One of my favorite passages of Scripture is Colossians 3. Yes, the whole chapter. It’s one of those pages in my Bible that is heavily marked brackets, underlining, asterisks, arrows to a repeated thought, boxes drawn around key points like Christ is all and in all, exclamation points in the margins.

You may not appreciate the idea of marking up your Bible, but that’s how I study, dive in, digest.

Colossians 3 talks about new life, about setting our mind on things above, and our real life hidden with Christ in God. It looks at the subject of Christ’s return and our responsibilities before Him. It encourages us to live differently as proof of what God has done in our lives. It teaches us to clothe ourselves as God’s chosen ones with mercy, patience, gentleness, love. Colossians 3 is one of the places where God through the biblical writer assures us we can know peace. It instructs us to let the Word of God have its home in our hearts.

And…

And, it says, “Whatever you do in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus and in dependence upon His Person, giving praise to God the Father through Him”

Tucked into all the rich teachings and encouragement of Colossians 3 is the theme for the 2010 ACFW conference Serving Him in WORD and deed.

I spoke with a publishing house representative today who said that if she could share one mentoring tip with new writers, it would be this:

“Understand that if you think seeing your name on the cover of a book is the goal of writing and publishing, you will be disappointed. Writing is serving.”

Jesus came to seek, to save, to serve.

After publication, you don’t “move up”  to something higher than serving. Servant is the highest rank in God’s kingdom. It’s an honor He bestowed on His Son.

The ACFW organization is an exercise in serving Him and one another, as is our annual conference. Come see how that fleshes out in our conversations, our critiques, our classes, in the worship times and workshops, the keynotes and awards, the bookstore and author corners, the halls and foyers and while waiting in line. Come learn from experienced authors who have discovered that all the hard work is worth it because joy is a byproduct of serving Him in word and deed.

Cynthia Ruchti

Available Now: They Almost Always Come Home (Abingdon Press)
Coming Soon: The Heart’s Harbor in A Door County Christmas (Barbour Publishing)
Stories of Hope-that-glows-in-the-dark

I’ve often said that I have to pedal as fast as I can to keep up with the Lord and what He’s doing in my life.

He keeps me in a perpetual state of wonder.

As I’ve watched Him begin to unfold His plan for my recent book release–They Almost Always Come Home–He’s startled me with His attention to detail.

It was my joy to be interviewed for ACFW’s Featured Author page this month. The link to that archived interview is here: http://www.acfw.com/cgi-bin/authorinterviews.pl?record=118

Every interview reminds me how dependent I am on His grace to place this book in the hands of those who need to read it, those whom He wants to connect with its story.

If you’ve had opportunity to read the book, I’d appreciate hearing your comments, but also your stories of who you gave it to when you were done…and why. Or how some passage of the story reached out to you.

Thanks for stopping by. I intend to meet you here more often, even though I’m pedaling as fast as I can!

I feel a little like a new mom. I’m holding my debut novel in my hands but oddly miss the feel of its kicks within me. Since They Almost Always Come Home’s release on May 1st, I’m cradling the “child” in my arms, though, and watching the reaction of readers who bend over it to see if it has its mother’s eyes and the Father’s heart.

Connecting with readers who’ve read or want to read the book stirs something warmly maternal in me. It’s like watching the child interact and feeling blessed when it makes them smile.

As my mind flips through the pages, I wonder what readers will think about that scene or this pivotal moment. I try to imagine readers’ responses to main character Libby’s attitude and her longing.

If you’d like to follow the journey of They Almost Always Come Home, please join me on the Cynthia Ruchti Reader Fan Page on Facebook, where I post exciting news about where the book has been spotted or blog-sightings and interviews.

It took me a long time to get the nursery ready, but the baby’s here. Come peek over the side of the crib. Better yet, pick her up and hold her to your heart.

(She’s available wherever

It will be like this for a while, I’m told. I’ll pick up the phone to call my mom and get halfway through dialing before I remember she’s not taking calls. I’ll finish reading a book and put it on the pile to go to her next, but she’s not accepting book recommendations. I’ll turn onto the road that leads to the Hospice House or maybe even into the parking lot before realizing she doesn’t live there anymore. After a long, trying, traumatic battle with congestive heart failure, her pulse faded to nothing a little more than a week ago.

Every day since, I’ve found something I want to share with her, tell her, ask her about, do for her. She’s no longer taking calls.

The day we spoke with her pastor about the structure of her funeral service, we exited the church just as the sun was setting. Spectacular colors. A sweet sunset.

