I’m working in VBS this year, leading the Bible study and it’s been a while since I worked with children. They can be unpredictable and outspoken. What if they ask a question I can’t answer? I was nervous, anxious.

Oddly, I needed the lessons I would teach this week, and as I prepared the lessons, I found the messages filled me with the realization that we won’t always have all the answers. We only need to trust the one who does. As a child, I would ask a lot of questions, as most kids do. I trusted that my parents knew the answers. And when they didn’t know, they would send me to the dictionary or the library or encyclopedia to find it. As I got older, I realized that even knowing to send me to those resources helped me to trust them and so I did the same to my own children. I never minded when they questioned my logic. But I found directing them to my resources increased their trust rather than lessening it. The joke used to be “consider the source” when someone said something ridiculous. Sadly, the sources today, are not as dependable as we’d like. Many of them are ridiculous.

The Bible is a source we can trust.

However, the Bible is a source we can trust. Be sure you have an authentic version and not an AI inspired version that leaves out or adds in various false information.

God doesn’t mind if we question Him.

God doesn’t mind if we question Him or His Bible. He’s confident enough to handle our questions. It’s good to wonder. He wants us to ponder, study. Dig deep into our theology and into His word. He wants us to listen and hear. He wants us to look and see. He wants us to know without doubt that He is sovereign. He is who he says He is. Above all, He wants you to know that your faith is based on trusting Jesus. He is the guide; He is the answer to every question we will ever have. Does that sound hokey? Naïve, maybe? All I can say is that my trust in Jesus brings peace, and joy into my life. I am not afraid of being alone, he gives me courage and strength when I am worried or feel sad and hopeless. Honestly, He is my answer.

What do you worry about? What makes you anxious? How do you feel when you are powerless? Hopeless? Or alone?

The answer to all of life’s questions:

The answer to all of life’s questions is to trust Jesus. When we can’t find the answer, we are looking for, we can trust Jesus. when we feel alone, hopeless, powerless, afraid, we can trust Jesus. He is our compass. He is the True North. A compass can be broken, and sometimes it needs to be recalibrated. But Jesus is always the same. He never changes. He is always dependable. He’s never late or early.

Jesus is my True North! Is he yours?

The post DO YOU EVER WONDER IF IT’S OKAY TO QUESTION GOD? appeared first on Shelia Shook.

A heavy mist blew off the rooftop and added a strange swirl to the already pouring, blowing rain. I watched the darkened sky and counted the seconds between lightning and thunder, and then laughed aloud when the thunder crashed and rolled. I sat on the back porch amidst the blowing fierce winds and rain blowing in every direction for about thirty exhilarating minutes. I wasn’t afraid, I loved it. It was wild and glorious. Quite the adventure. I thought of Peter and James and John. How must they have felt when their fishing boat was tossed about in the storm.

Now, if I was in a real boat, out on the water, my faith, too, would have been truly tested.

Today, I knew Jesus was with me in the storm.

A light spray hit my face. Thrilled, I loved the joy of being in the hands of the living, all powerful God. My God. He was in charge of the storm.

Unfortunately, the after math of a storm is not so joyous. My yard looks like a lake, but not in my house as some of my sweet friends have suffered. Loss of electricity and homes and businesses flooded, yet again. We ask why? And only God knows. Only our unconditional faith in Him is the answer. When you see a storm, see His ultimate power and trust Him. It is only with unrestrained trust that Paul can say: “to live is Christ, to die is gain.”

To die is gain for the Christian because we go to eternal life with Christ. But what does it mean “to live is Christ?” To live, but be injured? Live, but lose my home or worse, a loved one? I wish I could say I have that kind of faith amidst the storms of life, but like most people, I tend to get caught up in worry and fear. I forget that God is in charge of life’s storms, too. I pray the faith given me while I sat on the porch this morning will someday be an automatic reflex so when I am faced with the trials of life, I will respond as I did today—with awestruck joy.

Am I crazy? Maybe.

Oh, but to have that much faith as to be exhilarated and joyful in trials, knowing He is in charge.

Wouldn’t it be great to be able to laugh when the thunder of life rolls? When the storm blows in?  

Remember wherever you are you are at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on. Back and share a slice of life with me.

The post WHEN STORM WINDS BLOW appeared first on Shelia Shook.

If you have, you know the horrible feeling of helplessness—the intense angst. And when you found them to be safe, you know the ecstasy of relief that washes over you.

