Author Archives: Glenys

About Glenys

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

What Happened on the First Day of Fall…

It was the first day of fall when they came to take the silver maple down.

I had loved that tree so much. So ingenious the way the previous owner had wrapped the deck around her sturdy trunk.

‘Our Shady Deck’ we used to call it. It was like being in a tree house. No one could see you. No one knew you were sitting up there except the birds.

And now she’s gone.

Just this morning I went out there to take one last look. One last photograph.

And call me crazy, but I even put my hand on her strong trunk and apologized for what was about to happen. I prayed over that big stupid tree who was making me cry and thanked her for the shade she brought, and the squirrels she entertained, and the sheer beauty of her yellow and orange leaves in the fall.

And you can laugh, or snort, or scoff, but I wouldn’t be my dad’s daughter if I didn’t love all living things, and marvel at the beauty of every tree, and respect their place in God’s world.

I was there when they made the first cut, like a mother accompanying her child through surgery. For three long hours, I endured the incessant whirring and grinding and sawing.

I saw every leaf flutter helplessly away; every branch plummet to the ground.

It’s eerily quiet now. Even the birds are not singing. She’s gone.

And now when I look up, instead of her leaves, shimmering and dancing, I see blue, blue sky instead.

And what, you might say, could possibly be wrong with that?

It’s a Beautiful World Colette….

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Dear Colette,

It will be many years before you can read these words. Little one, you are just one day old, wrapped up tight, a perfectly precious bundle of joy. You are only just beginning to open your eyes, to peek out in wonder at the world that has been waiting so long to greet you.

It’s a beautiful world Colette.

It’s a world of color, and love, and hope, and family. Just down the road, there’s a two-year old boy just waiting to share his toys with you. He doesn’t really know much about you yet. He doesn’t really know that his little sister is sleeping peacefully in his mama’s arms. But you will grow up together, and he will love you.

Much too far away, out towards the east, there’s a grandma and a granddad here, who prayed you into this world, and who are yearning to hold you… their first granddaughter.

And even further away, in a country called England, you have a great-granddad too.

Colette…you may never get to meet him. But if you did, I know he would laugh with joy. And with a twinkle in his eye, he would scoop you in his arms, lift you high on to his strong shoulder, nestle you there, and sing you to sleep. And he would be so proud of you.

This is your family Colette. And even though we may be far away, and the distance in miles may be great, as long as we have love, nothing can separate us.

Sleep well with your mama, little one. I will be there soon.

With Love,

Grandma

Why I Don’t Understand God

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WARNING! THIS POST CONTAINS AN IMAGE YOU MAY FIND DISTURBING. (BUT SOMETIMES I THINK WE NEED TO BE DISTURBED)….

I don’t understand God.

I can almost, almost, sympathize with the atheist. How can it be that some of us live in a world of fun, while others live in a world of fear?

How can it be that I can jump on board my little wooden boat, and sail out across the lake to enjoy a picnic while others jump on board a refugee boat to escape being beheaded?

Daniel Ettter/The New York Times

How can it be that in my backpack there’s coffee, and chocolate biscuits, and a big fat subway sandwich, while in his backpack there’s only lemons for sea-sickness and a green laser pen, because if in the dead of night, he is bobbing around in the waves, he wants passing ships to be able to find him?

How can it be that I can take pictures of lily pads and sailboats and sunshine on waves while others try to cling to their children in the dark waters of the Mediterranean sea because their overcrowded boat capsized?

How can it be that my grandson can play on the beach with his bucket and spade, while the lifeless body of Aylan lies on the sand, and he’ll never play again?

AFP/Getty Images

I don’t understand God.

I don’t understand why I was born in England, and Aylan was born in Syria. I used to think I was blessed….I used to say I was blessed. But if I am blessed by being born where I was, what does that mean for Aylan or his brother, who drowned beside him, or his mama whose body was found washed up, or their father, who is left to wrestle with what just happened and the decision he made to rescue his family from ISIS and let the cold sea claim their lives instead? Are they blessed too?

