chapter excerpt, featured, grief, heaven, Jenny Fulton, Soothing Rain, Tonya Jewel Blessing

Is Heaven in the Yellow Pages?

By Tonya Jewel Blessing from the Bible study, Soothing Rain

Some of us are preserved from the experience of dealing with death or the question of heaven when we are young. Other’s lives are forever affected by the tragic death of a parent still needed for a child’s safety and comfort.

While doing some research recently on the internet, I came across this very moving poem:

“Mommy went to Heaven, but I need her here today. My tummy hurts and I fell
down; I need her right away.

Operator, can you tell me how to find her in this
book? Is heaven in the yellow part? I don’t know where to look. Maybe if I call
her, she will hurry home to me. Is heaven very far away; is it across the sea? Help
me find the number please; is it listed under ‘Heaven’?

I can’t read these big, big
words. I am only seven. I’m sorry, operator. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Is your
tummy hurting too, or is there something in your eye? If I call my church, maybe
they will know. Mommy said when we need help, that’s where we should go.”
(author unknown)

I know some of the poem’s phrases are outdated. Most people don’t use the Yellow Pages these days, and, with computerized services, operators are a rare commodity. Yet the yearning of a young child for his or her mother moves my heart. All kinds of thoughts and images of the child came to mind.

  • How long has his or her mother been gone?
  • Who is taking care of the child?
  • What does he or she look like? Who is reading this seven-year-old bedtime stories and rubbing noses for Eskimo kisses?

When I read the last stanza, I am brought to tears, “If I call my church, maybe they will know. Mommy said when we need help, that’s where we should go.”

There are churches all over our cities that are resourceful and safe places for grieving families to go. But the church is more than a name, a building, or even the pastor. According to Scripture, believers in Jesus are the Church.

As women who know Jesus, we’re the mothers to those who have no moms. We’re the ones who tend to tummy aches and bandage scraped knees. We read stories and place gentle kisses on the tear-stained cheeks of the hurting.

We give voice to the struggling, abused, and bruised.

We dig wells, feed the malnourished, and find jobs and homes for struggling young adults.

We know the secrets of heaven, and hold keys that help others who are caught in grief and uncertainty find a place of rest and peace.

ISBN 13: 9780997897630 ASIN: B074F2C8SV
Soothing Rain is a women’s crowd breaking system of stories and discussion questions (a global interchange). https://www.amazon.com/Soothing-Rain-Living-Water-Refresh-ebook/dp/B074F2C8SV/

Most of us have never worked as a telephone operator. But we have worked and will continue to work in sharing our time, resources, and the truths of eternity with those struggling in our communities and around the world.

If you know of a child who could use some comforting wisdom, I’d like to introduce you to a debut author in our publishing group.  Jenny Fulton’s story, Princess Lillian and Grandpa’s Goodbye is precious, a valuable book in the library of any teacher, parent, or grief counselor.

 

Indian woman an angel and a child
Princess Lillian and Grandpa’s Goodbye, children’s book

Watch a scene from Tonya Blessing’ Appalachian novel, The Melody of the Mulberries set during the early American Spanish Flu epidemic.

 

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Acknowledgment, adaption, ah autumn, breath of joy, compassion, darkness inside, election season, grief, Guides, op-ed, Speak Wonder

Words, Like Nets

Thoughts from Ah, Autumn: Breath of Joy by Kathy Joy

Today, writing a blog feels inadequate as I shift under the weight of yet another personal loss. In a short week, I found I had lost a dear family member and a co-worker whom I really liked.

“Words are like nets – we hope they’ll cover what we mean, but we know they can’t possibly hold that much joy, or grief, or wonder.”

Jodi Picoult, Change of Heart

I feel like any combination of words cannot capture the wistfulness of wanting everything to stay the same; for everyone to remain alive; for grief to pack its bags and visit somewhere not so close-to-home.

What a relief to know we don’t have to cast out our nets and fish for words to express how we feel.

There are other ways to reach out for meaning. Or to stay folded-in.

In difficult times, carry something beautiful in your heart.

Blaise Pascal

Beautiful Things You Might Carry in Your Heart…

  • A memory
  • A discovery
  • An anticipated event
  • A person you love
  • A song
  • A landmark place where you discovered God
  • A promise
  • A smile
  • A secret
  • A scripture
  • A rare and splendid moment

Let these treasures sustain you, carry you, ground you and tie all your loose ends to something real. Something of substance.

We know we must carry on even during a time of grief. How is that possible? Here is a quote I often turn to.