The Lost Toddler

When my son was two years old, he went missing right at dusk. I was in the kitchen cooking dinner when I realized the house had gotten quiet. I called his name. No answer. I went to look for him and found the front door open. His older brother and sister must have left it open when they left. I looked out the door and down the row of apartments, calling his name and scanning all around me for the little blond toddler. He was nowhere in sight. I ran back in the house and searched under beds, in closets, behind curtains, even in cabinets–everywhere a two-year-old could hide. Panicking I ran back outside and pounded on the doors of my neighbors. We had only lived there a few months and I didn’t know anyone. People came out and watched me search. Sadly no one helped. I raced to the swimming pool, playground, and laundry building.

It grew darker and streetlights in the complex came on. Suddenly, I realized he could have gone behind the apartment building where he could be lost in the acres of thick forest that grew back there. Tears filled my eyes. I ran behind the buildings but saw nothing but trees and their lengthening shadows. I hurried back in front of our apartment. Various thoughts played in my head. Call the police. Someone has taken him. He’s in one of these apartments and they are hiding him from me. Desperate, I screamed his name and frantically searched the complex again. No sight of him. Neighbors stood at their doors with their children and stared. Tears streamed down my face and blurred my vision. Sobbing, I prayed.

The Angel Hero

Then, in the far distance, movement caught my eye. I wiped my eyes and looked again. Soon, I could make out the figure of a man walking toward me, followed by a group of children. My heart leapt with hope.

I raced down the sidewalk toward them praying, “Please God, let my baby be with them.” And as I neared them, I was overcome with joy. My baby was being carried down the sidewalk on the shoulders of a large, very tall, very black man surrounded by several laughing and skipping children following him. The man grinned, a beautiful wide smile. He must have seen my relief. He chuckled and stood Micheál on the sidewalk. I hurried to him with open arms, and he padded toward me giggling.

I scooped him up and hugged him tight while I cried out my thanks to God and gave continuous gratitude to the stranger, this Angel, who found him. The man said his kids had found Micheál wandering around the apartment complex. He had placed Micheál on his shoulders so everyone could see the little blond, white boy in hopes someone would claim him before he had to call the police. God used this kind man to answer my prayers. My heart was full of rejoicing. I couldn’t stop grinning as I carried him home down the long sidewalk lined with cheering and clapping neighbors. Just the remembrance brings fresh joy.

Luke 14:4 The Lost Sheep

The relief and joy I felt reminds me of the parable in Luke 15:4 where Jesus told of the sheep who had gone astray. He said the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine and looks for this one lost sheep until he finds it. And when he does, he calls all his neighbors and celebrates. The anguish Jesus must feel when we, like sheep, wonder away not realizing that we’re lost and in danger. But Jesus, like the shepherd, will find us and carry us home. Jesus said, “I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

Luke 15:8 The Lost Coin

We often think of a coin as just “change” but what if it were your only coin representing all you owned? In Luke 15:8 Jesus tells of a woman who had lost her coin and swept her house looking everywhere until she found it. She too celebrated with great joy. Jesus said, “In the same way, I tell you, there will be rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

Luke 15:11 The Lost Teenager

The LORD knows how many times we feel we’ve lost our teen. These years are the most agonizing for the teen and their parents. Our prodigal children can be lost in their own room, within their own thoughts. When we cannot reach them, we feel helpless. It is as if they have wandered out the door, like a toddler, and vanished. We search fretfully, cry and pray. But as Jesus tells us in the story of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15:11, when the boy came to his senses, he returned to the Father and with open arms his father received him and celebrated his homecoming.

Matthew 28 and John 15 The Lost Hope

In Matthew 28 and John 16, we read about the women who went to prepare Jesus’ body, but it was not in the tomb. Imagine their shock. Mary was grieved that someone had taken the Savior’s body. He was their hope, and not only had he died, but his body was gone. As the women walked along the path, they met a man they didn’t recognize as Jesus, but when Jesus identified himself, they became overwhelmed with joy and ran to drop on their knees and hug his feet. What relief and joy. The Savior was not only found but was alive!

The Celebration

We rejoice with genuine praise and thanksgiving when what we have lost is found. Our tears of grief turn to tears of joy. When all seems lost, we realize our only hope is in Jesus. There is no other who can soothe our sorrow, mend a broken heart, and give courage in the face of fear like Jesus can. He alone can return hope to our lives and to the lives of others. Praise God, even when you feel lost. Know that you are never really lost from Him. He always knows right where you are, right where your loved ones are, and He never leaves us or them alone. Trust Him. Our Hope.

Remember, wherever you are you are in the right place when you visit my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post FROM LOST TO FOUND appeared first on Shelia Shook.

The Nativity

The nativity under the tree is a symbol of his birth and I have seen some elaborate ones. Let’s bring it out from under the tree, raise it to eye level, and bring attention to it in bigger ways. I’ve seen yards with lights on what seems like every branch of every tree. The wow factor is inspiring. 

