Soul Business

Those of us who were raised in church can probably remember this little song.

I will make you fishers of men, fishers of men, fishers of men.
I will make you fishers of men if you follow me.

I can remember performing the motions while singing it - casting the line with my imaginary fishing pole. It was my beloved grandmother who taught me that song, and it was my grandmother who gave me a sample, a living example of loving souls for Jesus. One of her favorite verses is found in Proverbs 11:30.

He that winneth souls is wise!

Grandma only had a fifth grade formal education, but Grandma's wealth of experience made her the wise matriarch of our family. She loved broken people and had a desire to help struggling souls. In the eyes of the world, her education was inferior, but through the eyes of eternity - Grandma was one of the wisest women I've ever known.

The "soul business" is a tough business to be in - lots of ups and downs, defeats and triumphs! My friend sent me a piece from Oswald Chambers today. It ministered to me. I thought it might give some weary traveler a refreshing drink for their parched soul. Here it is:

If you are going to live for the service of your fellowmen, you will certainly be pierced through with many sorrows. If your motive is love for your fellowmen, you will be exhausted in the battle of life. But if the mainspring of your service is LOVE FOR GOD, no ingratitude, no sin, no devil, no angel, can hinder you from serving your fellowmen, no matter the consequences. You can love your neighbor as yourself, not from pity, but from the true centering of yourself in GOD. -- Oswald Chambers

It reminds me of a beautiful promise in the Bible.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9

Now let's go fishing,
Dixie

A Mother's Prayers

Like mother like daughter







And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive. Matthew 21:22 KJV

My grandmother only had a fifth grade education, but she graduated valedictorian from the School of Adversity several years in a row. She had been a child of alcoholic parents and experienced neglect and severe abuse. The trauma she endured left gaping holes in her soul. This deep inner pain drove her to God. On her knees she discovered there is power in prayer.

When her only son was serving his country in the Vietnam War, there were nights she couldn’t sleep. I remember her crying out to God, pleading for her son’s safe return. I also recall the day her prayers were answered, and when her beloved son walked through the doors of his childhood home Grandma's face was wet with tears as she thanked the Lord for answering her prayers.

There were the other times she would be singing to the Lord at top of her lungs, as she scrubbed her hot, soapy pots and pans in her kitchen sink. She was usually asking the Lord to make her a blessing to the hurting souls around her. And in just minutes, there would be a knock on her front door, and Grandma would lead them to her dining room table, give them a cup of coffee, a piece of pie and then pray for their needs.

The memory which is chiseled in my mind’s eye for all eternity is her early morning prayers. God knew every morning when the sun came up, He would find Grandma on her knees. It was during one of those early morning prayers, as I lay quietly on my little cot, I heard Grandma arguing with the Lord.

“Lord, You promised me. I don’t care what the doctors say. You promised me that she would live and not die. I’m standing on Your Word, Lord. You are not a God that can lie.”

I knew she was praying for her daughter; my mother, Bonnie. Mom was in an unhappy marriage and suffered from severe depression. Because of her mental anguish, she had lost her will to live. She had attempted numerous times to end her life. One day when my grandmother dropped over to our house. She found Mom lying unconscious on the floor. After she was taken to the hospital and stabilized, Grandma found a place to pray. We didn’t see or hear from Grandma for several hours, but when we did, she was radiant.

“God spoke to me today.” Grandma insisted. “He gave me His promise that all things will work together for good to those that love the Lord. And I love the Lord so something good is going to come out of this desperate situation. My girl is not going to die, but live.”

She dabbed the tears that spilled from her eyes with her handkerchief and continued, “And that’s not all, God assured me that I would see my Bonnie play her violin for Jesus one day in church.”

A few months later there was another suicide attempt. Mom’s doctor came to speak with our family. “I don’t know if we can save her this time. One of these times she is going to get the job done.”

Grandma bolted from her chair. Pointing her plump finger in his face she barked, “Now you listen to me, Doc. My girl is not going to die but live. God promised me. And He also told me that I would see her play her violin for Jesus in church.”

An awkward silence enveloped the room. None of us knew exactly what to do, but one thing was for certain, we were not going to cross Grandma. A few hours later the doctor reappeared to tell us that Mom had escaped death again.

It was a few years later that my mother met an elderly pastor’s wife, who had suffered with deep depression, too. This dear woman took a keen interest in my mother. Because of her love and patience, my mother found the Lord. Grandma was shouting happy. She would tell everybody who would listen that God had heard her prayers and that He had kept His promise. Beaming she declared, “He is trustworthy!”

One Saturday morning, Mom announced to Grandma that she and another lady in her church were going to have the special music for the Sunday morning worship service.
“They’ve ask me to play my violin.” Mom said. “I’m going to play What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”

Grandma let out a yelp. “I knew it! I knew it! Thank you, Lord!”

