The Man from Plains

The late summer that I began my freshman year at Wheaton College, Jimmy Carter was the Democratic nominee for President. As the family station wagon headed off to take me to Illinois, we stopped at National Airport, now named Reagan National, to pick up the first copies of my Dad’s new book, The Man From Plains – The Mind and Spirit of Jimmy Carter. My Dad had quickly drafted the book in the spring of 1976. I remember his research and investigative trips, including one to Plains and to a news conference in Chicago, where I had the privilege of accompanying him.  The book was published in time for the final months of the election. We excitedly flipped through the new book, and I came upon the dedication: “To Brenda whose interests kindled my own.”

The dedication page.

In my high school senior year U.S. government class, we studied the election process real time. My teacher, Mrs. Laura Crites, was extraordinary for her expertise and passion for her subject. She taught with admirable dignity and stayed completely nonpartisan. One of our class assignments was to write a nomination speech for a candidate: I wrote a speech for Jimmy Carter. I do not recall anything about the speech I wrote, but what was happening at the time was a public fascination about a successful politician with down-home style, from the back woods of Georgia, who spoke openly of his Baptist roots and professed his faith in Jesus for life changing salvation. This was quite different from the usual staid, mostly Protestant, nominal church membership that most American politicians professed at that time*. Jimmy Carter, instead, was an outspoken Christian who continued to teach an adult Sunday School class when he could be back at his home church in Plains, Georgia.

The rest is history, as they say. Jimmy Carter was elected as the 39th President of the United States, for one term. Foreign policy challenges marked his Presidency. I finished a degree at Wheaton College over those four years, considering a political science major, but ended up with a degree in Elementary Education. My father never authored another book but continued his journalist career. His book had faced opposition by acquaintances who thought he should have written about the Republican nominee. I do not think The Man From Plains sought to endorse Carter as a candidate; it merely provided a study of his life up to that point, concentrating on the overt Christian faith Carter professed.

Jimmy Carter went on to found Habitat for Humanity, a nonprofit organization “that helps families build and improve places to call home.” He returned to Plains, Georgia to live and probably to teach Sunday School. I had an encounter with him once, many years after his Presidency. He hosted a book signing at our local Walmart. I decided to go over to see if I could get my copy of Dad’s book signed by him. When the staffer handed former President Carter my book, I hollered out, “My Dad wrote that book.” He answered back, “Tell him to come see me in Plains,” and he signed my book!

Jimmy Carter’s signature in my copy  of  Dad’s book.

Jimmy Carter leaves a legacy of faith and service. From his open Christian testimony on the campaign trail, to his inaugural address based on Biblical text Micah 6 v 8, to his work for those in need of housing, he publicly expressed his faith, and its resulting personal transformation*. I believe his boldness helped the broad public, including the press, understand that knowing Jesus makes a difference in someone’s life.  For those of you who know me and my family personally, my father is facing a serious health diagnosis. We are grateful for his full life, his noteworthy career in journalism, and his legacy of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Thank you for your prayers.

*Based on content from Kucharsky, David.  The Man From Plains,  Harper and Row Publishers, New York:  1976.

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The Lost Children of Britain

My cousin’s father-in-law, Alf, was one of Britain’s “lost children.” My quick on-line search revealed that Britain “exported vast numbers” of children to Canada and Australia during a 350-year period, ending in the 1970’s. The purpose of the forced migration was to relieve overcrowded orphanages in England and populate the colonies. In Alf’s case, it was 1930 and he was 14 years old. Alf’s mother died when he was three and eventually his father could not care for his large family so Alf and three brothers were put into an orphanage in England, where his father visited them. One of Alf’s older brothers was sent to Canada at age sixteen; a few years later, Alf was sent also. The brothers, separately, lived with families in the fertile  farmland of Southern Ontario.

Alf did not take to his first farm placement but fended well for himself and found other families in the area to stay with. I do not know if he was able to attend much school or whether being a farmhand required all his time. Alf eventually met a girl among the farm families, and they married. Alf and his wife raised a large family near Hamilton, Ontario. My cousin married one of their middle sons. On occasion, my family saw Alf and his family, and I recall him as jovial and energetic.