I wanted to inspire my children to look to Jesus at Christmas, and so when they were little, I would bake a white cake, with white frosting, and place a single candle in the center. A Birthday Cake for baby Jesus. That plain cake sat on the table year after year among all the chocolate candy and decorated cookies. Of course, not very appealing in comparison, especially to a kid, but we sang happy birthday to Jesus and blew out the candle. That was it. Our extent of bringing Christ into our celebration. For years, I thought it insignificant and lacking.

Birthday Cake makes a comeback

As the children got older, instead of a birthday cake, I placed a large, beautifully carved candle my son made as a centerpiece in the middle of all that scrumptious food and we opened our celebration with lighting the candle and saying a prayer. It was a little more satisfying, and though for several years we’ve made it to the Christmas Eve Candle Light services at our church, I always felt there should be more.

However, last year, when my oldest granddaughter, Marie brought a simple white birthday cake with a single candle and her children sang happy birthday to Jesus, I felt we had come full circle. Maybe my simple white cake wasn’t so insignificant after all. The tradition had carried forward. I was thrilled.

A week of crafting

Last year, I spent a week in North Carolina with our youngest granddaughter, Ellie, only seven at the time. She wanted to put on a Christmas program for her parents.  She and I spent the week rehearsing and crafting a little stage using a small nativity scene. The nativity didn’t have angels or shepherds or wisemen, so we made popsicle stick people and dressed them in ribbon robes and glittered button crowns. We crafted a backdrop stable onto a tri-fold display board complete with stars and glittery angels in a midnight blue felt sky. Ellie even formed little sheep from some modeling clay. 

A Christmas Program to remember

The evening of the program arrived. Ellie began to read the Christmas story from her little children’s Bible, and then handed it to me to read while she moved Mary and Joseph and the donkey to the popsicle-stick hotel. After she moved the angels onto the purple mountains above the green felt field with the sheep and shepherds, she led our “audience” in singing Joy to the World. And then, she helped the shepherds and sheep to the stable and  we sang Away in a Manger. When she walked the wise men in on cue, we sang Silent Night. Ellie ended the program by passing out little gold candy boxes. “Jesus is our gift for Christmas,” she said, and we sang We Wish You a Merry Christmas. She planned and orchestrated it all. It was so cute—beautiful, actually.

Creating Memories

I will hold these memory-making occasions in my heart. I pray they will continue to be carried forward year after year. 

What memories are you making with your children? Grandchildren? Friends and family? No matter how insignificant it may seem today, you may be surprised to see how far it travels. 

Merry Christmas to you all.

Remember, wherever you are, you are at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post CHRISTMAS PAST appeared first on Shelia Shook.

December 14^th marked the 25^th anniversary of my daughter Cindy’s death. (See previous post, A Single Flower.) She unexpectedly died in a car wreck at thirty-years-old. Looking back, I can see God’s hand in it as Cindy got to go on to heaven and we got to raise her two beautiful daughters.

When Cindy was a teenager, my husband told her he hoped she grew up to have two kids just like her. And she did. Only she skipped out on those teen years and his wish came back on us. LOL

I can laugh about it now. The girls are grown, and we are so proud of them. But when Cindy had her wreck, my last vision of her was on a hospital bed with a head injury. I held her hand and cleaned the blood from under her nails.

I have to shake off that sad memory and remember her hands delivering Great Dane puppies or grooming her horse. Or the way her eyes lit up with mischief when placing a thumb-sized beetle on her brother’s ear while he slept on our way home from his bootcamp graduation in Kentucky.

As a hospice nurse, I have a lot of families and patients who don’t want to talk about death and dying. Some don’t know what happens to them after death.

That was not my Moma.

Moma’s hope was in Christ. She had confidence in her belief that trusting in Him brought opportunity to see loved ones again. She knew she was going to heaven to see her Jesus, her parents and siblings, and my Cindy. But she worried about leaving us kids behind. (Moma’s Last Days)

Moma died at eighty-six in the spring of twenty-nineteen. Cindy’s death was unexpected, but Moma knew her death was getting close. She had time to talk about it.

The fall before she died, she and I were sitting in her room watching the squirrels play in the big oak trees in the courtyard outside her window. We laughed. She got so tickled at their antics and I got tickled at her.

Suddenly, she got really quiet and without turning to look at me, she said, “Shelia what will you do when I’m gone. And don’t say not to talk that way either because you know the day is coming.”

Stunned at the sudden change of mood, I didn’t know what to say. I watched her as she sat in her wheelchair rocking back and forth, still looking out the window.