I took out my camera phone and aimed it toward the radiance so I could snap a picture to show Mom how awesome the sky looked on the day we planned her funeral. As if she didn’t have a better vantage point than I did. And as if that magnificent color palette wouldn’t seem pale compared to what she was enjoying.

I slipped the camera phone back into my pocket without taking the photo. It seemed unnecessary. Now I wished I’d captured the shot.

For me, not for her.

I was one of four authors on a research trip. The book on which we collaborated had a deadline that nipped at our heels the whole way. To get a true feel for the setting about which we were writing, we explored backroads and forthroads, ate each meal at a different quaint café or restaurant, picked up leaves and rocks to study their composition and shape, took pictures, read historical markers, collected information of all shapes and sizes distributed by the Chamber of Commerce, the tourism bureau, book stores, artist colonies, and points of interest.

We also skipped our traditional budget-friendly lodging choice and instead shared a room in a charming inn. Research.

The inn had a gas fireplace in the sitting area, a treat we relished. It seemed an unnecessary but welcome luxury until it turned into something more—our saving grace.

After days of gathering facts and brainstorming plot lines, we itched to get to the actual writing. And the looming deadline barked its own orders—WRITE!

Dragging ourselves through the last few minutes of the time we’d allotted for exploring, we headed for the inn and a full night of productivity. We planned to put our laptops in front of us and make their keys smoke with our writing fervor. With pizza on the table and an assortment of hot tea to sustain us into the wee hours, we booted up our computers and—

The power went out. Not just in our room. Not just the inn. Not just the neighborhood. The whole town.

Not to worry, we thought. It’s temporary. These things usually are. No ice storm or blizzard beat outside the windows. Sure, it was a little windy, but…

We understood why the term pitch black became a cliché. Perfect description. In that tourist town, generators were apparently reserved for genuine crises. A thick blackness turned everything quaint into the dark belly of a coal mine.

The gas fireplace stayed lit. It was our only source of light and heat on a bone-rattlingly chilly night. We huddled next to its warmth, hesitant to use our cell phones for fear we’d drain them with no way to recharge. No power. We couldn’t depend on our laptop battery power lasting long enough to create our stories. Again, no way to recharge. And we couldn’t see well enough by the light of the fire to pack for leaving the next day or read the books we’d brought with us or study the plethora of research materials we’d collected.

With no electricity, we lost water pressure as well. Too bad, so sad, we couldn’t do up the dishes in the kitchenette.

After a few hours, the innkeeper’s assistants came to each of the rooms offering emergency glow sticks. We held the glow sticks as if they were more than just a novelty offering green mini-illuminations of comfort. The ridiculousness of their faint light compared to the spotlights we needed sent us into a Grammy-unworthy version of “This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let It Shine.”

The darker the night deepened, the softer our conversation became—we who had talked non-stop to take best advantage of our short time together as friends and writers. We quieted our discussions, our laughter, our flurry of brainstorming activity.

The fire from the fireplace threw its comforting embrace around us as we sat in the darkness and thought about life.

We told stories from the heart rather than imagination. We encouraged one another in the struggles we each faced. We let our tightly wound centers relax until the sounds in the room disappeared except for the faint lap of the fire’s flames.

It seemed as natural as anything to slip into a quiet time of prayer for one another and for our project. We couldn’t do what we’d planned to do, what we wanted to do, what we thought we should do, what our deadlines dictated. Instead we did what God wanted all along.

We prayed.

We quieted ourselves and prayed.

The power came back on hours after we’d gone to bed for the night. When the lights we’d left on powered up, rather than feel relieved, we quickly turned the lights off, a little sad that the wonder of a firelit night was over.

In the morning, as we slipped back into “normal” life, one of us shared that her morning devotional time included this verse from the Bible. Ephesians 5:8—“For once you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord; walk as children of Light.”

How much more meaning that verse held after the forced quiet of the night before!

We’d moved cautiously, not daring to venture out of the fire’s illumination. We’d treaded carefully in our conversations. We’d kept our voices low in honor of the sweetness of the hour. We’d slipped naturally into prayer and slept with thoughts of the Lord and His grace overwhelming us.

As we considered the weight in those words from Ephesians 5:8, we sensed the Lord encouraging us to “walk as children of firelight,” with that same unhurried, serene, gratitude-rich peace we’d experienced the night before as we let go of our agendas and technology and our connections with the outside world.