My sister told me once, We are as much trapped in our world as they are in theirs.

But I am NOT helpless. And shame on me if I cannot crawl out of my cocoon of affluence to sign every petition, and weep for that boy, and give what I can to help.

And pray.

Because I DO believe in God.

I just don’t understand him.

Five Ways to Help the Syrian Refugee Crisis

Why You Might Want to Listen to that Little Voice that Prompts You to Action…

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On a crisp autumn morning one year ago, I drove to Kalamazoo, a little town in Michigan, on my way to present a workshop at a Children’s Ministry event. Nestled in the back of my car were two boxes holding treasure: hot, off-the-press copies of my newly published children’s book, Love Letters from God.

That autumn day would be the first time I would sell my book; the first time I would read a story out loud to an audience; the first time I would sign the inside cover; the first time I would meet Jess.

She was young, and quiet. We didn’t get to talk much. She was in her second year of children’s ministry. She listened intently. She made notes. She asked questions. And she bought a book.

She would tell me, later, that she didn’t have much money that day. But a little voice inside whispered that she should buy a book anyway.

Who is it for? I asked, as I always do when I sign the book.

Jess didn’t know. Perhaps she would give it to a niece, or perhaps she might use it in her children’s ministry. She left, with the book tucked under her arm. Inscribed on the inside cover, I had written the words: May the one who turns these pages be blessed.

And the rest of the story belongs to her….

Well later that day, my husband and I had a sweet surprise. We had been trying to get pregnant for a few months, waiting on the Lord’s timing… I was a few days late – so off to the store I went (to buy another pregnancy test.) Sure enough, the Lord’s timing had arrived. We were almost in disbelief. To be honest, my husband didn’t believe me right away. We were so excited!!!

Lo and behold, God had wanted me to purchase “Love Letters from God’ for my very own son, Josiah! What’s so cool is that this book walked with us through our entire pregnancy. Mr. Josiah and I read the stories together over the next 9 months as we waited to meet each other. I would flip through the pages, usually reading one or two stories at a time. We would talk, and pray together – I’d fill in the blanks with “my precious child.” I’d describe to him the pictures on the pages (that’s the Art Teacher in me)…

I remember one specific day, maybe 21 weeks in – I read “The Little Boy Who Listened.” We had just found out we were having a son and we couldn’t for the life of us decide on a name… I’d ask my little man what he wanted to be called, I pleaded with the Lord to give us the perfect name… My husband and I just couldn’t decide. It seemed that the pressure was too great! I read this story about 3 times, all in a row. Something about it stood out to me. It was the last paragraph:

“What a wonderful night for Samuel!” It read. “God knew his name. As the candles flickered and the shadows danced, a happy little Samuel closed his eyes and finally fell asleep.”

It was that paragraph that brought peace to my heart — God knew my son’s name, just as he had known Samuel’s name! I opened my bible and highlighted Isaiah 43:1: “I will send for you by name. You belong to me.” My son, my Josiah, was already named by my Father in heaven, and soon, very soon, I would get to meet him and know his name too!

My husband ended up naming our son, Josiah Thomas, just moments before he entered this world. He said God had just put it on his heart! It was, and is, the most perfect name for our little one.

Here we are, 11 months later, and my little man can just start to see. We flip through the colorful pages of the book, and talk about the love that God has for him, and for me, and for our friends and family! It’s something very sweet. “Love Letters from God,” was just as much a gift for me, as it was to my son!

The inside cover of my book is signed by Glenys: “May the one who turns these pages be blessed.” We were blessed. We are blessed, by the truth on these pages, and with a beautiful son!

Why a Dead Flower Pod Might be Better For Our Kids than an iPod….

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So his little four year old legs are pedaling fast, and his yellow helmet leads the way. I’m almost running with the stroller, trying to keep up. When suddenly, my grandson stops pedaling and jumps down from his bike. He has seen something that interests him, something so ordinary that most would pass by without a second glance. But not him.

He’s mesmerized by a dying flower garden.

