Being Proud without being Prideful

Years ago, I was playing a game with my family called the Ungame. It is a game to improve communication with others. They groaned and reluctantly agreed to play one of “mom’s games”

 One of the questions was “Who is the person, in the family, that talks the most?” They all agreed it was me. A while later, another question was asked, “Who is the person, in your family, that is the best listener?” Again, it was unanimous…it was me again! I thought that was pretty funny actually.

As God is my witness, my mother told me that I hardly talked for years. I just relied on my older brother and sister to communicate for me. I was also very sensitive and very much in the background in my family.

Early in my walk with the Lord, I sensed Him saying to me, that I was a lot like Gideon. When I read about him, this is what I found. Gideon was hiding…check! He considered himself the least in his family…check! Then, when the Lord called him a Mighty Warrior… what…who me??? I was at once amused and intrigued.

With that in mind, I would have to say two of the proudest moments of my life were when I gave the eulogies at my parent’s funerals. My dad’s came first and several years later, I spoke at my mom’s service. I was not only grateful that I had the courage to get up there before a large crowd, but I was also able to capture the very best of their lives.

Within each of their eulogies I was able to rightfully give honor to the Lord.

Many people, after each service, told me that what I said blessed them. They said that “I nailed it” with describing them.Along with what they knew about my parents, I was also able to share private moments that I had with each of them about faith and how much the Lord loved them etc. Because of those talks, I am reassured that they both are in heaven.
They, including my brothers and sister were amazed that this quiet Linda was up there talking.

Of course, I totally owe thanks, for that transformation, to my relationship with the Lord. He has endowed me with so much strength and confidence that I never had.

Another very proud moment (and you thought I could stick with just one) is when I was around 14.

Growing up, I would pick Christmas Eve as the happiest day of the year.

Actually, we celebrated Wigilia, which is Polish, for Christmas Eve or Vigil. There are specific traditions, like certain dishes on the menu... an empty chair with a table setting, is in place in anticipation for Jesus’ coming, as a guest… shared the Oplatek, which is a wafer, symbolic of the bread of Christ. Each person would approach another and break the wafer and speak a blessing on the other person. This all had such meaning for me. Also, having all my relatives together was a joyous occasion for me.

One Christmas Eve, my Babci (my grandmother) and my aunt arrived. They however came without my grandfather. He was sick, probably already suffering from the effects of his cancer. In those days, hardly anyone said the “C” word for cancer out loud.

The thought of my Dziadje (Grandfather) being alone, was just too sad for me to consider. I told my parents that I wanted to go over and to be with him. I think they were a little surprised ,as they knew just how much this day meant to me. My father, however, agreed to drive me over to his house.

One thing, about my relationship with my grandfather, needs to be noted. I don’t think I ever had any extended and personal conversation with him…ever. He certainly was not a talkative person. Then there was the language barrier too. He mostly spoke Polish with a smattering of English. Last but not least I was kind of afraid of him.

The greatest memory that I have of him is, when we would visit, he would give each of the grandchildren a banana and a small glass of Pepsi.

I didn’t think about the language issue, when I volunteered, but that was OK. I think he was pretty surprised that I came. He and I spent the evening with a bit of conversation along with a banana, a glass of Pepsi for me. He had glass of hard liquor.

I hope the visit lightened his heart. I remember how my heart was warmed. It probably was the first time I realized, that it IS more blessed to give than to receive.

I would be remiss if I didn't say that my wedding day and the birth of my children are way up there on the top of my list a days of pride.

God has been so good to me.
by Linda Maynard

It's all because of my Dad

It’s interesting that this was our topic this week.  On Sunday, the sermon was about boasting.  It was an interesting take on the passage in 2 Corinthians 5:12.  In some interesting homiletical work, the pastor tied this in to how our father’s (it was Father’s Day last Sunday) would boast on us.  He said that we should recognize the impact of our “fathers” and boast in their impact on our lives.

I’m going to follow that advice.  My father was not an educated man.  However, I think he probably was brilliant.  I recently looked at the 1940 census and saw that he listed himself as having finished seventh grade.  My mother often said that she doubted he got that far as he “went to sea” at the young age of 13 or 14.  By the time I came along, he had a job as a night janitor at a major bank in NYC.

My father stressed education.  I don’t remember specific conversations about college nor do I remember pressure about my grades.  But somehow, the idea that we needed a college education was impressed on my brothers and I.  Of my two brothers, only one graduated high school by finishing the 12^th grade.  The other, like me, got a GED (equivalency diploma).