“Walk as if you had no electricity, no deadlines, and no preconceived notion of how your days are supposed to go,” we felt Him say.

“Walk as children of firelight.”

We know we need to walk as if we belong to Him, making it obvious that we’re changed, we’re His, we’re redeemed and grateful for it.

But don’t we also need to consider walking through our lives in the same spirit we writers did on the night our plans were turned upside down when the lights went off?

Don’t we need to take a serious look at how peaceful life can become if we let it, if we disconnect from the outside world and the technology that keeps us tethered?

What do people do who have to draw close to the lone source of heat and light when they can’t flip a light switch or plug in an appliance or turn up the furnace? They talk and dream and pray.

Where do leisurely conversations—with others or with the Lord—work into a life that moves from one frenzy to another? Where are the pockets of time with no noise, no sound? When do we drop all activities as if they weren’t as important as listening to Him…because they aren’t?

Do you too sense the Lord telling you to live as if the power were out and all you had was the light of His presence?

Does the Lord have to make it impossible for us to do the work we’d planned in order for us to grow quiet enough to do the heart work HE planned for us?

It seems that way, doesn’t it?

What if we intentionally turned off the electricity and turned on the fire? HIS fire?

What if we chose to walk away from the important things on our list in order to attend to THE most important things?

What would happen if a whole generation of His people became “Children of the Firelight”? What could He accomplish in us and through us then?

Listen to that passage of Scripture in the New Living Translation. Ephesians 5:8-9—“For though your hearts were once full of darkness, now you are full of light from the Lord, and your behavior should show it! For this light within you produces only what is good and right and true.”

For writers: Enough said.

For readers: Ditto.

Did you ever notice that the things we teach others are often the things we need to learn? The encouragement we offer friends and family who are hurting boomerangs to lift our own hearts.

I counseled a friend the other day who felt guilty about not spending enough time in the nursing home with her mother. Well acquainted with that brand of guilt, the words that poured out of me to my friend were, “How many hours would be enough for her or for you?”

“No number would ever seem like enough.”

I don’t know if my caring friend’s guilt lifted a little, but mine did! No matter how many hours I spend at my mom’s side, it can never feel adequate. Longing trumps hours logged.

When a fellow writer mourned that it was hard to write when she wasn’t “feelin’ it,” my heart responded…and it taught me what I needed to hear. That email post became a guest blog on the “Ask the Pros” section of Mary DeMuth’s blog for wannabe writers.

http://wannabepublished.blogspot.com/2009/11/afp-president-of-acfw-cynthia-ruchti.html

Lesson of the day? If you’re moved to counsel someone, keep your own ears open. It might be just what YOU needed to hear.

While I served at the American Christian Fiction Writers conference in Denver mid-September, a writer friend shared the news that he was at that moment reading my article in Marriage Partnership’s online magazine. A joy moment I won’t soon forget.

If you missed it, here’s the link:

http://www.christianitytoday.com/mp/2009/2009web-only/ohwilderness.html

When going back to the site to snag the url for you, I noticed it was one of the most read articles in Marriage Partnership’s list. Blessing upon blessing.

It means a great deal to me to think that someone reading the article may have needed its story as much as I needed to write it.

As I plow deeper into preparations for the release of my debut novel next spring, I’m encouraged by the unexpected appearance of this article written two years ago. Some of its truths found their way into the novel, too!

Can’t wait to share THAT story with you!

A fellow author from American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), Kimberley Woodhouse is launching the story of her family’s journey to joy on September 1st, a partnership project with Tyndale and Focus on the Family. The book–Woodhouse Family WELCOME HOME!

I first connected by email with Kimberley shortly before her family was nominated to receive an Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. We ACFW members watched and prayed as their story–that leg of it–unfolded. It’s a deep blessing to see their journey now in print through this gripping, heart-tugging, joy-producing book.

Kimberley Woodhouse is a wife, mother, author, and musician with a quick wit and positive outlook despite difficult circumstances. A popular speaker, she’s shared at more than 600 venues across the country. Kimberley and her family’s story have garnered national media attention for many years, but most recently her family was chosen for ABC’s Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, The Montel Williams Show, and Discovery Health channel’s Mystery ER. Welcome Home: Our Family’s Journey to Extreme Joy, releases from Tyndale House Publishers September first. In addition to her non-fiction, she also writes romantic suspense and children’s books. Kimberley lives, writes, and homeschools in Colorado with her husband and two children in their truly “extreme” home. www.kimberleywoodhouse.com

Overwhelming trials . . . met with overcoming joy.
Kayla Woodhouse is not your typical twelve-year-old. Due to a rare medical disorder, she feels no pain, doesn’t sweat, and needs protective cooling gear just to go outside. With her restrictive lifestyle; countless hospitalizations, including brain surgery; and the resulting mountain of hospital bills, what’s a family to do?