Now you’re wondering how Alf’s story has a Christmas connection. Well, I was thinking about the similarities of Alf’s life of loss and displacement with Jesus’ own life of loss and loneliness. It is commonly known that Joseph and Mary were displaced and temporarily relocated in an overcrowded Bethlehem, due to a Roman census regulation, when Jesus was born. Sometime later, his parents fled to Egypt with young Jesus because of Roman infanticide orders – political refugees. During Jesus’ ministry, the Bible tells us he was homeless with “no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20). Jesus was misunderstood and rejected by many people of His day.

But what comes to mind most about Alf’s story is my memory of a cousin evening a summer or two ago. We’d had a great meal and evening of reminiscing and laughter together but as our time came to a close, the conversation became somber over more serious issues. Under the deep Ontario night sky, my cousin’s husband, Alf’s son, announced with a wide, confident smile, “But I have hope.” His faith, like his father’s, gave him a guaranteed hope that it all comes out well in the end. The birth we celebrate at Christmas is this: “Our Lord Jesus Christ though He was rich (divine, perfect, enthroned in heaven) yet for your sake He became poor (displaced, orphaned, and lowly) so that you through His poverty might become rich (rescued, adopted, blessed) 2 Corinthians 8 v 9. AMEN

Merry Christmas!  Remember that posts are best viewed at                                  “A Writer’s Daughter”
See my previous Christmas stories.

This nativity is displayed in the chapel at Duke University, where I recently enjoyed a performance of “The Messiah.”

An Ice Skating Love Story

He grew up in a northern US city with plenty of naturally frozen skating spots all winter, and her childhood in Canada was replete with abounding enthusiasm and opportunities for ice skating over many winter months each year.  With mutual friends from church, he asked her out on their first date to go ice skating. Wasting no time for feelings to melt, he gave her a Valentines Day card shortly following the skating date.  Their romance quickly swirled into an engagement on her June birthday, and they married at the end of that summer.  Their honeymoon included time in Lake Placid where they skated together at the indoor Olympic rink.

                My parents – beautiful bride & groom.

That first February ice skating date happened more than six decades ago. My parents continued to enjoy skating together over many of those years. They shared their love of ice skating with us kids.  Virginia winters were milder than their hometowns, but we skated on rinks, and occasionally on the Washington Monument reflecting pool and the nearby C & O canal in years when they froze over.  I remember buying my own full-size, good quality leather skates during a visit to family in Canada.

My parents also shared with us what it means to be married: “one man, one woman, one lifetime,” as Pastor Jeff at my church succinctly put it.  Like pairs skating, marriage is magical, elegant, sensual, rhythmic, and risky – a dynamic partnership.  There will also be bumps and bruises along the way.  Marriage requires endurance and stamina, like the long program in skating competition. Couples can’t skate by on infatuation alone.

Marriage is God’s good and natural design for us, His creation (Genesis 2 v 24).  Love is laced throughout the Scriptures.  You’ll find romantic love stories and Solomon’s PG-13 passionate song in the Old Testament.  Themes and analogies of weddings, the bride, and marital joy, commitment, and purity weave through the New Testament.  Ultimately, we find God’s sacrificial love for us in the familiar verse John 3:16

For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so                that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal                      life.  NLT

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for your beautiful love story.  Thank you, Heavenly Father, for loving us enough to give us your Son, Jesus.

                                           ICONIC!

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January Sundays

Today’s Sunday morning view behind our home is crispy and clear.

On a local errand this fall, I noticed several large birds perched on the roof of a house.  I can often identify birds, but I wasn’t sure about these.  They weren’t black enough to be vultures.  They weren’t shore birds either.  My guess was turkeys, but the rooftop landing seemed odd.  Shortly thereafter, I came across an article on turkeys in the December issue of my favorite local publication, Wrightsville Beach magazine.

The article confirmed that turkeys live in the wild in this area.  It described their social construct of small flocks and their roosting habits, as well as showing photographs that matched the color and shape of the birds I saw.  And just last Sunday we saw two more flocks of turkeys grazing alongside a highway.  Yes, as the piece noted, turkeys are “frequently observed” in our wooded, coastal area!