“Well, mom,” I said. “I will probably come to this room and look out this window and remember how we watched the squirrels and laughed.”

She turned to me then. “Would you?” she said with excitement. “Oh Shelia, please remember me.”

“Of course, I will,” I said.  “I’ll sit on the pier and remember how you and I broke Bill’s rule of catch and release and ate his last big catfish.”

“Oh, he was mad, too.” she said. Then she smiled and added, “Thank you, Shelia. I needed to hear that.”

She needed to hear she would be remembered.

I recently had the opportunity to go back to mom’s room and look out at the courtyard. I remembered our conversation and smiled. There were no squirrels that day, but my heart was full of joy. I thought of how tickled she had been and how important it was to her to be remembered.

Everyone wants to be remembered. We all do so differently.

Some people take flowers to the cemetery. The way I handle my loss by remembering my loved ones on purpose. I think of things they’ve done or said; eat the foods they liked, go to places we shared. Make a scrapbook or memory board of fun pictures, even magazine pictures that make me think of them. I listen to or sing their favorite songs. I’d put puppies on my memory board and a horse. A catfish.

And deviled eggs.

Moma loved deviled eggs and one Easter, she had eaten a few when my husband Bill said, “Now mom if you keep eating deviled eggs, you aren’t going to want any of this ham I’m fixing.”

She gave him a “look” and backed her wheelchair away from the eggs. However, it wasn’t long before she was wheeling herself back toward them saying, “Creepin’ around. Just an old woman creepin’ around.” All the while watching Bill out of the corner of her eye. Ever since, someone always brings deviled eggs to our family functions. And inevitably, someone will say “creepin’ around.” It is a fun memory.

Honestly, I cry sometimes, too. It’s okay to cry. To be sad, to miss those who are gone. But above all smile, laugh, and remember them. Remember the good things.

 However you choose to remember your loved ones, do it with Joy.

I want to thank you all for the privilege of sharing my stories with you and hope this post helps you find peace to deal with loss this Christmas.

Remember wherever you are, when you come to my website and read my blog, you are at the right place. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

Share with us how you manage loss.

The post Dealing with Loss at Christmas appeared first on Shelia Shook.

My friend, Emily, says when she and her husband, Steve, were dating, she honestly thought he could, and should, run for President of the United States someday. With the upcoming Presidential election, I thought this story appropriate. Regardless who you vote for, you must admit being the wife of a president is a big deal too. But then…

I’ll let you read her story for yourself:

The day of Bill Clinton’s first inauguration was January 20, 1993. I’d been dating Steve just over a year. Head over heels in love, etc.  He was a Navy fighter pilot who had finished first in his Top Gun class and completed a tour in the first Gulf War; a commercial airline pilot with American Air Lines, but still flying F14’s part-time. He was an economics and military science double major from the University of Texas that knew all about the government and politics. He was a gentleman with a good sense of humor. Dick Cheney and a couple of others from the Bush administration were family friends. So, my thoughts about his future presidency weren’t entirely delusional, lol.

The guy I worked for at the time had Clinton’s inauguration on the television in his office all day. I was in his office working on something and stopped to watch with him. At some point, as we’re watching the parade, I said to Paul, “I actually think Steve could be President someday.” Paul, who knew Steve, seemed amused by that thought. Then I swear, not five minutes later, the commentator of the parade said something about Hillary and how proud she must be of her husband. “Just think of all the young women out there today watching this and thinking that one day their husband might be president.”

Paul got quite a kick out of the coincidental comment. I felt humbled, but a bit confused at the same time. I remember thinking:  No really. Steve has what it takes.

Steve and I married two years later. And, though happily married, I slowly began to realize that Steve just wasn’t going to be the guy that walked through a crowd, smiling, shaking hands, and kissing babies. Finally, after we’d been married a couple years, we were talking about politics one day and I made another comment about his future political career. He just looked at me and said, “But I don’t want to be president.”  

And that was it.

I’m pretty sure my big thoughts of designing Christmas at the White House fought long and hard before agreeing to let go.  

Though I am pragmatic and rational, I am a creative, and do tend to have big (at times borderline grandiose) thoughts. Mostly for myself. But some for Steve too.  This was before I’d learned you can’t have thoughts like that for other people. I have also learned that we cannot depend on our spouses for 100% of our happiness and fulfillment; especially not from our expectations of them.

Prince Charming rescuing the Princess

Emily’s story is more typical than one might think. At least, her expectations were more updated than mine. Having been a daydreamer with strong fantasies of Prince Charming rescuing the Princess, I wanted and expected a strong, Knight in Shining Armor to whisk me away from my troubles. I expected my husband to be Prince Charming. When I married Bill, I had a load of baggage I wanted him to carry, and I wanted him to carry me too. Like a Cinderella story, I wanted someone to be my happy-ever-after—to make me happy.

