Uplifted in a Broken Down World

Faith, now that’s my forte. However, truth be told, not forte but weak spot is where God, recently, met me. It’s been a long year in which my Faith has carried me; but the Good Lord (patience with me running out) let it be known that I didn’t need carrying. I required a flash back and a jump start to remember a lesson learned (but forgotten) decades ago.

Unquestionably, Faith is the crux of how to handle our trying seasons. It is the decisive point that renders courage and stamina for the battles we face. Nonetheless, Faith alone does not “put the pedal to the metal” and barrel us through challenge and into the victory lap. Not maneuvering in a race car, but sitting in a wheelbarrow, leads to waving the checkered flag. This is the message of wisdom I learned but let slip from memory. Venture back with me; and may this recaptured story captivate you, as it did me so many years ago.

“The Blondin Wheelbarrow Parable” took place in 1859 at Niagara Falls. High above the rushing water, Charles Blondin, a French tightrope walker, successfully pushed a wheelbarrow filled with cement across the Falls. The crowd enthusiastically cheered and proclaimed Blondin a miracle worker. ‘Twas then that Blondin asked his most applauding fan if he believed he could push a human being across Niagara Falls in his wheelbarrow. Resoundingly, the singled-out enthusiast and entire crowd yelled an affirming “YES”! However, when Blondin asked the seemingly confident supporter to get in the wheelbarrow, he refused — as did every other member of the crowd.

The masses affirming YES was Faith. Sitting in the wheelbarrow did not take Faith. It required TRUST. Though my (or your) Faith may be deep, strong and unwavering, only by TRUSTING GOD and completely letting Him carry me (you) across my (your) most dangerous challenges can my (your) seemingly impossible become possible. “When I am afraid, I put my trust in You. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid.” Psalm 56: 3-4 (ESV)

I thank God for reconnecting my Faith to Trust. Never to be forgotten again is that the question to be answered is not is my Faith strong enough but, rather, am I sitting in God’s wheelbarrow!!!

Last weekend found me leaning against a concrete pillar while waiting to board my flight. When the delay turned lengthy, the concrete pillar gave my physical weigh to the way of God supporting my spiritual stance.

While the anxious crowd was growing more self-centered, the crux of my heart was drawn to a wife/mother, her husband and her young daughter. My initial thought was regret that I wasn’t sitting, so I could have given this woman a chair in which to collapse. She was maybe in her late thirties and heavily dependent on a brightly colored cane accented with a meadow of flowers. A smile crossed my face as I assigned its selection to her preteen daughter. My grin turned to a frustrated frown as I witnessed not a sole worldly traveler giving up their comfortable seat to this heaven-bound soul journeyer. Her husband, holding secure the only rest haven available, she caved down onto her carry-on suitcase. Her head tumbled onto the cane she was grasping.

As my heart ached for this suffering sister in Christ, my soul realized when mankind becomes self-centered in “I”, their eyes are blind to any genuine need beyond their imagined wants. Why, God, has our human race abandoned stopping to help others and, instead, runs after self (and selfish) fulfillment?

While the boarding delay lengthened, another challenge presented itself to this family. This suffering wife/mother laboriously rose in need of the rest room. Her husband realized he could not escort her and be the foundation anchor she required. Instinctively, and immediately, the daughter became the support her mother needed. Though intent on assisting her mom, this young girl, also, understood her father’s worry. With an assuring smile of love radiating from her eyes, this Godly daughter turned to her dad. Her helping hand slid into a fist. Her petite thumb staunchly rose upward and flashed the message “I’ve got this, dad”. Her father, holding back welled up emotion, shook his head in thanksgiving.

Inconvenienced adults, trapped in self-pity, were oblivious to what had just unfolded. My spirit sighed as I deep down realized that it’s impossible for society to be grateful and often yields to being hateful, when they’ve chosen to focus on trivial trials and overlook the plight of critical tribulations.

No longer did I pity the weakened warrior fighting to survive, her loving husband or her “thumb’s up” daughter. Instead, I felt sorry for the self-centered crowd who deprived themselves of grasping the picture of reality of how truly blessed they are.

As I finally boarded the plane and tightened my seatbelt, I thanked God for buckling my life with my mother who instilled in me that “life is fragile, so handle it with prayer” and my father who taught me “not to look but to see”. Additionally, I asked God to guide and guard His inspiring warrior wife/mother, her loving husband and her “thumb’s up” daughter.

“He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might He increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40: 29-31 (ESV).

As my heart remembers my (to many) ancient High School days, gratitude fills my being. Academic achievement, fun filled extracurricular activities, friendships and graduating from Chicago’s acclaimed “The Immaculata” are cherished but far from the greatest High School treasures for which my soul, even to this day, thanks God.