Look at this Grandma! He shouts in excitement.

He’s holding a brown stem, with a fat pod at the top. It’s just a dead flower head. Most would think that all its beauty has long since faded. But he knows something different. He knows that inside that pod, a secret is hidden. Something is waiting in there. And no one knows how many seeds it contains. No one knows what color they are.

We stop. Because this is the beauty of being a grandma: we have time.

He collects. Lots.

Back at home, we spill the pods onto the table, where he proceeds to prise open each one, slowly and carefully. He will not miss a single seed. They all go into his bag.

His favorite ones are those that are perfectly black and round, like teeny tiny bouncy balls. And when one accidentally rolls on to the floor, he’s on his little hands and knees, searching for it like it’s missing treasure. He doesn’t stop until he finds it.

And while the world bombards our children with screens, and sounds; with toys that light up, and buzz and flash in their efforts to entertain, I get to share my days with one who is delighted by simple seeds, and mushrooms, and the sound of cicadas in the trees.

And I’m reminded of a dark summer’s night, long ago, when the evening sky was pierced with a zillion twinkling lights, and how that same little boy took my hand in his and said, in his wonderful three year-old way:

Grandma, look at the stars. Aren’t they marvelous?

And these days, these moments, these precious times, they are marvelous to me.

How are you fostering a sense of wonder in your children, your grandchildren, or your children’s ministry?

The Story of the Hippo Bucket

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Twenty six years ago, a grandma in a floppy hat was shopping In a little seaside town in Spain.

She wandered among the colorful stalls, looking for just the perfect beach toy for her newest grandson. She paused outside the toy shop where buckets and spades swung cheerfully in the Spanish sun and fishing nets stood to attention. And there, on the shelf, sat a little blue and yellow bucket, waiting patiently to be bought.

The grandma in the floppy hat picked the bucket up. It was a hippopotamus, whose nostrils made the perfect watering can. And she bought it for her little grandson.

That was the day the hippo bucket joined our family… just a little plastic toy that James, my son, loved to play with. Every day of our two week holiday in Spain, he would scoop up the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea and pour them out onto the golden sand. Wherever James went, the hippo bucket went too. On the beach, in the pool, in the bath tub, the little hippo bucket accompanied him everywhere.

We snapped the picture of his little blonde head as he bent over the bucket, gripped the handle in his chubby fingers, and poured water from its nostrils.

Somehow, we made room in our suitcase to fly that bucket home to England. And for the next ten years, whenever we went on holiday to Devon, the hippo bucket came with us.

One day a big truck came to our home and delivered twenty empty boxes. We were emigrating to America and our sons were given just one box each, in which to pack their toys and games.

Choose wisely, we told them. Take with you only what is precious.

Into James’ box went the blue and yellow hippo bucket, where it sailed four thousand long miles across the Atlantic Ocean, on its way to our new home in Michigan.

And for the next twelve years it lay in that box, along with legos, and teddy bears, and a little yellow robot.

Until one day James had a son. And when that son was three years old, the hippo bucket came out of the box.

Now it’s my little grandson who plays with it on the beach, who bends his blonde head over the bucket, who holds it with his chubby hand, and pours water from its nostrils.

And suddenly I am the grandma in the floppy hat, my blonde haired son has become the father, and his smiling grandma who flew with us to Spain lies in a quiet graveyard in England.

Take with you only what is precious. My words echo back to me.

And even though oceans may separate; even though the waves of time roll incessantly in, erasing our footprints and stealing our yesterdays, I’m holding on to those precious memories and taking them with me…

And when I close my eyes, or watch my grandson play, I can still see that little blonde head, and his grandma on the beach, as the waves roll in on the shore.

Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. Dr Seuss

What Happens When You Let God Sit in the Teacher’s Chair, Instead of You…

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So I’m sitting in the teacher’s chair at Central Michigan University.

It’s my first time here- at Mission u, an annual event sponsored by United Methodist Women, where people come together to explore the mission of the church in the current world context. My role is to teach the children about Latin America.