…expecting anyone to be responsible for my happiness was too much to ask.

We were only married about seven years when the school counselor suggested we seek family counseling. Our blended family was taking a toll on us and our children. We found a Christian counselor, Mrs. Lavonia Duck, and we all thought she was wonderful. She really made you think about life and could help you understand yourself and others. Not only did her sessions help our children adjust, she helped me realize that expecting anyone to be responsible for my happiness was too much to ask.

Bill had his own baggage to carry, his own happiness to manage. “No one can be responsible for your happiness but you,” she said, adding that my expectations of Bill were too great. She suggested we each find what made us happy and then share that happiness with one another.

I’d been waiting for Bill to give up his time with clients to make me happy.

For him to do the things I wanted or needed done. But I really just wanted his attention. He was expecting me to take on the household and parenting so he could concentrate on building his clientele which he enjoyed, and admittedly we all benefited from.

I became aware of what I found interesting and pursued it. I watched the news and sports which gave me something to discuss with Bill. He began sharing his day with me and introduced me to clients and their wives.

I began to be more independent and found the self-confidence I’d lost.

As a result, I stopped waiting on Bill to do the things I knew how to do around the house and in the yard. When I wanted the furniture moved, I moved it myself, and I rehung the clothesline when it broke. If I wanted Chinese food, I took myself out to eat. I went to the matinee in the middle of the day all by myself or I’d take the kids to the drive-in theatre when Bill worked late. We’d go fishing or crabbing on Saturday mornings or play ball in the field next door. We quit waiting on him to make us happy.  

I went to college and the kids helped me study as we did our homework together. Bill and I discussed sports and national issues, and I discovered I had the confidence to debate. And best of all, we all learned to laugh again. Bill’s time away wasn’t so hard on the children or on our marriage. We each developed independent joy which we could then share.

Love isn’t being someone’s happiness…

Love is sharing someone’s happiness. It’s sharing their joys and their burdens. Remember Bill’s formula for a happy marriage? I Corinthians 12:26 “And whether one member suffers, all the members suffer with it;” –and rejoice with them when the other is rejoicing.

Are you expecting someone else to be your happiness? Or to share your happiness. Perhaps, you are the one expected to be someone else’s happiness. That’s a heavy responsibility, and unchecked, it can cause disappointment and resentment, and will rob you of the true joys in your marriage.

Please comment below and share your own story.

Remember, wherever you are, you are at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post FIFTY WAYS TO KEEP YOUR LOVER #21Great Expectations appeared first on Shelia Shook.

These fifty ways are not in any kind of order, but if I were to prioritize this list, laughter would be among the top ten. My last two blogs reflect the gravity we dealt with in our marriage, and lest you think we didn’t laugh, I want to share a fun story.

The first years of our marriage were always so serious as we tried to impress one another. Bill is seven years older than me, which meant his friends were also older. I didn’t want to appear childish or immature and he wanted to be the responsible adult I could depend on to provide for me and our two children. Though he’d said he married me, so I’d keep him young I was an instant mother and felt pressure to act mature. It had been a long time since I’d had the courage to let go and be silly, but our lives had become too serious. We needed to laugh again—to remember the days before things began to slide downhill.

I was a nervous wreck waiting for him to come home. I’d planned a surprise. The kids sat at the kitchen table and dinner waited ready on the stove when I heard his Mustang pull into the drive. My heart raced and I couldn’t stop grinning. Cindy giggled and little Billy squealed. They knew my plan. It was something they’d experienced firsthand, and though they hated it, it always brought them a belly laugh. I was such a prude I was sure Bill would never expect it from me. But how would react?

He came in the back door and as usual gave me a kiss as I stood at the stove. I put my arms around his waist and hugged him closely. Amorously I ran my hands up and down his back and watched his face. He wiggled his dark brows and grinned. Then, in one swift motion, I reached below his Levi waist band to catch the elastic of his BVD’s and jerked upward as hard and fast as possible. He was looking down at me and I’d love to have a picture of his face. I tried to back away, but he held me firmly. Mischief in his eyes, he chuckled. Amidst squeals of laughter all around, he let me squirm free and I backed away, wary of my payback.

“No, no, no!” I shrieked and took off running. Laughter filled the kitchen and the kids followed me, jumping up and down, clapping their hands and cheering us on. I ran through the house to the bathroom and locked the door.

“Payback is com–ing,” Bill’s singsong baritone sounded from a distance, making me snicker.

