Pacific Press), by Dayle Allen Shockley.

The Gift of Music

On Tuesdays, Emily hosts "Unwrapping Tuesday," which highlights a sliver of life that might be small, unexpected, or something that often goes unnoticed--a gift, if you will.

Here's my gift for this rainy Tuesday. I hope you'll join in and see what gem you can unwrap on Tuesdays.


Born into a musical family, I learned to play piano at an early age. Through the years, I’ve played for choirs, weddings, parties, funerals. And on dismal days, I’ve sat at the piano and played away my blues. The sound of music always brings a certain amount of comfort and stability to my world.

One night, years ago, a storm blew into our area. Torrential rains beat against the windows, as lightening exploded in jagged fingers across the dark sky. Suddenly, the lights went out, filling the house with darkness and frightening my little daughter, who was a toddler at the time.

When she began to cry, I took her in my arms and started softly singing. After a few minutes, I got distracted by a noise outside and stopped momentarily to listen. That’s when she touched my face and said, “Sing, Mama.”

Thoreau wrote: “When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe.”

As for me, I can’t imagine a world without it. Like food to the body, music feeds my soul.


Adapted from the article, The Healing Powers of Music, by Dayle Allen Shockley.

Mosaic Monday - Time

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

Click over to Little Red House for more Monday mosaics.

Metamorphosis Monday

Susan, over at Between Naps on the Porch, sponsors Metamorphosis Mondays. Some of the transformations offered there are pretty amazing, so go on over and check it out when you have a minute... or an hour.

Since almost everything in my house is still in the "Before" stage (ha-ha... I'm so not kidding), I have never contributed to Metamorphosis Mondays.

But I love the idea, so here's my contribution for today. I'm calling it "Before" and "After" My Daughter Grew Up.

























It's like I snapped my finger and--BAM!--she was 23.

Remembering the Heroes of 9-11

I wrote this column right after 9-11 in 2001, but I never want to forget the heroes of that horrific day. (Click on the image to read.)

My husband retired in 2008. Not a day goes by that we don't think of the men and women in uniform, who serve the citizens of this great nation 24/7.

May God bless them, and all of those who love them.

Thanks to Charlotte and Ginger for sponsoring Spiritual Sundays. Go over and check them out.