How the Woodhouse family has faced seemingly impossible challenges is a story that has captured the hearts of America. Millions of people have experienced glimpses of their lives on Discovery’s Mystery ER, The Montel Williams Show, and Extreme Makeover: Home Edition (recently voted one of the show’s all-time best episodes!).

Now Kayla’s mom, Kimberley, takes readers behind the cameras to reveal their family’s journey as never before told. From medical sleuthing to cross-country moves, from freak fires to battles with insurance companies, Welcome Home proves that truth really is stranger than fiction. This candid life story reveals both success and failure and demonstrates how, even during tough circumstances, to shift your life from heartbreak to extreme joy.
Cynthia asks: Kimberley, what was the most difficult moment to relive while writing your book? The most rewarding?

The most difficult – there were actually two: the period of time when Kayla wasn’t diagnosed, and many years later during her brain surgery. I cried buckets of tears writing both. The most rewarding was all the funny and joyful memories. I praised God for all the wonderful little moments He’s given us.

Many readers will no doubt be amazed at your careful attention to detail in Welcome Home! Tell us about the role your journals played in helping you recreate the details of your story.

I kept journals and medical journals through the years basically because I’m a detail person. The doctors needed us to keep track of everything, so I did. But I never would have guessed that I would one day write our story. I’m so thankful now that I have them.

In what ways did the many hours of interviews related to your family’s selection for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition set the stage for writing this book?

Over the years, we’ve done thousands of media interviews and appearances at Churches and groups sharing our story. Little did we know, people were nominating us from all over the world because they had seen us or the story somewhere. Then after the shows aired, more and more people asked for “the rest of the story.” It was fascinating to them, and they wanted to know more. That’s when I began to get asked by publishers to write our story. I prayed about it, and I realized that the Lord was definitely leading in this direction.

Did you find it easy or challenging to embrace the new house as your home? Why?

A little of both. The house is phenomenal, and every morning I still wake up amazed by it. But there was an extraordinary amount of hi-tech paraphernalia that I had to learn how to use. J I’m thankful for all of it though, because the house really has changed our lives—Kayla’s health has skyrocketed and Josh hasn’t had an asthma attack since we’ve been in the house. It is definitely our home, we love it, and are so blessed.

How did you and your husband safeguard your relationship during the vulnerable times of family crisis?

A lot of prayer, and spending time together in the Word.

During the media blitz related to your television appearance?

Again, a lot of prayer. All the TV stuff did get quite overwhelming, so we prayed more and more each day.

In the day-to-day, not that life is ever typical for the Woodhouse family?

This question made me smile and laugh – because no, our life is not typical at all. J But, the answer again is prayer. Spending time with the Lord each and every day and relying on Him for all our needs.

Some people write their story hoping readers will see themselves in the plot and identify with the events. Welcome Home! underscores how unique is the Woodhouse story and yet your readers do connect with the struggles of uncertainty, concern for children, answerless nights and constant threats to hope. When did you realize that recounting your family experiences could stir hope in others?

More and more people would thank me for sharing a particularly difficult time and say that it encouraged them immensely. I began to realize that a lot of times the best way to encourage others is to be willing to share the really tough stuff from our own lives. Even if it’s hard to re-live, or if it embarrasses us, or we have to swallow our pride to do so. We are not here to say “look at me! I have it all figured out!” we’re here to say, “Life is hard, but God is good.” People want to see real Christians living out their faith, not “perfect” people up on a pedestal.

How did the book move from that moment to publication?

Publishers began to ask for our story – and my original idea for the book was not that. J Isn’t God good though, to show us where and how we need to share.

How have your experiences (both highs and lows) affected your fiction projects?

I think it has definitely given them more depth. My critique partners tell me that they are “gripping” – which thrills me as a writer to hear. It took many years though for me to really touch that depth, but part of it was also allowing myself to be vulnerable, and really letting the gut-wrenching stories flow.

Obviously your story isn’t done. The Lord is still working and developing your character and your family’s depth as you move forward. What key lesson have you learned since finishing the book?