But this is not about my brothers.  This is about me.  This is about my boasting on the imprint of my father that led to something of which I am very proud.

If you’ve read my blogs either her on Kingdom Bloggers or on Sounds of Hope, you know I am working on my doctorate.  You know that education is very important to me.  If you’ve read Sounds of Hope for a long time, you know about my early marriage at the age of 16, becoming a mother at 17, and you know about my childhood, etc.  For those of you who haven’t, here it is in a nutshell.

I married at 16.  I became pregnant immediately.  By the time, I was to enter my senior year of high school, I was dealing with first trimester exhaustion.  I quit school.  My peers graduated and I changed diapers on a beautiful baby boy.  The next fall, I tried again.  I tried to finish my senior year.  I remember falling asleep in class.  I couldn’t do it.

My dad, who was still living at the time, consoled himself with comments about how I always loved my dolls and seemed destined to be a mother.  By 19, my father went home to Jesus and my second child was born.  Still no diploma.  Abuse, abandonment, divorce, remarriage to the same guy, and another pregnancy followed.  Five months pregnant, he beat me for the last time.  The day my first daughter was born was the same day as graduation at the University of Missouri.  Three kids, one in the ICU nursery maybe dying, living on welfare and alone, I cried as I watched my peers stream out of commencement with their caps and gowns.  However, by this time, I had gotten a GED.

Three and a half years later, I finished college.  Something rose up within me that day as I cried and grieved over my life.  Yes, it was God but it was also my dad.  It was all those times that he instilled in me that education was important.  I was so proud.  Three kids and three and a half years later, I had a Bachelor of Science degree.  My only regret is my dad didn't see that day.  When I walk with my doctoral tam and academic regalia next May, I hope he's looking down from heaven and saying, that's my girl!  I knew she could do it.

Honor…Esteem…Respect

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.

 And what does the LORD require of you?

 To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly

with your God.

Micah 6:8

The Scripture above has always been one, which I feel exemplifies my parent’s lives.

On their 50 th Anniversary, my oldest brother gave a toast, saying, “Our father is a fighter and our mother is lover”. I thought, “Wow, that I so true.”

He was a Public Servant, a Firefighter. He was the Assistant Chief

My dad was involved in labor unions, his whole life. I always believed he “fought for the little guy”. That was his intention. It was not to manipulate or strong arm people into “doing the right thing”... He was motivated, by knowing that workers could be exploited and their efforts undermined. He was a catalyst to bring fairness and truth into the testing process in the city he worked in.

He was a man, that was often admired but sometimes disdained.

We found out that there were many people who appreciated his courage and his stand in fighting for their fair rights. After he died, man after man, have told us, that although my dad’s manner could sometimes be intimidating, nevertheless, they respected him for his stand and his courage to face the “powers that be.” on behalf of others.

My mother was a good soul and giving was so part of her nature. I was often in awe as to how she put other’s needs first.

She gave in so many ways. In saying that, it could be money, but it was rarely that. She gave of herself.

She visited the sick and the elderly. She gave groceries and goods to people who were in need. She wrote encouraging notes to others, to let them know that they were remembered and important. She would lend a hand to strangers, whether it was to give them a ride (I know that seems scary to me now) or help them acquire goods that they needed for living. She was a member of her church’s ministry to visit the homebound. She not only went to their homes, but she went around town, to pick up those women, who were elderly and handicapped, so that they could visit as well. She often lent an ear to many. She was a good listener. She seemed to have a sense of another person being down and depressed. She did not give up on people. She would believe in the very best for them. I believe, in her own style, she too, “fought for the little guy”

Sadly, when my dad passed away, he did not receive the honor, in his city, to have flags flown at half mast. The hierarchy stubbornly denied him what he deserved. However, there was redemption for his memory.

As his funeral procession passed the last Firehouse that he served in, the crew of that shift’s firefighters, stood in front of the house. They were at attention, saluting him. They did this courageous act, despite the presence of the very Officer that denied my father his due. Our family will never forget that. And the “little guys” did not forget my dad.

My mother was remembered by many at her wake. We had a journal in which people could write about the ways that she impacted their life. There had been obvious things that we had seen all along. But,it was a thrill to know how she affected people, in personal and sometimes secret ways.

I visited the State Fire Academy after my father died. The man, who was the head of it, concurred on what I have told you about my dad. He said “I remember your dad, with that cigar sticking out of his mouth, speaking his mind for justice.  He would not mince words. He was not a touchy feely kind of guy, but we all had a respect for him.” Does that make you think of the Prophets of old?