They’ve already discovered and labeled the Amazon River, the rainforest, and the mountains of Peru. They know all about the Mayans, the Aztecs, and the Incas.

We’ve started to talk, a little, about how some of the children there have no homes, and no toys; how some have to work all day, and don’t get to play.

And now it’s time for the Bible Story. The children lie on colorful rugs at my feet.

Close your eyes as I read. I tell them. See the pictures in your mind.

I’m using a book authored by Barbara Bruce, a veteran Christian Educator who has written extensively about learning styles. The story we share is one of my favorites. It takes place on the hillsides of Lake Galilee when the disciples, in an effort to protect Jesus, try to send the children away.

So my little ones close their eyes. And lie. Their feet, adorned with the Caribbean jewelry we made, are still.

Take three deep breaths. See a hillside with many people. See Jesus sitting on the ground talking to the people….what does he look like? What does his voice sound like? See mothers come through the crowd with their children…how old are they? Are they quiet or noisy? Are they boys or girls?

Now hear some men yelling at the children to go away….how do the children look now? Are they frightened?

Now hear Jesus say ‘Let the children come to me; do not stop them because the kingdom belongs to such as these.’

Now see Jesus take all the children in his arms, hug them, and bless them. How do the children look now? How do the men look now? How does Jesus look now?

When you are ready, open your eyes, and slowly come back to the room.

I barely finish talking when up jumps one of our youngest. He cannot contain himself.

I saw the WHOLE thing! He says excitedly. I saw every page!

Well tell us. I say, laughing.

Well I saw all these children, playing on the hillside……in Peru.

I’m confused. This is the moment when, as a teacher, you feel like a failure. This little guy is mixed up. The story didn’t take place in Peru. The story took place in Galilee. But I don’t say anything. (Thank goodness.) I just nod, and wonder where he’s going with it.

And so all these children just wanted to have fun in Peru. And all of a sudden, these men said ‘you can’t play here. You can’t have fun here. Go away.’

And then Jesus comes.

Jesus comes and he says ‘no, that’s not right. The children can stay here. I want them to be here…because children everywhere should have fun. Children everywhere should be able to play. And Jesus hugs them. And that’s it. That’s the whole thing.

It’s quiet in the room. For a moment, I don’t say anything. The other children listening- they don’t say anything either. I look at my co-teacher as sunlight streams in through the window and we shake our heads in wonder…. at this eight year old boy, who has just demonstrated perfectly the upside-down kingdom of God, where a child becomes the teacher, and the teacher becomes the learner.

I am the one who is mixed up!

Don’t I know by now that Jesus is meant to be lifted out from the pages of the bible and moved from the hillsides of Galilee to the mountains of Peru? That Jesus belongs, not simply in a story, but in the streets of Haiti, and in the marketplaces of Mexico, and in the fields of Guatemala, where he yearns to welcome every child who comes to him?

‘Children everywhere should have fun. Children everywhere should be able to play.’

I’m back at home now, thinking about what I learned from an eight year old boy in the last few days. And I just can’t help but wonder…

When Jesus called the little children to him, was it really so that he could bless them, or instead, was it so they could bless him?

Q & A With Denette Fretz, Author of The Next Door Series, and a Giveaway!

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I’m browsing the children’s section of the bookstore, as I frequently do, when a title catches my eye. It says: Pirates on the Farm. Now who wouldn’t want to read a book like that? Intrigued and amused, I pick it up and read from cover to cover. I love it, and so does my four year old grandson…..I love parables; he loves pirates. Here’s a book that cleverly combines the two….

Written to help children learn about loving their neighbors, Pirates on the Farm is Denette Fretz’ first book in The Next Door Series and tells the humorous tale of a family of five swashbuckling pirates who move into a little southern community.

Her second book, Conrad and the Cowgirl Next Door, is just as cute and clever as the first.

Poor Conrad is not only struggling to master the art of being a cowboy, but also has to cope with Imogene Louise, who lives next door. It’s another humorous tale that helps little ones learn about loving your enemies.