Letters on a report card rewarded my study. Numbers, measuring the rung of worldly ladders climbed, proclaimed my level of material success. However, the caring and sharing of Blessed Virgin Mary Nuns instilled in my heart and soul the wisdom, stamina, understanding, and God given purpose that, time and again, withstood life’s greatest battles. This band of God’s angels truly planted and cultivated in my being the desire not to reach the stars, but rather, to reach beyond the stars and touch the heavens. Not hailing success but conquering my shortcomings was, and remains, the true worth these veiled servants of God engraved upon my High School Diploma.

To highlight a few:

Sister Emmanuel taught me the life skill language that sometimes the best words spoken are not for sole advancement but “soul”y others’ needs.

Sister Emilda stitched my life together in learning man’s manufactured patterns often need adjustment to the individual style and fabric God has chosen me to wear.

Sister Ivo showed me, though total fear may engulf my body, I am capable of dissecting what I want to run from and, thereby, conquer worldly fright and anxiety by opening up my anatomy to the gift of God’s inner trust and peace.

Sister Jolenta scored victory by dribbling into my heart the game winning shot that though I have my preferred court to dominate, accepting my painfully obvious limitations on my ungifted playing fields brings the championship trophy of humility and valuing myself not for who I am but for WHOSE I AM.

Sister Martin attached to my diploma the crown point jewel that God created life not to be rushed and exhausting. Worldly, fleeting success may solely be tied to how much I do, but eternal reward comes “soul”y from releasing myself from the race for earthly success and resting in God — His power, protection and provision.

The bricks and mortar of “The Immaculata’s” building no longer educate Chicago’s young ladies, but my life remains cemented in its foundation. This old lady, who is so deeply blessed to have walked its halls, forever thanks each and every teacher, administrator and fellow classmate who helped educate my brain, seeded and watered my heart and, forever, nurtures my soul.

It was a SONday afternoon. A kindergarten lassie was perched upon her daddy’s lap. His arms secured her from sliding off the dining room chair. Lodged in her daddy’s fingers was a common kitchen tool — a nutcracker. Before the duo, a bowl of hazelnuts rested. To the spectator’s eye, preparing a dessert treat was underway. In God’s “I”, a spiritual, meat and potatoes, meal was being readied and served.

“Daddy, why is it so hard to break through the outside so we can eat the yummy stuff inside?”

“My daughter, the goodness of our longed-for delights always rests inside a hard shell that must be broken before we can be nourished by life’s most fulfilling delicacies.”

“But why, Daddy, why?”

“Because we truly are grateful for, hold onto and treasure only what we cherish enough to overcome a struggle to possess.”

“Your hands are strong, daddy. Mine are not. On my own, I cannot open a hard barrier. I need you, daddy, to do it for me.”

“Sweet child of mine, I can’t do it for you. You must do it with my help. Let me explain. Worldly challenges try to ‘steal’ our dreams from us by shutting them inside a hard to crack fortress. Often, we are defeated because the process seems impossible to open up and attain. However, the ‘steel’ of God’s strength is beyond the power needed for us to break all earthly barricades. Our hands just need to trust, take hold of and use all God’s power that rests inside our hearts and souls.”

“Daddy, teach me how to do this.”

“Here, take hold of the nutcracker and discover the wisdom and way to learning this truth and its rewards. First, you must never forget that the nut’s outer shell depicts all worldly attempts to ‘steal’ your dreams come true. The ‘steel’ of God’s power is symbolically represented by the nutcracker. Your frail human fingers must cling to God’s ‘steel’ power. No defeat can ever prevent success, if you hold fast to God being your power. Just as my daddy palms now encircle your petite hands while you grasp the nutcracker, so do your Almighty Father’s surround and uphold yours. Cradled in God’s ‘steel’ strength, you can split open any, and every, worldly barrier attempting to keep you from unlocking the reality of your dreams come true.”

May we each and every one take a seat in our Heavenly Father’s welcoming lap, take hold of the “steel” of God’s strength and allow God’s palms to embrace our vulnerable hands and defeat the world from “steal”ing the dreams harbored in our hearts and souls.

Frank is a senior citizen, yet his heart is anything but over the hill. On the contrary, it is of a little boy joyfully and proudly walking by his momma’s side. His eyes sparkle as this duo round the walking track. Frank’s momma is a petite, soon to be 90 years old, bundle of bliss as she hovers over her walker.

Their mom and son walk is not in silence. While sharing laughter, language and togetherness, they somehow shout a meaningful message to all who are blessed to witness their bond. They walk not out of necessitated effort but, rather, effortlessly out of possessing the treasure of family caring and sharing.