“I’m just trying to keep you young,” I reminded him through the closed bathroom door. No response, I could hear Billy and Cindy’s muffled giggles. Then all was silent. I waited. My ear to the door, I listened, trying to suppress my own giggles.

BANG! I jumped. The doorknob rattled. I laughed hilariously, nervously, not knowing what to expect my payback to be. Then, suddenly, the door flew open and he had me.

We laughed so hard I doubled over, and Bill’s deep laugh rolled like thunder. He carried me to the living room sofa where the children hooted and howled as they joined him in tickling me till I cried.

Whenever you feel like life is pulling you down, plan a silly surprise. Laughter, it’s great for the soul. (From Proverbs 17:22)

Remember wherever you are, you are at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

Don’t forget to leave your comments and share with your friends.

The post ENJOY LAUGHTER appeared first on Shelia Shook.

How to Survive and Thrive Fifty Years of Ardent Marriage

My husband and I recently celebrated our Fiftieth wedding anniversary. I can remember when I thought couples who had made it fifty years were old. But hey, we aren’t old at all. Are we? Well, maybe we are. One thing’s for sure. Any couple whose marriage has survived fifty years has experienced a special bond.

We have often been asked our secret–and those whose marriages have not just survived, but thrived, do have a secret to share. However, we have more of a formula than a secret. A formula not just to survive, but to thrive in a successful marriage. After all, soldiers and victims survive. We want more than that.

Our marriage has flourished. Through the years we have not only bonded, but the storms we’ve weathered have melded us together like lightning welds metals when it strikes. And like lightning, the years have been electrifying—sometimes threatening, and dangerous, yet beautiful and awe inspiring. When you make it through a storm you realize how fortunate you are to have someone who went through it with you. The survivors of Hurricane Katrina can attest to the friendships and bonding that occurred once the storm passed.  If you separate or break up during a storm in your marriage, you’ll never know the joy of making it through the crisis. Once the skies have cleared, life can be fresh and new again. With a solid understanding of how much you can endure together.

Sometimes the danger to a marriage is not a terrifying storm, but monotony. Like a horticulturist grafting a wild branch into a domestic one, God brought two different personalities together to create an entirely new nature. Our different personalities added sugar and spice to our lives, and the combination brought a beautiful flavor to each. No longer the original two who said “I do” fifty years ago, we are better, unique because of what we each bring to the relationship. The Bible says, “two shall become one” and I understand that concept now. We produce the same and equal genuine love, yet as individual branches of the same tree. It’s simple. Bill really is my other half, as he says I am his. Together, we make a whole. That old saying is true for us. We complete one another. Grafting is a risky process, and we have survived. Each thriving as individuals and yet as one united. With our roots planted firmly in the fertile soil of sincere love.

The big question is “How?” I want to share our formula with you. Just like sex starts in the kitchen, the grafting process starts before the splicing—before the vows. Here are the top five I have found most important to consider first. Maybe you can add to these.

1. Be friends before you marry. Remember though, even best of friends break up so being friends is not enough,
2. Accept each other—warts and all. If you know one another and can enjoy each other’s company, if you can accept each other’s faults without trying to change them, then maybe you have found the right person.
3. Make sure you have found the right person before you say, “I do.”
4. Establish a Prenuptial Agreement: No tolerance for Divorce. Absolutely none. Really look at the vows: “for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, till death do us part.” If you can’t say these vows with real comprehension and commitment to this person, you aren’t ready to get married.
5. Be prepared to share concern and joy with your new mate. Be glad when they are happy and mourn with them when they are grieved. (My husband’s formula for the basics: I Corinthians 12:  25,26.)

There are at least fifty ways to help your marriage endure and thrive even through day-to-day boredom.  Over a series of blogs, I will share our recipe and the ingredients with you. Watch for the next steps in our formula. And if you have any ingredients for a happy marriage, please share them in the comment section below.

Remember wherever you are, you are at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post Fifty Ways to Keep Your Lover appeared first on Shelia Shook.

Christmas trees have been decorated since the 16^th century and even have some history dating further back than that. They have been my favorite to decorate for years and yet they can sometimes be the most expensive.

My husband and I have experienced fifty years of decorating for Christmas together. Our first was before we married. We were just beginning to date. He brought two tall, beautiful fir trees to my parent’s house. One for us and one for our church. He made quite an impression on our pastor and my mother, though my dad was a bit humbug about it. Skeptical, he wanted to know where he got them, how much they cost, and how he could afford two of them. I didn’t hear the answers. I must have been too busy decorating.