I’m thrilled that Denette not only agreed to participate in a Question and Answer session with me, but also graciously offered to give my readers an opportunity to win their own signed copy of one of her books.

Hi Denette! Before we talk about your books, tell us a little bit about yourself and how you became a writer.

Whether it is forming art, buildings, quilts, gardens, music, computer programs or inventions, humans desire to generate something distinctive. It is part of being made in the image of a creative God. Since I was young, my imagination and my need to create “something out of nothing” has best been expressed through stories. (My second grade teacher even blamed my new glasses on “writing too long of stories.” What educator tells a seven-year-old she is writing too much???) My mom’s book collection and my career as an elementary teacher translated into a fondness for picture books and the goal to author one. Writing is a “good and perfect gift” I have been given and continue to work to develop.

I wonder what that second grade teacher would say if she knew that those ‘too long stories’ would lead you to become an author! What inspired you to write Pirates on the Farm?

PIRATES ON THE FARM was the first book in The Next Door Series and its inspiration relates back to praying for insight and my vocation as an educator: I wanted to write a humorous, engaging story that piqued kids’ imaginations and offered parents (or teachers) one more way to bind the second greatest commandment, “love your neighbor as yourself,” on children’s hearts. Integrating a subject kids love—pirates—into a creative parable gave voice to biblical truth in both secular and Christian markets.

How about Conrad and the Cowgirl Next Door….what was the inspiration for the second book?

The inspiration scripture for CONRAD AND THE COWGIRL NEXT DOOR came from Matthew 43:7a, “If you love only those who are kind to you, how are you different from anyone else?” This book continues The Next Door Series’ “love your neighbor” theme, but highlights a different aspect—loving your enemies. Like PIRATES ON THE FARM, I chose subject matter kids love: cowboys and cowgirls.

The illustrations for both books are so fun! What did you think when you first saw them?

With PIRATES ON THE FARM, I mentally prepared to be disappointed with the illustrations. I didn’t believe someone else’s interpretation of my manuscript could match the beloved characters or vivid scenes roaming my brain. When I first saw Gene Barretta’s illustrations, they were not “as good as” my mind’s pictures—they were better! I absolutely LOVED them.

I love them too! Did you have any say in the illustrations or how the characters were depicted?

Since both stories are picture-dependent for humor and message, I supplied detailed illustration descriptions when I submitted each manuscript. That way, an acquisitions editor could “see” the comedy, depth, and text versus illustration juxtaposition. When each story began the design process, I supplied character descriptions. Gene expanded on my ideas and added his own, resulting in more than I “could ask for or imagine.”

Who is your favorite character in each story and why?

When I wrote character descriptions for PIRATES ON THE FARM, I included dog-like characteristics for Pooch. (When Pooch was two, he fell off of a passenger ship and was raised on a deserted island by his hairy dogmother.) Gene did a fabulous job of portraying Pooch as happy, friendly, playful, naive, and loveable. I also really like “Dad,” a farmer in the story. Dad is quiet, strong, unassuming, and “the hands and feet of Jesus” to the pirates.

I just have to interrupt Denette here and say how hilarious that Pooch was raised by a hairy dogmother…so clever and funny! Okay…who is your favorite character in Conrad and the Cowgirl Next Door?

The main character, Conrad, is my favorite personality in the second book. He is a city-slicker who approaches his goal of becoming a cowboy with eagerness, wide-eyed wonder, and…a Mega Ultimate Extreme First Aid Kit. Despite his naivety causing humorous calamities and conflict with the bossy cowgirl next door; Conrad remains kind and optimistic. Also, Gene’s depiction of him is heartwarming and adorable.

I agree Denette! A wonderful feature in each book is the inclusion of a parent letter in the back which offers discussion questions to help children learn more about the biblical principles in the story. Can you tell us a little more about that, and the reason behind it?