I am now a pastor’s wife of thirty-one years. I’ve learned much in my Bible college classes and ministry experiences, but it was watching my grandmother’s life that taught me the most about the power of prayer. She gave me a sample, a living example of how an ordinary woman with a simple faith in an extraordinary God can move mountains.

My mother is now seventy-six years old and continues to play her violin for Jesus.

Legacy of Love & Family Reunion

I was blessed to have the influence of two godly grandmothers in my life. When they passed away I wrote songs for their funerals. I have both of these songs recorded with Three Redeemed, a ladies' trio I sing with. Anyway, I've received several e-mails from my blog - The Apron. It seemed to strike a chord with many of you so I thought maybe these poems might warm your hearts during this holiday season.

Thank God for grandparents,
Dixie


Legacy of Love

You’ve left us for awhile. We’ll miss your lovely smile.
But death cannot erase sweet memories that took place.
Although you’ve gone away in our hearts you’ll always stay
Our gift from God above – Our legacy of love.


Your work on Earth is done. Life’s final war you’ve won.
This one thing we know. You’ve left “footprints” in our soul.
We’ll keep marching on. We’ll keep singing all your songs.
Until we reach Heaven above
And see our legacy of love.


Your legacy of love with us will remain
Echoing the truths your life did proclaim.
The torch has now been passed.
We raise it unashamed.
You’re with Christ above
And Christ is here with me.
We’re really not apart.
There’s just a veil between.
You will always be
Etched in our memory
Our legacy of love.




Family Reunion

I love to sing songs of victory not songs of defeat.
Songs of God’s blessings are so sweet.
But since my grandma’s gone to Heaven
Nothing can compare
To the songs of our reunion when we meet over there.


It was my grandma that taught me those great reunion songs.
And my grandma that showed me right from wrong.
So when my life here has ended and I journey here no more
I’ll be singing with my grandma on God’s heavenly shore.


Family Reunion in the sweet by and by.
I’ll meet you in the morning in my home beyond the sky.
When the roll is called up yonder nothing can compare.
To the “Family Reunion” we’ll all have up there.

The Apron

I will never forget a treasured Christmas present I received from my paternal grandmother over forty-eight years ago. I was only three or four, but I still can envision in my mind’s eye how Grandma watched with anticipation as I opened a package and pulled out a red gingham checked apron that she had hand-stitched just for me. The single pocket on the front was solid red cotton, cut out and sewn in the shape of a baby carriage with two large buttons for wheels. A white chain stitch was embroidered and topped off with a flat pearl button for the carriage handle. But what made the apron the perfect gift for a girly girl was an itty-bitty plastic doll tucked inside the carriage pocket.

Grandma believed in learning life skills early. “Little hands should be helping hands,” she often said with enthusiasm.

My preschool hands were taught how to set and clear the dining room table. Christmas baking was also part of my early childhood training. Grandma would set me on a chair that faced the kitchen counter of the old farm house, tie my gingham apron around my tiny waist and my cooking lessons would begin. We would bake all kinds of Christmas cookies. Grandpa loved smelling the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon and gingerbread that wafted through the whole house. My job was to put the Red Hots and raisins on the gingerbread man’s tummy and face. When all the baking was done, Grandma would fold my apron and put it in a cabinet drawer. Then, I crawled up in her lap and listened as she read, “The Gingerbread Man.”

In 1997, Grandma was diagnosed with terminal inflammatory breast cancer. I wondered how I would go on without her daily presence in my life. She was the stabilizing force in our family for as long as I could remember. As the time for her departure grew near, we spoke often of favorite family memories. I mentioned the gingham apron. She smiled weakly and said, “Life’s simple treasures are the best.”

After her death, I thought I would drown in the grief that swelled over my soul in waves. Shades and shadows of suffocating bereavement attempted to swallow me. I would find comfort in the Scriptures and consolation in the old hymns about Heaven, but for some strange reason the familiar gingham apron soothed my anguish, too.

I have a special drawer in my kitchen for the precious heirloom. On days I feel I’m losing eternal perspective I take it from its hiding place. Its symbolism helps keep me grounded. Every inch of it resonates my godly grandmother’s life. The three buttons are still securely fastened even after nearly fifty years – so like Grandma. She was always predictable and dependable. The decorative chain stitch represents Grandma’s keen ability to keep all of our family linked together no matter what life tossed our way. And the little baby tucked in the pocket symbolizes a little girl, forty-eight years ago, who through my grandmother, God kept safe and sheltered from life’s howling winds. Even though the apron no longer fits around my ballooning waist, it fits around my heart just fine.