The article, “And Then There Were Some,” mostly focused on the resurgence of the turkey population in North Carolina.  Apparently, wild turkeys were becoming scarce in the state in the early 20th century.  Conservation efforts were made to protect and promote turkey life.  These were successful and a flourishing turkey population has been restored.  I enjoy hearing that native species thrive in their natural habitat and I will look forward to recognizing wild turkeys roadside and on rooftops.

Today is designated as Sanctity of Life Sunday and sadly, America’s human population is not protected and fully valued.  Not every little person is promised the opportunity to thrive in our country.  Instead, parents may opt to extinguish the life of their unborn baby.  It’s a glaring contradiction to think that our society values the whales and the wolves and the wild turkeys yet wavers when it comes to human beings.  Yes, there are rights but there are also undeniable responsibilities: to manage sexual behavior, to commit to family relationships, to honor human life.  Regardless of what our laws permit or do not permit, our hearts must yearn for the dignity of all life, celebrating the creation of new life, and grieving the destruction of the same.

We are celebrating new life in our family!

Following a calamity that took all his possessions and children, the Biblical ancient, Job, rightly acknowledged the sole sovereignty of God over life and death, saying, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away.”  (See full context of  Job 1 v 21 and also Job 12 v 10 and Job 31 v 15)

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Family Resemblances

While on one of our many recent road trips, we stopped for a break and meal.  Across the dining area from us sat a pair at a table for two.  They were seated in front of a window, facing each other, which highlighted their nearly identical profiles.  It was easy to tell that a mother and her grown son were sharing lunch together.

Their obvious family resemblance brought to my mind one of Amy Grant’s earliest hits, “My Father’s Eyes,” written by Gary Chapman.  The lyrics spoke of a desire to emulate her heavenly Father, to be recognized by the ways she shared His compassionate perspective.  “My Father’s Eyes” made it on a catchy tune and clever wording, but the song articulated a good spiritual truth too.   Christians are called to look like Christ.

In fact, Jesus made a strikingly strong statement:  “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (Matthew 5:48)  But the Bible also often explains that no human is sinless.  Pairing the two ideas, we realize the Christian should aim to grow to be more like God, to attain the “Father’s eyes,” as Grant sang.    Scriptures describe a gradual process, sanctification, which God’s Holy Spirit renders within believers. (John 17:17, Ephesians 4:12, Philippians 3:12)  A large part of growing to be more like God also requires personally knowing God more.  Regularly reading the Bible, God’s handbook for us, and fellowshipping and worshipping with other believers (the church) will develop that stronger resemblance to our heavenly Father.  “And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6

Of course our grandson wants to be like his father.

My Ukrainian Heritage

My heart is heavy for the people of Ukraine.  Although the good hearts of safe and free people always abhor the unprovoked aggression of a despot, the current assault especially touches me, as a person of Ukrainian descent.  My grandparents came to America from Ukraine as young adults. I know little of Ukrainian culture, but born a Kucharsky, its plight is personal.

A few things around remind me of my Slavic heritage.

There are many Christians in Ukraine who are clinging to the promise of Psalm 145:18:  “The LORD is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.”

My babushka as a young woman.

 

Message in a Bottle

Just weeks into living in our new home, my husband unearthed an old glass bottle from our unlandscaped yard. For me, it meant familiarity; a find ready to add to our assorted collection of found jars and glassware.

I discovered my first vintage glassware on a walk in the woods with my friend Mary. Her family owned a large property in the neighborhood, going back a couple of generations. I guess she knew a spot that had once been a dumping ground. There I dug up a cut-glass saltshaker, loving both its pretty design and nostalgic aura. Years later, I married a man who collected many antique bottles. They were medicines and various food bottles. He’d spent his growing up years in rural western New York, full of old houses and barns where antiques were plentiful.

Pictured are my first glassware find, a saltshaker; a McConnon & Co. bottle dug up in our new yard; and a nostalgic blue bottle found in Virginia, spring water from Saratoga Springs, NY!

After marriage, our house in suburban Virginia sat in an area where Civil War units once encamped. We found a bullet or two over our nearly 30 years there and various other glass items and canning jars not quite that old. When our son and his wife planned their wedding décor, they used our bottles in the table centerpieces. Vintage bottles, from youth to retirement, seem to be our story. So, wouldn’t that theme make a great blog subject, but what is the message in the bottle? My stated blog purpose is to apply truths from God’s Word to the words I write.