They lived their lives, not for accolades, but to live out the Gospel.

 My mom had a funny thing she would say when someone complimented her. She would say “If I had a quarter for every nice thing you say to me, I would give you a quarter for each one!”

So to my dad… I say “Dad…when I join you, I’ll bring your trademark cigars!”

To my mom… I say “Mom, you’d better have some quarters ready!”

Linda Maynard

When Love Showed Up... in the Hallway of a Nursing Home

Sometimes we read about the Lord's love in His word...for us and for the world. At times, we experience it in our own lives...heart to heart with Him, personally. Then, there are times that we are witnesses to the outpouring of His love on another person. That is such an experience that I had years ago.My dad suffered a devastating stroke and was paralyzed completely on one side of his body. He was a big man in size and a man who presented himself in life, as a huge presence. In other words, you knew when he was in close proximity.  He didn't make a lot of "small talk" but you knew...when he talked, everybody listened.
He ended up in a Nursing Home, as his physical needs were too great for our family to administer his care. It was an agonizing decision, for our family, as anyone who has had to do this, knows. But it was one in which he wanted. He could see that his physical and daily needs were more than anyone could handle.
Because he was a man of few words, visiting him brought a challenge. He had no hobbies, didn't watch TV too much or read, so conversations were basically one sided. Nevertheless, I would never decide not to visit him. He was just too important to me.
One day, right before visiting him, I was crying out to the Lord on this issue. I said something like “Lord, I want to honor my dad, but truthfully it is sometimes hard to go and see him. I wish he could talk more. I am just discouraged and feel helpless. The visits are so long"
I heard the Lord asking me to make my dad a Christmas card, using my art and my calligraphy. I sensed the Lord wanted a specific scripture on the card. It also was important that I personalized it for my dad. This is the scripture, I used

“For unto you, Henry, is born this day in the city of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord."  Luke 2:11.

My heart leaped. "Yes Lord, I can do that!" I was thrilled to have something that I could do. I was equally happy to use my gifts.

So I made the card and proceeded to drive to the Nursing Home. 

When I arrived there, my dad was in his wheelchair, waiting in the hallway. No matter how the visits were from my perspective, my dad always looked forward to the company of visitors.
I walked over to him...kissed him...and put the card on his tray. He picked up the card to read it. What happened next was totally unexpected by me.
As he read it, my dad started weeping and weeping...his shoulders convulsing. I had never seen this man, who was bigger than life to me and to many, ever cry.
I believe, that moment, my dad knew, beyond a shadow of doubt...that God loved the world; yes...but that he loved him...He loved Henry.
My dad was being touched mightily, by the Holy Spirit.
Then, in an almost urgent manner, I thought, “Lord, should I present my dad with Your salvation message?" I mean, it seemed like the perfect time. The answer I heard was “No...I am breaking up stony ground in your father's heart"
So, this wasn't the time...this wasn't the "event" we look for with our loved ones. Yet...it was huge.
Love came down and reached into the depths of my father's heart. Love grabbed tenaciously to him. He couldn't resist its force and power. Love knew, as with all of us, just how to woo my dad with His love.
I almost was frozen to the spot. It was such a Holy moment, right in the hall of that Nursing Home. It was Holy Ground. I was blanketed with a weighty Presence of God and stricken with amazement, at the vastness of His love for me...for my dad.
As happens sometimes to many of us, at time went on, I was unsure if I heard the Lord right in not presenting the gospel message that day. The moment seemed so fertile.
That same loving God, who knows me so well, knew I needed reassurance.
Months later, I had a woman, that I didn't know well, come up to me at a Retreat and say this “I see a gray haired man. You love him very much. The Lord wants you to know that he is breaking up stony ground in his heart to make it supple and into a heart of flesh, to receive God's word and love"
You can imagine how comforting that was to me.
Subsequently, I would, guided by the Holy Spirit, either talk to my dad or sometimes write to him about spiritual matters...never a lot and never to overwhelm him.
The Lord ended up telling me that my dad's decision to receive him as Lord and Savior, would be private and I would not witness it.
I was given that Blessed Assurance that we long for our loved ones...for their sake and also for our hope. That we will one day be reunited with them again, as we celebrate life...face to face with our Savior.


by Linda Maynard

Weekly Bible Readings

Monday... December 19 2011...Isaiah 43:1-7

Tuesday...December 20 2011...Psalm 118

Wednesday...December 21 2011...Romans 8:31-39

Thursday...December 22 2011...1John 4:7-21

Friday...December 23 2011...Isaiah 9:6-7

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