My heart does not feel sorry for the slow pace this pair maintains; but my soul does pity the fast stepped athletic walkers, who speedily whiz by and totally overlook their reflection of what life, healthy as God created it to be, truly looks like. Why do human soles race to exercise their bodies so longevity is theirs, when stopping to walk by another’s faltering side is “soul”y the way to eternal life? As Abraham Lincoln so rightfully proclaimed, “And in the end, it is not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.”.

Thank you, God, for gifting my life the present (and presence) of Frank and his momma. They are my inspiration and Your testimony. Bless them for blessing me…

Sitting poolside, my gaze was riveted on my two grandchildren. The pool was divided with swim class on one side of the rope and regulation floaty clad kiddos on the other side. My pair were amidst the playful lot. Nearing that moment when the rope would disappear and the masses rush into current forbidden waters, my sight caught glimpse of a young “lesson boy” struggling with fear.

My guess would place this lad at nine to ten-years-old. His frame was stocky. His sport inclination fell into the clumsy, non-athletic category. My Grammy heart was drawn to him. For at least ten long minutes, he struggled on the pool deck, time after time, trying to muster the courage to jump into three feet of water. Over and over, after each failed attempt, he’d punch his thighs, shake his disappointed head and bow to fear. His mother was obvious. She was the lady, eyes never leaving this child, hands nervously moving in circles, and breaking heart worn on her sleeve. The young swim instructor, inexperienced in how to instill faith and confidence, was kind but not invested in inspiration or fundamentally believing in oneself.

Most, who were only focused on the rope disappearing, began to realize what (or in reality who) was holding up its release. It broke my heart that many grown-ups were reacting as kids — making fun of a struggle, irritated by delay and totally unempathetic of the inner fear a young boy was outwardly fighting.

After many agonizing moments, the young warrior, with his bottom nearly seated on the deck, let himself slide into the water. Spontaneously, I applauded his success. The big people stared at me in total incomprehension. Only the boy’s mother gratefully smiled and understood.

I waited for the little man to exit the pool. As his feet hit dry land, I longed to elevate him with congratulations for his bravery. My words affirmed how very courageous he was — A brave sole is not one who is not afraid. A brave soul is one who faces his fear and overcomes it. I assured this child of God he was one of the bravest little boys I’d ever met.

Never will I forget how his cast down head suddenly lifted high and his tightly sealed mouth turned into a cheek-to-cheek humongous grin. Walking away, I thanked God for touching my life with this special little boy and asked Him to be His child’s courage and protect his tender heart and self-esteem.

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not discouraged, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10 (ESV).

These past two Sundays, while doing a “communion cup collection” for my Studio Artist Son-in Love, I’ve worshipped our God as a visitor amidst a most welcoming congregation. My initial impression was their cart was in front of the horse. Didn’t take but a moment for God to correct me. His redirection signaled “but Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come unto Me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the Kingdom of heaven!’.” Matthew 19:14 (ESV).

This new covenant church, to my human eye, had their order reversed — Sunday Worship first and Sunday School last. However, in God’s insight, their timeclock was minute by minute punched in to best fulfill Divine work.

Waiting for the service to begin, I was awestruck by the large throng of unlikely worshippers filling the church. Children, from newborn up, were quietly and reverently sitting side by side their mommies, daddies and grandparents. This was not only a family of God event, but also, a family of man happening. My initial response was not thinking bountiful blessing but, rather, catastrophic childcare closure. First indication my “logical” deduction was way off course was confirmed when no explanation of an interruption of normal procedure was offered as worship began.

Didn’t take but witnessing the start of celebrating God to understand the children were not “visiting” the big church but regular participants in bowing their heads and lifting their hearts and souls to their Father God. Not only was I wowed that this was happening, but I was, also, stunned at how it was happening. Youth fidgeting, distracted (and distracting), playing with tech toys or anything else intended to keep them preoccupied was totally lacking. Respectfully, these little ones were, to their highest level, participating in worshipping their Daddy in Heaven. The young blessings were not misplaced but a mile marker of direction that God’s Words and way were never given to exclude children but to encourage their inclusion in coming to their Almighty Daddy.

Against my anticipated expectation, no kid noise was heard at any point during worship. Their joy filled voices did, in song, add to the adult choir — angelic music to this Grammy’s ears!!

Only youngsters needing to be carried out of Church by a parent were little ones needing the restroom. Each time this excursion was required, tiny arms were lovingly wrapped around a parent’s neck as the guardian securely carried, and cared for, the needs of their child. It was the picture of God’s relationship with His children and vice versa.

From birth, this congregation’s babies are not taught, but shown, how to worship God. This Church is not a place you graduate to when you are grown. Baby roots are from day one planted in God’s soil, watered by God’s Word and learn full force that Church is where you belong. Church is HOME, be they seeking and in need of celebration, discovery or refuge. Church is these youngsters’ natural setting, not an acquired seat when old enough for their feet to touch the floor when sitting. No matter how short their stature, their feet are never too tiny to stand with God and side by side their Church family.