The tablescapes at our son’s wedding featured the couple’s photo, a table card, and one of our ‘heritage’ bottles with a fresh sprig of eucalyptus.

Let me suggest two possibilities: Just as collecting bottles has spanned my childhood to maturity, and touched the next generation too, the Gospel spans time and generations. Faith may pass from generation to generation as we subtly model and overtly share the legacy of our Christian beliefs. Be bold. Be instructive. Do so humbly. This directive is found in Psalms 48:13, 87:18 and 145:4.

Similarly, excavating an old glass bottle again here on our new property brought to mind God’s unchanging nature. Scripture promises that God remains the same without even a shadow of difference yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8, James 1:17). Such eternal assurance far outweighs the serendipitous find of another glass bottle for our collection.

I am thrilled to add something my husband wrote after hearing that my topic was on finding bottles: “Even though glass bottles are lost in the ground for hundreds of years, when they are found, nothing has deteriorated or decayed. They are cleaned off and as good as the day they were left in the ground. We see this in certain families. Spiritual foundations are intact for many generations, just as excavated glass bottles remain in good condition for centuries. Glass bottles seem to preserve themselves, but the spiritual foundations need to be preserved with dedicated precision and care.” Thank you, dear – it’s perfect!

 

Buried; Alive

You might think this post features some paranormal experience. That’s the intent of my title and I hope you will continue reading even though there is nothing bizarre to tell.

Last week my friend’s mother passed away unexpectedly. As soon as I could, I got some flowers and visited her. A few days later as her family began to arrive in town for the funeral and burial, I assembled a food tray and took it over to her. We chatted on her front porch. She shared about her siblings, nieces and nephews who would be present and about her brother who would lead the service.

She told me that her mother had been cremated and her remains would be buried in a rural cemetery near the Shenandoah Mountains. Her father was buried there decades ago. We discussed the technicalities of cremation and burial. Until we face the situation, we don’t consider the logistics of these things. She felt the graveside service would be short and simple. I assured her that it would be very meaningful for family to gather and lay their parents to rest side by side. I expressed my sympathies and went home.

It was now late morning and I had not yet taken time to read the Bible, as I aim to do each day. I follow a simple Scripture reading plan*. I don’t choose a passage each time; I just go to the next one on the schedule. As I began my Bible reading, the day’s chapter detailed the deaths and burial of three people:  three very significant figures in the Old Testament. In Joshua 24, Joshua dies and is buried, Eleazor (son of Aaron, who was a priest and Moses’ brother) dies and is buried, and the bones of Joseph are finally interred after being transported from Egypt more than 40 years prior! This connection to my conversation just minutes earlier is not coincidental but completely amazing! Scripture is ALIVE; the Bible teems with purpose and relevance.

Just landing on a topic that previously came up in a conversation may not seem applicable or practical to you. However, a deeper look into the passage and its context shed more light onto its relevance and value. The passage tells us that during Joshua’s lifetime and throughout the span of his leadership team, their nation, Israel, “served the Lord” (Joshua 24:31). What a lifetime legacy: Joshua’s leadership and influence inspired an entire nation to faithfully follow God. The conclusion of Joshua’s leadership era also displayed God’s character. Twice in the final chapters of the book of Joshua, Scripture states that God kept all his promises to His people (Joshua 21:45 and Joshua 23:14). God guided, protected and provided for His people under the hostile conditions of life in the desert and the conquest of new lands as He had promised to do at the outset (the accounts of this are told in the book of Numbers). We can aim to leave a legacy of faithfulness and my friend’s mother lived a full life, God having kept all of His promises to her.

Truly, “the Word of God is alive and active.” Hebrews 4:12a

*In my post “Speak Your Truth, Really? – A Plan, Part 2” January 2019, I shared about various Bible reading plans that are available.

I took this too-grainy photo of a large mulberry tree in the Shenandoah Mountains.

 

Morning at the Laundromat

This morning I am at a laundromat. It’s an annual chore that I enjoy. Bedspreads are too heavy for my home washing machine so once a year I trek over to a neighboring community to give the bed covers a thorough cleaning in large professional machines.