William’s Tree Yard

However, our first Christmas as a married couple, my husband took me to get our first Christmas tree. Strangely, we went to his friend, William’s house. I thought maybe he and his family were going tree shopping with us. But no. Instead, William led us into his back yard where Christmas trees lined the wooden fence. He said I had my pick. Some were tall and some short and round, some were thin and bare. I thought of the trees so generously given the year before, and my dad’s response. I surveyed the fence line. Knowing, but not wanting to know the answers to Dad’s questions. That was the last time we went Christmas tree shopping at William’s “tree yard”.

Years later, the truth came out. Late at night, (two years in a row) in the cover of dark, after a neighborhood Christmas tree lot had closed, two inebriated young men stealthily lined Christmas trees on their side in two rows just wide enough apart for a ‘67 Mustang to drive between them. Then as the Mustang steadily made its way down the center, each young man leaned out the window on his side of the Mustang, and each grabbed the lower branch of a tree. Then gunning the engine and spinning the wheels the driver took off. Hanging onto the trees, they dragged them down the street beside them, heading through a neighborhood to a small brick house with a wooden fenced back yard. Returning to get another set . . . or two. (What is the statute of limitations for stealing Christmas trees? I hope we are past it as I publish this story.)

More Traditional Adventures

After that revelation, we’ve had more traditional adventures finding a Christmas tree. Once, we hiked through the East Texas woods where we’d bought property, which we no longer own, in an area called Cactus Jack. When we found the best tree we could find, we hauled it through the briars and underbrush back to our car and tied it on the top.  Another year, we just found a stand of young pine saplings and tied several together to make them into one tree full enough to decorate. Through the years, we bought trees from tree lots too. Having a tree is always important to me.

I guess I am dazzled with the idea of bringing the outdoors in, and the lights and ornaments seem like a celebration. And now, I know it is. It has, for me, become the glorious celebration of the birth of our Savior, Jesus, THE Christ. There is a children’s story of how a tree became the manger, then another tree became the cross, and since then, trees have come to represent the coming of the Lord of All. How the Holy Prince of Peace lowered Himself to be born a human. Humbled Himself to live among us so that He who knew no pain could feel our pain. He came to suffer in our place to pay for the crimes we commit against the Throne of God. Since the penalty of the crime against God is death, Jesus came to pay the price of death for us. As a man, He endured the pain and suffering, but as God, He conquered death. When He rose from the grave, He made the way for each of us to find freedom to approach the Holy Throne of God and be forgiven. But we must approach the Throne and ask for forgiveness to be forgiven.

We celebrate the baby Jesus, but the baby becomes a man, a God-Man. I love the tale of the Prince and the Pauper, where the prince chooses to live among his people, to see what life is like for them. But Jesus didn’t just live among us, He took the ridicule and defacement and then died as a pauper, only to be glorified by His Father the King as He came alive again. The Christmas tree reminds me of all this. Of the Heavenly realm. A world we know little about. A world of Angels and light. Where Beauty overcomes the dark places of our brokenness.

In our early years together, Bill and I didn’t get many Christmas gifts for each other, and if all I could get would be the tree, it was enough.  I’m so determined to have a tree to decorate, that one year, I took a Wild Holly branch and stuck it in a bucket and decorated it.

Christmas Tree Farm

The most fun and most memorable times involving a Christmas tree I can remember, is when we went to a Christmas tree farm several years in a row with my sister, Laura and her husband, Frank. Hot chocolate, a hand saw, and acres of trees to choose from. We usually found perfect trees. But one year we all looked for what seemed hours and couldn’t decide on a tree. Bill and I came up with a brilliant idea. Pick the most unique, ugly tree and save it. Soon we saw it from a distance. A tree of long bare limbs with rounded puffs of green needles on the ends among a mix of full-needled branches stood about eight-foot-tall. The top leaned over in an arch with a heavy tuft of green ball on its end. For some reason it reminded me of a Grinch Christmas tree. We loved it and decorated it with fun, festive, and colorful ornaments. The kids all loved it. The once sad, neglected tree was well loved.

Another year, we found a seven-foot-tree with a perfect shaped top for the first foot, then a two-foot bald trunk which descended into limbs that lay flattened across the top of a flared, full, thick, three-foot bottom. We decorated the flattened area with artificial snow and lay a little toy, battery operated train on a track that circled the tree. Another fun, yet beautiful tree.

We spent many years at that tree farm hunting trees. The farm has since closed, and Laura and Frank have moved to the hill country. We miss those fun times and creative effort to find and decorate our tree. Now, we have an artificial tree, courtesy of QVC. It snaps together with lights already in place.

