Author Archives: Glenys

About Glenys

A writer with a passion for God, my family and children's ministry.

My Dad’s Battered Bible

This is my dad’s Bible.

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The cover is not patterned, as my son first thought, and it’s definitely not pretty. The leather is terribly cracked, and wrinkled, and dry – so much so that the words ‘Holy Bible’ are almost obscured.

I don’t know how long my dad owned this 1957 King James edition, or where he got it from, but I do know that he read it every day, that his hands turned the well-worn pages, that this was the most important book he ever owned.

As a Methodist local preacher, my dad preached every single Sunday, and like a faithful companion, this battered Bible accompanied him. It must have traveled for miles.

Whether lying on the front seat of his car, being carried under his arm as he walked, or riding in the panniers of his bicycle as he rode to his appointments, this book was at his side. It was, for my dad, the only text from which to preach.

As a young girl, I can remember coming downstairs early in the morning to find him sitting at the kitchen table, his head pored over this book.

This is a great text, Glenys. I just need three good points to preach on, he would say.

I don’t know how many pulpits my dad climbed, how many sermons he preached, or how many lives were changed because of his words, but I know mine was.

I found his bookmark, tucked, appropriately, in Romans 8:28, towards the end of the New Testament. My four-year old grandson, when he saw it, said, in his wonderful, innocent way,

Oh Grandma, your dad nearly got to the end of his book. You’ll have to finish it for him.

There’s nothing I can do to finish what my dad began. But I can carry it on.

I can continue what he started, what he pursued so passionately in life. I can spread the Gospel – from the pulpit, or the page. I can try to put others before myself, be in love with the splendid world God made, always look for the good in everything, and live like Jesus lives in me. Because that’s what Dad did.

I hope I’ve inherited more from my dad than his Bible.

My dad died as he had lived – quietly, and humbly. He left this world like a whisper, without any fuss, or ceremony, or great reproach.

And it’s really no wonder that the heavens literally opened as we lowered him into the grave.

They were opening to let a great man step in.

Who Knows?

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On a snowy afternoon in a little Michigan town, a blue-eyed three-year old with wavy hair opened an early Valentine’s day gift from his grandma.

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She took photos of him as he snuggled with his mom to read his new book.

He lifted the flap to read his love letter from God, and his little face just lit up when he saw his own name written inside. IMG_20160122_174607 And who knows how God is at work in young hearts and minds as they open those books, and read their letters, and hear God call their very own name?

Who knew that when God called the name of Moses from within the flames of a burning bush, an entire nation would be rescued?

Who knew that when God called the name of Samuel in the quietness of the temple, that little boy would grow up to anoint kings?

Who knew that when God called the name of Mary in the stillness of a Jerusalem morning, when all hope was gone, hope would be restored to the world?

Who knows when God calls the name of Austin through the letters of a little book, what that young boy will do?

Who knows?

Visit the link below to read 50 ways for your family to celebrate Valentine’s Day, and enter the giveaway to win your own copy of the little book that Austin holds.

https://tracimsmith.wordpress.com/2016/01/21/valentines-traditions-little-love-letters-from-god/

Blog Stop #3!

Blog Stop #2!

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How exciting for me to participate in a tour for the release of Little Love Letters from God from the comfort of my own home!

This week’s stop in the virtual world is with Jenn, a homeschooling mom of eight! (Did you know that I’m one of eight too?)

Jenn blogs at Treasuring Life’s Blessings, where she agreed to post a review of the book. Be sure to stop by to read the wonderful review and enter the book giveaway too!

Jenn started writing during one of the darkest times of her life, when she found out that her baby son was going to die. Jenn and her family held little Noah for just nine precious hours. So it’s really not surprising that her favorite story in the book would be this one…..

I know that Jenn has already claimed the wonderful words contained in God’s love letter for that story, which say:

Just like I carried Noah, I will carry YOU too. With All My Love, God.

No matter how long or short our days, God carries each one of us, in those big strong arms that hold us tight, even when we don’t know it.

I’m Going on Tour!

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To celebrate the release of Little Love Letters from God, I get to go on tour…without ever leaving my home!

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For the next six weeks, I’ll be making stops at eight different websites…visiting with authors and pastors, home-schooling moms and children’s ministers…. wonderful colleagues who will help to launch my newest title, from now until February 15th.

We’ll explore ways of using love letters in children’s ministry; there’ll be author interviews, book reviews; new ideas for family Valentine’s Day traditions and crafts, and best of all, a Little Love Letters from God giveaway at every stop.