I love the bright atmosphere and fresh scent of this well-kept laundromat. It intrigues me to observe people as they complete the task of laundry together. Moms and sometimes Dad keep up the loading, transferring and folding.   Kids find ways to entertain themselves. Today, two toddlers push around wheeled laundry carts. A teenager babysits her younger sibling in front of a too loud TV. The Spanish channel (any channel!) blaring is the only unpleasant part of this experience for me. As I entered, an older woman left in a taxi with her morning’s work all done. It is good to see how others do life in ways different than my own.

I thrive on task completion. Checking off a job or errand on my “to do” list feels satisfying to me. This chore signifies that summer is in full swing; winter is packed away for a while. I am grateful for a measurable accomplishment in a life season that seems to have many unknowns.


My good friend Robin designs in textiles, including the quilts pictured. When my daughter worked for her, I learned much about the qualities, care and beautiful possibilities of fabric!

I was surprised on Sunday when my Pastor mentioned being “clean” in his sermon. Of course he was referring to spiritual cleanliness, not the clean that comes after a shower or even being free from substance abuse. I don’t think modern American culture emphasizes feelings of shame or guilt much, even when they may be appropriate. Some cultures do value honor and use shame as a deterrent. My pastor’s use of the term, however, indicates that we are self-aware of an unworthiness in ourselves, a falling short. In fact, the definition of sin is missing the mark. We have a sense that we should be cleaner. Across time, mankind has attempted to achieve purity in order to reach God. But as my pastor pointed out, God doesn’t ask us to get cleaned up for Him. Instead He allowed Jesus to get dirty for us. The task on the cross is accomplished and we have only to access the fresh life He offers.  “Purify me from my sins, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.”  Psalm 51:7   “But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.”  1 John 1:9

As I leave the laundromat, a woman and her adult son enter with their laundry baskets. I hope they will enjoy working together today, sharing conversation, and maybe taking a break at the nearby McDonald’s or the Dollar General next door. Such treats I also enjoy.

Robin hand-dyes cloth to produce custom pieces. She possesses amazing creativity and skill which she now uses to bless a community of women in Uganda. Find out more at Gloryboundministry.org

 

 

 

“A Writer’s Daughter” Turns Two

August marked the two-year anniversary of my blog. I enjoy the discipline of writing and posting. Ideas and topics come to me regularly and I pair them with what I pray are appropriate Scriptures. For me, the challenges of blogging include technical issues and the pictures. I can’t always navigate the WordPress software and ‘sharing’ through social media sometimes goes awry. Last spring, I attempted to strengthen my photography skills by enrolling in a class. Then our daughter got engaged and we plunged into wedding planning for her July wedding. I flunked the class because I couldn’t complete the homework; so much for the teacher being a student!

Thank you for subscribing to my blog. If I had a goal for my blog, it would be to increase the number of subscribers, however I am not fussing over my statistics. I write in response to God’s prompting. When I introduced my blog, a friend expressed her hope that it would reach millions. Such success is unlikely, but I will follow through faithfully. The Bible tells us to be faithful in the small things (Luke 16:10), so I plan to continue posting. The song “Dream Small” by Josh Wilson captures this message. He says, “simple moments change the world … find little ways.” Many amazing things happen in the world because of the obedience of ordinary people in seemingly insignificant ways.  Watch the song below.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOBaLrItEyc

I snapped this as Dad sweetened his Dunkin coffee.

As I created my blog two years ago, two parallel ideas emerged in my mind: God as The Author and my father’s writing career. My blog is not meant to be a tribute to my Dad but I am happy to acknowledge his wonderful influences. I had a special chance to spend time alone with him this summer while my mother was out of town for a funeral. Though my dad is experiencing some age-related declines we enjoyed the extended visit. He shared an idea he has for a new book and he asked about my writing. We discussed gardening and he kept me company on errand running. Dunkin Donuts is a favorite spot for us and we discovered a Russian gourmet store in the same shopping center. We stopped in to eye all the Slavic goodies. I asked the clerk to speak to my Dad. Dad responded with a robust Ukrainian phrase, sounding quite authentic!

I look forward to writing on as I continue being blessed by the presence of my earthly father* and my Heavenly Father. Thank you for your part in this calling.

*My friend Seth Barnes recently shared blogs of time with his aging dad.   www.sethbarnes.com