Just for Today

Just for today, keep it simple.

Don’t be so hard on yourself.

Look at your life

for all you have gained

rather than lost.

Look at your path for everything

you’ve gotten through, rather than

where you think you should be.

Celebrate rather than criticize.

Experience rather than expect.

Stand in the sunlight

Rather than the shadows.

Quietly honor your heart

rather than disown pieces of yourself.

Take a break from all that.

See how that goes.

Just for today.

Author, L.C. Lourie

Maybe today you need this. If not, I’ll not be offended.

The power of empathy is often felt deeply in silence.

Thoughts from Ah, Autumn: Breath of Joy by Kathy Joy
Kathy Joy, Author of the Breath of Joy seasonal gift books

Book KATHY JOY for a speaker event here.

©2020 Capture Books and its authors are happily represented by the publicity of Books for Bonding Hearts where you will find novels, memoirs, gift books, and several children’s books of high literary quality.

breath of joy, Inbound and Outbound Marketing, Kathy Joy, op-ed

Chocolates to Knives

Kathy Joy, Author of Winter Whispers

February 12, 2020

Some Dove chocolates have been lurking in my desk drawer at the office; I’ve been able, somehow, to resist them. But today is different. Today, as the calendar marches inevitably toward Valentine’s Day, my resolve is weak.

So today I’ve opened the little foil packaging and here’s what the inside message says:

“Believe in those you love.”

And just like that – a flood of memories leaked from my heart. Memories of my own sweetheart, Roger Hoffner, who died way too soon.

I believed in him.

And because I carry his memory like a treasure, I still believe in him – in the present tense.

Roger grew up in a time when boys admired men who wore leather gloves to work and tucked knives into their pockets to use when needed. He wanted to emulate them.

He was raised in a country swath of America that believed in ruggedness and self-sufficiency. He learned, by example, that you don’t toss something in the trash just because it quits working – you figure out how to fix it and you take the time to do it right.

He grew up in a time when bicycle skeletons were salvaged from junk yards; kids learned how to dismantle them and rebuild them to their own specifications: banana seat, high bars, squeeze horns and pedal brakes.

Living as a kid in the green rolling hills of Northwest Pennsylvania, Roger worked odd jobs for uncles in exchange for a hot meal and maybe a game of poker. He learned to drive tractor and toss hay bales into the mow, long before he was driving a car.

One of Roger’s most prized possessions was his pocket knife. I’ve kept it in my jewelry box.

That little 3-blade wonder came out when the girls got Barbie Dolls at Christmas time, the toys impossibly ensconced in those hard plastic packages.

The small but capable knife was used on our farm to:

  • cut twine,
  • fix a wooden latch,
  • remove a splinter,
  • break the ice on the horse’s buckets,
  • shorten a piece of tack when saddling up and once,
  • to remove gum from our oldest daughter’s hair.

I saw him:

  • slice a watermelon,
  • sharpen a pencil,
  • open a can, and
  • cut bait from the fishing line.

I often saw him cleaning his fingernails with the smallest blade.

Eventually, as his own nephews grew responsible enough, Roger started gifting little pocket knives to them so they’d be ready for any eventuality.

Each of our daughters also received a pocket knife when the time was right.

I fondly remember their papa cutting reeds by our pond with his knife, to fashion them into organic musical instruments for the girls. They held the long green leaves “just so” and blew through their thumbs and fingers to render nature’s finest music.

The sound came out something like chirping crickets mixed with bird warbling – it was simply beautiful.

The pocket knife, over the years, came to mean much more than simply a handy little tool. It represented a hearty resourcefulness. A hard-scrabble work ethic, a readiness for just about any situation.

I spoke with another guy who carries one, and he told me he’d attended a concert once and was horrified when the security guard confiscated the tool and tossed it carelessly into a garbage bin.

My friend fished his pocket knife out of the bin and left the venue; he was not going to lose a lifelong companion over a one-time event, so he went outside and people-watched while his wife enjoyed the music inside the arena.

That’s how strongly men of a former generation feel about their pocket knives, and that’s how strongly Roger felt about his, too.

I miss him.

Roger’s own pocket knife, a prized possession and heirloom.

I carry Roger’s memory in my heart. I will forward his legacy to my son-in-law. On his birthday coming up, I believe I will gift him Roger’s trusty pocket knife.

I wouldn’t want Nick to find himself in a situation and not be prepared. Especially when the day comes that he takes his own kids fishing and needs to cut some bait.