I hope you’ll come on tour with me! It starts today, with Vanessa Myers, where I’ll be sharing Five Ways to Use Love Letters in Children’s Ministry.

Here’s the schedule for the next six weeks…..join us, and win yourself a copy of Little Love Letters from God… just in time for Valentine’s Day!

Jan 4: Vanessa Myers: Five Ways to Use Love Letters in Children’s Ministry

Jan 11: Jenn: Treasuring Life’s Blessings: Book Review

Jan 18: Children’s Book Author, Diane Stortz: Author Interview & Book Review

Jan 21: Pastor Traci Smith: A New Family Tradition for Valentine’s Day

Jan 25: Noelle Kirchner, The Ministering Mom: Five Ways to Bless Your Family With Love Letters Beyond Valentine’s Day

Feb 1: Kelly: Our Everyday Harvest: Book Review

Feb 8: Laura Sassi, Children’s Book Author: Author Interview & Valentine Craft

Feb 15: Christina Embree, Refocus Ministry: Book Review

The Last Time I Saw my Dad…

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The last time I saw my dad he was sitting under a magnolia tree.

It was the last time we would smile for the camera together; the last time we would laugh together; the last time we would sing hymns together under its leafy shade. But I didn’t know it then.

It’s a splendid tree, this love, he said, with that wonderful twinkle in his eye that characterized my dad so perfectly. Just look at it! It’s really at its best.

It wasn’t quite the truth. I knew it, and he knew it. The tree’s best days were certainly behind it. The tell-tale carpet of pink blossoms on the ground beneath our feet gave it away. But my dad was always one to look up, never to look down. It was the reason he saw the best in everything and everyone.

And so we smiled, and nodded together, and admired the splendid tree.

Now then, said my dad, as he looked up into its leafy boughs. Is that Mr Blackbird? He’s always here love, and he’s always singing. Well then, give us a tune.

And Mr Blackbird did. Perched high up on the branch as it swayed in the wind, the blackbird opened his beak and sang at the top of his voice. It was a beautiful tune, shrill and clear, a morning song that carried on the breeze and brought sunshine to the grey skies overhead.

My dad chuckled.

What about this one then? he asked, as he pursed his lips together and began to whistle a tune. The blackbird cocked his head to one side and listened. We waited. And sure enough, there came the obligatory reply. And so it went on: my dad whistling a tune and the blackbird copying.

That was in May, before summer gave way to fall, and autumn gave way to winter.

And on a December afternoon, I found myself kneeling at my front window, clutching my phone, saying good-bye to my dad, as he lay 4000 long miles away, taking his final breaths.

Dad, it’s Glenys, I say, very deliberately and very slowly. It’s really important to me that my dad hear these words.

I have something very important to tell you. I can hear his breathing.

I love you Dad. And I WILL see you again.

I can’t bring myself to say the word goodbye, and so I don’t. I save it for the moment I see him again, lying very still, and peaceful, and quiet and very cold.

I slip an acorn into his pocket as he’s lying there and kiss his icy head.

And on the morning of his funeral, I’m in front of the mirror, getting ready, when I hear something right outside my window. It’s a blackbird, perched high in the treetops, swaying back and forth in the wind, and singing for all it’s worth.

It’s so very loud. And it’s so very lovely. You’d never guess it was singing in the rain that morning, or that the sky above was so grey.

It’s just singing for all it’s worth, that little blackbird…

singing its song for a man who truly taught me how to live, whose legacy of love will last forever, who saw the best in everything, who sat with me under a splendid magnolia tree in May as blossoms of pink covered the ground.

No Contest

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So I plop to my knees in front of my living room window to pray. I’m in a sleepy state (nothing new.) My head is down. My eyes are closed.

For some reason, I open my eyes and I’m literally shocked by what I see. I jump up to grab my phone. I have to capture this. Right outside my window, like it was placed there just for me, is the most spectacular sunrise I have ever seen (except perhaps for the one I saw over Lake Galilee.)

I don’t live on a lake. I don’t live on a hillside. I don’t live in the country. I live in a little cul-de-sac in the city of Grand Rapids. When I look out of my window I see houses, and concrete. But that doesn’t stop an artist at work. The canvas being painted outside my window wakes me up, and I shout to my husband, and interrupt his prayer time too.

David, you’ve just got to see this.

And maybe it’s because I’m not a morning person, and maybe it’s because I haven’t seen that many sunrises, that I’m completely overtaken by the sheer beauty of the reds and pinks and purples and yellows, as they dance behind a silhouette of bare winter trees.