The first thing that popped into my head was the old children’s song, He’s Still Working On Me. As a professional musician for so many years, I never would have guessed all those years ago that I would now be a published author. I love how the Lord takes us as we are, how He uses us when we are willing vessels (and sometimes even when we’re not), to glorify Him. The further I get in this writing/publication process, the more I realize I need to learn. Just like the closer I get to the Lord, the more I see my imperfections, as I strive to be more and more like Him.

Thank you, Kimberley. We’ll look for your book in bookstores, through online booksellers, or through your website–www.kimberleywoodhouse.com

With my mother still tiptoeing on the edge of eternity, it seemed fitting to share this story with you, taken from a radio script written to honor her brother–an uncle I wish I’d known.

Iraq wasn’t in the news then. But Korea was. And Eisenhower. And bobby sox and poodle skirts.

Down the road a bit from the Willow Springs country church was a farmhouse making news of its own. A young man lay dying of an inoperable brain tumor.

My Uncle Roger.

He died when I was just a few weeks old. So why do I feel connected to him? And why would he—according to family legend—have felt connected to me?

Because at a time when he and my grandparents desperately needed it, I represented the promise of life.

A child was a symbol that death is not the end.

Not long ago, I asked my mother to relate the details again. I needed the reminder.

“What was Uncle Roger like?”

Mom said, “Roger was the oldest of the five of us children. I was the youngest. Some of my very first memories were of this big strapping kid who spent a lot of time with me and my brothers and sister, time that Mom and Dad didn’t have because of the many responsibilities of life on a dairy farm in the 1920s and 30s. He had such a loving spirit.”

“I can just picture him.”

“As he grew old enough to start doing farm chores, that was where you’d find him. He loved tending the baby calves and getting them to drink out of the bucket when they were weaned from their momma. He had more patience than most people.”“Just like you, right, Mom?”

“Don’t be sassy.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Your uncle Roger didn’t think much of school, but Mother used to teach school, you know.”

“I remember.”

“So ditching school was not an option. He attended 8 grades in a one room schoolhouse with all grades in one room. He went to Mineral Point High School and graduated in 1941…barely. All he really cared about was farming.”

“It was in his blood, huh?”

“Exactly. As soon as he was old enough to handle the horses he did a lot of the farm work. Plowing a field to plant something or harvesting the crops gave him all the career fulfillment he ever wanted.”

“Working the family farm.”

“Yes. It didn’t matter what the job was. He never seemed to get bored with any part or complain.  He was a stickler to make sure we kids learned the ins and outs of farming and scheduled us for the chores we were capable of doing.”

“Strong work ethic, huh?”

“The best. We were all hard workers, but Roger led the way.”

“I like him already.”

“He would have liked you, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Our local Farm Bureau Association used us for entertainment for their meetings. My sister sang soprano. I was the alto. Bob sang wonderful tenor and Roger had the most full, booming bass I’ve ever heard. Dad sang tenor sometimes, too. Mom and my brother Ken didn’t like singing in public.”

“I wish we had a recording of you guys singing together.”

“No more than I do.”

“We’ll hear it someday, though.”

“Right. Someday.”

“So, if I have my dates straight, you and your family went through the Depression years together then. Must have made farm life even more challenging.”

“It certainly was. But we were blessed to have a good garden and meat to eat and a roof over our heads. Money was always tight, but we certainly weren’t alone in that respect.”

“True.”

“Do you know one of my fondest memories of my big brother? When I was picked as Prom Queen in 1946, my mom didn’t think I needed to spend money on a formal, but Roger took me to the city and bought me the most beautiful white formal. That’s what he was like.”

“Aww.”

“In 1947, Roger started having seizures.”

“Oh, no!”

“It was scary to see him driving a car or the tractor. Yes, we eventually progressed from using horses to a tractor.”

“I’m impressed.”

“The seizures limited some of Roger’s work load. Oh how that frustrated him!”

“What did the doctors say?”

“He was diagnosed with a brain tumor and rushed to Chicago to Memorial Hospital where they were able to remove only part of the tumor. The surgeons left a hole in his skull because they knew the tumor would most likely keep growing.”

“How awful. I can’t imagine.”

“After the surgery he was no longer able to do much at all, and what a frustration that was to him.  I’d find him sitting on our wrap-around porch watching Dad and brother Bob doing what he wanted to do. My heart just ached for him, but there was nothing any of us could do.”

“I wonder if his prognosis would have been different if he’d lived in this era of modern medical developments.”

“I’m sure it would have been. He steadily lost most of the sight in one eye.  The seizures were controlled quite well by medication but his body kept deteriorating. Three years into the disease, he really needed help with bathing, feeding, dressing, etc.  Mom and Dad moved off the farm so they could give 100% of their time to his needs.”