The running order of this Church intentionally walks the path of children’s energy. Best chance of aiding focused, calm demeanor in these young worshippers resulted in putting Church Service first and Sunday School second. Chit-chat and playing with friends should always come second to praying with God; and, let’s be honest, it’s hard for the young to reverently and respectfully embrace and learn about God after being wound up from the recess of Sunday School. I chided myself for having initially thought this congregation as mixed up. Truly, it has sorted out, and eliminated, one of the greatest barriers for the young to sit in God’s presence and grow.

Am I now on the soap box of criticizing or restructuring 99.9% of America’s Sunday Worship protocol? No, I’m not. This is not my goal nor my calling. However, I can’t help but wonder if our conventional approach to the young in our churches is, in fact, shutting God’s little children out of His temple ???

As the cracks in my hand were being steri-stripped, my heart was, also, chipping away. My soul, having witnessed past spiritual healings (and sealings), now imploringly exposed my current unravelling to the Heavens. “Yo, Lord, I need SONshine to penetrate the storm clouds!!”

Never failing this ‘ol grammy, I felt God speak: “My child, you have forgotten the sole core of your soul. The Faith, Hope, perseverance, endurance and courage of your being is neither found nor flourishes in success, smooth sailing or serene scenarios. It is born and borne within the worldly broken pieces of your life’s journey. You are not in defeat. You are being called to repeat — repeat not the weakness but the strength of your Faith, Hope, perseverance, endurance and courage. To do this, you do not need My coddling arms but, rather, My foot’s strong kick to get you back heading (and healing) in the right (and write) direction. Your personal roadmap, needing to be infused into your path is, as always, fueled by your “play/PRAY list”. It is more than time for you to leave behind the perspiration of trying to outmaneuver gridlock construction. Instead, soak yourself in the inspiration of soaring above the detours. Get going…”

Alive with rekindled inspiration, I non-stop stitched together the pieces of my newly created UP WHEN YOU’RE DOWN “play/PRAY list”. Its 15 inspirational messages now motivate me to reach beyond my current mess!

I do not believe I am the only child of God who needs to refocus from repeatedly playing back my worldly challenges and substitute what is HIS and changes my downward spiral to an upward soar. For me, this is music. For you, it is whatever fills you with HIS calling, energy and optimism. I’m feeding on my soul food meal. I pray that whatever ingredients compose your needed recipe, God puts them in your hands and gives you the kick needed to cook up your personal batch of soul food.

Today, June 1, 2026, celebrates my Father’s 100th Birthday. He was Granddaddy to all who were (and remain) blessed to know him. Five years ago, he went home to Heaven, not an old man but a child — a child of God.

Though I’m known to be a lady of words, there are no syllables to express Heaven’s gain and my loss when Dad received his well-earned Eternal Reward.

Without his smile starting and finishing each day, there remains a loneliness in my heart, but my soul is not alone. My dad’s wisdom, love and influence forever guide and embrace my being and life’s journey.

The world wrongly labeled my Dad an old man. I smile cause it now, also, wrongly categorizes me an old lady. I’m not. You see, forever, I proudly was, is and will be my Daddy’s little girl.

In my neck of the woods, this week marks the beginning of summer vacation for pre, lower, middle and upper school students. Excitement already fills the hearts of my precious grandchildren. Five-year-old, Rosemary longs for the splash pad to open. Eight-year-old, Zachariah intends to open his own business. His plan has gone from building an $89,000.00 underground football/basketball stadium to opening a lemonade/cookie stand. Finding Duke Energy not interested in bringing power to his backyard for the stadium, he’s learned the priceless lesson that his family never fails to support his needs. His mommy will lovingly supply the lemonade and cookies at no expense to him or his margin of profit. As a rising second grader, Zachariah already understands the desired bottom line is black, not red. Rosemary. bless her heart, has firmly declared to her brother that neither black nor red are on her priority list. Pink and lavender are her choice targets.

My heart chuckles as I hear these two scholars chitter-chatter about their summer plans. My soul thanks God as I hear this duo’s mommy reveal the color in which she will paint their summer is green — the color of Faith. Textbooks, homework and projects will be shelved for the summer. The Bible will not.

I pray parents (and grandparents) across our universe are wise enough to not back burner learning about God during the lazy days of summer. God watches over our little ones 24/7/365. Shouldn’t we make it a priority to use summer’s spare time to root the minds and souls of our young deeper in God? School books are meant to close. The Bible should always be open. Will you share dedicated summer reading of God’s Word with your family’s children?

Between the hardcovers of this year’s summer vacation, we are called to open the pages of the greatest story ever written and share it with the souls of God’s little children. No greater rest, than resting in God, can summer vacation fulfill.