I take picture, after picture, after picture. And five minutes later, it’s gone.

When I look at my phone, I see my Christmas tree reflected in the glass.

And I hear God whisper,

You light your Christmas tree? Look how I light the morning sky.

No contest.

Why We Should Look Up at the Stars

When Christianity Meets Atheism

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I used to think that Atheism was a dirty word. I could barely say it. It would leave a nasty taste in my mouth.

But last night, I changed my mind. I met Samantha.

It was at an Interfaith gathering, hosted by our church in Grand Rapids. Over four hundred and fifty people gathered there, to celebrate unity in diversity.

It was a beautiful thing: rich in culture, and color, and creativity. There was wisdom, and warmth, and wonder. It’s what happens when we humans manage to throw aside our differences, and focus on our similarities. It’s what happens when Christians and Muslims and Jews and Hindus and Buddhists actually talk to each other. But I didn’t think an Atheist would be there.

She limped up to the microphone as her dad held her hand. Samantha is ten years old. She is fighting a rare form of cancer. I couldn’t begin to pronounce its name. But she could. She said it loud and clear, right into the microphone, where her brave words rebounded off the walls and hung in the air as clear as a bell.

Hello. I’m Samantha. I have grade 3 Anaplastic Astrocytoma. …..and I’m an Atheist.

WHAT?

I must admit to being stopped in my tracks. Right there. How could this sweet young thing, battling this rare and deadly illness, stand there and say that?

How could her dad, who used to be a pastor, stand at her side and not believe in heaven?

This evening has been wonderful, he said. We’ve so enjoyed all the contributions from varying faith traditions, seeing Hindu dancers, listening to Buddhist songs, hearing verses from the Quran and the Bible…..but we’re different. We’re Atheists.

And that, right there, must have been my problem. Samantha is different to me; Samantha’s dad is different to me. And wasn’t that what this Interfaith gathering was all about…to come together, to listen to each other, and respect each other’s differences?

And although I’ve never thought of Atheism as a ‘faith tradition’, what is faith, unless it is something you believe in? And who am I, to judge the atheist, for their beliefs?

Cancer doesn’t care what religion you are. said ten-year old Samantha.

Her words rang in my ears, and will be forever etched in my mind.

I am a Christian. I believe passionately in God. I know Jesus is real, and that one day, I will be in heaven.

But I’m not here to judge.

I’m not here to convert.

I’m not here to convince.

I’m here to listen.

I’m here to love.

And even though Jesus commands me to preach the gospel to all the world, I’m going to try to do that through love. Because without love, my words, whether written or spoken, are nothing but a noisy gong or a clanging bell.

And who would ever want to listen to that?

This big old beautiful world is big enough for Muslim, and Hindu; for Buddhist, and Baha’i; for Christians like me, and Atheists like Samantha.

We love. We laugh. We live…together….

What Happened When the Angels Came for Iris

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You just never know when or how this one beautiful life may end.

It was summer… a warm, lazy, ordinary day, when my husband called with the news. Would I like to go with him? One of our wonderful church members, a lady we all loved, was lying unexpectedly in a hospital bed. They would soon turn off life support.

Would I like to go with him? I wasn’t sure. I was afraid. But I said yes.

No one met Iris without falling in love with her. Unique, bubbly, funny, compassionate, thoughtful. A lady with a great sense of style, humor, and a heart full of love. She was special.

Iris lay quietly in the bed. We gathered around her and held hands as David prayed. I didn’t know what would happen next. So I sat next to her husband and held his hand…because what else could I do?

It was then that they drew the curtain back and came in. Two ladies – quiet, unassuming, carrying fold-up chairs and harps.

Would you like some comfort in here? They said.

Who doesn’t need comfort at a time like this?

And as the nurses quietly began their work, those ladies began to sing and play.

Peace around you; Peace upon you; Peace above you; Peace beneath you.

It’s hard to describe what happened next.

The whole room filled with the sweet sound of their music, and a peace that I have truly never felt before. And although we all watched as the monitor screen went blank, and although we all saw the soft rise and fall of her last breath, it was as if the song of the harpists summoned in the very angels of heaven, who flew down, lifted our sweet Iris gently in their arms, and winged her safely home. I could almost hear the beat of their silvery wings as they soared upwards with her soul.

And if I didn’t believe in heaven before that day, I would have to believe in it now.

Iris left this earth. Iris left us. But she lives, she laughs, she loves, somewhere else, somewhere where angels gather, waiting on hovering wings, waiting to take us home.