Our kids are grown and live away. They have families and Christmas trees of their own now, so the tree decorations are hung mostly by me. (A few by Bill.) A mug of hot chocolate or coffee and some Christmas music plays in the background. I still love putting the decorations on the tree. Then I sit and look at the memories decorating our tree. Trinkets and treasures my children have made. Tiny collections I’ve held on to. Little gifts for a Joyful praise. A Hallelujah. A tribute of Joy to the New Born King. A dazzling delight to be the focus for the nativity scene that rests in the quiet branches of solemn awe that rise with a crescendo of angels, bells and lights toward the Heavens— to the star on top that reminds me of the star that shown so bright that night.

Why do you decorate a tree? Or do you?

Some say, “Why bother, no one will be here to see it.” Others don’t decorate a tree because they can’t afford the perfect tree, or don’t have room. Please write and share your story with us. Maybe decorating a tree isn’t a tradition or even important to you. For me, memories surrounding our Christmas trees through the years have been meaningful. Not always good memories, but meaningful ones.

I wish you a Joyous Christmas. A time of reflection and a time of Peace. A time of celebration. Whether you are alone or in a house full of family and friends. Jesus sees you. He loves you. Celebrate Him.

Remember, wherever you are, you are in the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

The post The Christmas Tree appeared first on Shelia Shook.

It was December 1996 when my daughter, Cindy, died, and I felt the crashing waves of life threaten to wash over me and drag me out into a sea of despair. Life had been hard for her, now it was over. When the car wreck that took her life, left us stunned, my husband and I coped by putting our grief on hold and concentrating on giving support to others, including Cindy’s two beautiful daughters, ages nine and ten, who struggled to understand what happened to their mother.

It wasn’t until that Spring that grief’s water rose up to my chin, and waves of despair threatened to wash over me again. Exhausted, I couldn’t continue treading water. As was my habit, I sat on our pier overlooking our dead pond. Two summers before, we had doused it with a weed killer, an herbicide to control the hydrilla that had taken over and covered the surface. At first, we had thought the aquatic weed was beautiful, but when it covered the surface, we had to act. Weeds, like feelings, can overwhelm and get out of control if we don’t manage them as they arise. I think we over did the herbicide, because no green leaf had survived. Ugly as it was, the murky brown water matched my mood and I found myself sitting there for hours at a time, just staring into space, praying for solace. My world had died, it seemed appropriate that no green thing around me had survived, even the fish in the pond died. No sign of life had been seen since Cindy’s passing. Still, the pier was my peaceful spot, my place of solitude.

As I sat on the pier that Spring morning of 1997, the last frost had thawed, and the trees had scattered their yellow-green pollen across the top of the muddy brown water, I hugged my knees and sobbed. At last, I grieved my terrible loss. I cried out to God. I couldn’t form the words to express my pain, I just kept calling out to Him for help, for understanding. The scriptures say that when we can’t find the words to utter, the Holy Spirit will speak for us. All I know is after a long pitiful cry, I raised my head to wipe my swollen eyes and as I stared across the water, I saw it. My sign of hope. A single, beautiful broad leaf lily pad with a purple blossom floated near the waters edge across the pond from me. Laughter bubbled up from my throat and I stood, leaning toward the water. Yes, it was real. There was life. Beauty floated on the ugly, sad waters. I immediately raised my face to heaven and with tears of joy, I praised God, thanking Him for hearing my cry, my need to know life would go on.  That like my dead pond, we would survive. Death would not win.

The beautiful story of Easter comes to mind. On Palm Sunday, Jesus came into Jerusalem riding on a donkey. People laid their cloaks on the ground in front of him, praising Him and shouting, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel.” (John 12:13). On Good Friday, they shouted, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” (John 19:6) And before He died on a cross, He asked His Heavenly Father to “forgive them they know not what they do”. It was a very sad day. His mother and friends, grieved. BUT, Easter Morning, they found He had risen from the dead. Death had not won!  Through His death and resurrection, Jesus brought hope and salvation from death to us. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.” (John 3:16). Jesus is that single flower. The one that can bring a smile and beauty into an ugly, sad world. The “Lily of the Valley”, providing the hope of new life for all who believe. Our Cindy believed.

Today, the hydrilla has returned and we still struggle to keep it under control. Like our feelings, we struggle to maintain normalcy, but we don’t let the weeds of our grief control us. Life has been hard these past twenty years, but God has been with us. We all have found laughter again. Enjoying the sweet memories our Cindy left for us.

Do you grieve over the loss of loved ones? There is hope. Perhaps you are fearful of your own pending death. You don’t have to be afraid. Jesus came to provide eternal life. If you want to talk about your grief or fear, I am here for you. Please Email me.

Remember, wherever you are in life, you are always at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

The post A SINGLE FLOWER appeared first on Shelia Shook.