“That’s what made Grandpa give up farming? I thought he retired…that he wanted to take a break.”

“Not at all. Farming was in your grandpa’s blood, too. He loved everything about it. No, he left farming to take care of his dying son.”

“Oh, my.”

“By the time we discovered Roger’s tumor, I was in nurses training. Can you imagine how incredibly frustrating it was to me to study how to care for patients and be helpless to make much of a difference for my own brother? Your dad and I married in 1951. Just a couple of months later, I found out I was pregnant. When Roger heard the news, he asked me to please promise him that I’d bring my baby girl home so he’d be able to hold her.”

“How did he know I was a girl?”

“Good question. We didn’t have high-tech ultrasound in those days. Parents found out the gender of their child when the doctor announced it in the delivery room.”

“Then, how…?”

“Somehow Roger knew. Just days after you were born, of course, your dad headed to the Korean Conflict, so as soon as we could arrange it, I brought you home so we could live in the house in town where Mom and Dad were already caring for Roger. By then he was confined to bed.”

“Grandma and Grandpa had their hands full already, didn’t they? They sure didn’t need a screaming infant around.”

“Oh, but they did.”

“I don’t understand. And how could the noise and commotion a newborn makes have been a good thing for a guy dying from a brain tumor?”

“I wish you could know the impact you made. All the pain my brother was in, but oh, the smile we got out of him when he saw you for the first time! It was a lopsided smile but a beautiful one. He had only a little movement in his right arm but he beckoned for me to place you in the crook of his arm. What a sight that was.”

“I hope I didn’t start crying and spoil everything.”

“No. You seemed to know it was a holy moment. You just stared up at him. No fussing. No tears. From you, that is. Mom, Dad, and I were a blubbering mess.”

“I don’t remember seeing pictures of that time in the photo album.”

“No one thought to take a picture of that ‘reunion.’ But no matter how many years go by, it remains a very clear picture in my mind and heart.”

“I can almost see it.”

“For a month, you spent a great deal of time in the arms of your uncle. He loved you dearly. Then, one night, Roger went to sleep and woke up in heaven. You were what made that last month of his life worth living to the end.”

“I was nothing but a helpless baby. How could I have meant so much to him?”

“To all of us. Your grandma and grandpa were in such deep mourning over the death of their precious son, but you were evidence of new life. Roger had grown weaker and weaker every day they cared for him. You grew stronger and stronger. He could do less and less as his disease progressed. You did more and more. The love and effort they’d poured into their son was now showered on you—this little, wiggling, bald-headed bundle of smiles and giggles and chubby cheeks and the promise of life.”

I’ve been so strongly impacted by that story on several levels.

Isn’t it so often true—not just in this case, but in many families—that as we say goodbye to a loved one through death, we find following on that moment’s heels a welcoming in of new life. One of my sisters found out that she had been a few days into her pregnancy during our dad’s funeral. New life. It’s as if the Lord chooses to remind us that this life-laid-down is not the end.

Secondly, I’m touched by the reminder that God can use us when we are at our most helpless, when we are unutterably ordinary and human. What could a totally dependent infant offer a dying man? Words of comfort? A backrub to soothe aching muscles? Advice? Sympathy? None of those things! All I had to offer was my quiet presence…and even that was laid in my uncle’s arms by other hands.

Don’t we sometimes feel inadequate to the minus power when someone around us is hurting? Do you ever feel that way? The Lord can use you anyway! If he used a several-days-old infant, He can use you.

And thirdly, but I’m sure not lastly because I’m still pondering it all, I’m struck by the goodness of God to orchestrate a baby’s need to live with its grandparents when the real need was for the grandparents to have reason to hope again. He takes care of every detail of those He cherishes. “Everything He does,” the Bible tells us, “is worthy of our trust.”

It was a full thirteen months before Mom and I could rejoin my Dad when he returned from Korea. My grandparents had more than a year to come to terms with the fact that even following the death of a son, life goes on.

For writers: You may have had an article printed that moved even your own heart when it first appeared but now is yellow and crispy with age. Or a book now out of print. Life goes on. Can you take that same idea and rework it in a new form?

For readers: Have you noticed that pattern, too? As you say goodbye to one thing or person dear to you, an embryo of a new relationship or adventure waves its hand and begs to be given attention? How did the new thing help you heal from loss of the old. I’d love to hear about it.