Since both books are written as parables, the purpose of each parent letter is to connect the story to specific biblical truths and scriptures. My hope is that my stories foster discussions between parent and child, as well as help the child understand and live Matthew 22:39, “love your neighbor as yourself.” For example, in CONRAD AND THE COWGIRL NEXT DOOR, Imogene is a know-it-all cowgirl who is unkind to Conrad. The last discussion question asks the child to evaluate if there is an “Imogene” in his or her life, talk to a parent about the situation, and list some ways to show love to “her.”

What a wonderful way to help little ones try to apply biblical principles in their own lives! Since the books form part of The Next Door Series, I assume there’s another book or books in the works? Can you tell us anything about that?

A third manuscript has been written, but is not currently in process.

Well if it’s anything like your first two books, I can’t wait to read it! Thanks so much for stopping by today Denette, and for offering readers a chance to win one of your books.

Be sure to enter the giveaways below and stay connected with Denette via:

Author Website

The Next Door Series on Facebook

Twitter

Enter to Win Pirates on the Farm!

Enter to Win Conrad and the Cowgirl Next Door!

The Story of Half a Book

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It’s summer 2010. My first children’s book manuscript sits on a shelf. Half finished. Gathering dust. It’s been there a long time.

And it would have stayed there, had it not been for my husband.

Where’s your book? he asks one day.

Oh, that. It’s on the shelf.

Why?

Because it’s a waste of time, that’s why. Who gets to write a children’s book? Who gets to write a children’s book AND have it published by Zondervan?

I had started Love Letters from God several months before, inspired by the beautiful words of Sally Lloyd Jones, as I read her Jesus Storybook Bible.

Every morning I would eagerly grab my pen, pour out my soul on the page, and be swept away by the beauty and mystery of the creative process. What began as an empty, blank sheet of white was somehow filled with life.

On those mornings, I think I knew how God must have felt when, from a desolate void of nothing, came a wonderful world of everything. It was good.

Then I stopped.

I stopped because I had a visitor one day. I never saw him, but I heard his voice whisper in my ear as he tapped me gently, but persistently, on the shoulder.

What are you doing? You can’t write a children’s book. You’ll never get it published. You’re wasting your time.

I listened to that voice. It was hard not to. Obediently, I put my half-finished manuscript on the shelf, where it sat. For a long time.

Enter David, my husband, whose middle name is Encourager.

Glenys, do you believe that God called you to write that book?

The answer to that was easy. I had known the truth of that since the very beginning.

Do you believe God wants you to finish it?

The answer to that was easy too, even though I didn’t want to say the word.

And then David says something I will never forget. It’s simple, and silly, and utterly life-changing.

Well why would you not finish it…

What would have happened if Noah had only built half a boat?

One of the reasons I married David is because he could always make me laugh. I laughed at the thought of all the animals falling off a half-constructed boat, and the impossibility of such a vessel floating. But even though I laughed, that silly statement was exactly what I needed.

I pulled out that half-written manuscript, blew the dust away, picked up the pen, and began to write. The rest, as they say, is history.

Love Letters from God would be published, four years later, by Zondervan. That one book would turn into a series of its own, and point the way to thirty other titles.

And I think about all those abandoned manuscripts, half-written, lying on dusty shelves, in hope-robbed rooms, and how God cannot possibly publish half a book.

I think about Jesus, and what might have happened if, half way through his ministry, he had given up. But he didn’t. He completed fully the work to which he was called, until finally, one day, he was able to say:

It is finished.

And wasn’t it only when Jesus had finally finished, that God could really start?

Wonderful Wigan

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John Wesley called it Wicked Wigan but it’s Wonderful Wigan to me.

I just never thought it was wonderful when I lived there. Somehow, in this little northern English town, the skies always seemed grey, the winters long, the sunshine sparse, and the opportunities bleak.

But it’s strange how I have grown to cherish a place I once couldn’t wait to leave; how on a sunny Monday morning when my lovely sister and nieces are playing in the brass band, their notes can make me cry for days long gone, and family time that slipped through my fingers.

This is what I think as I stand, listening to them play. Dressed in their smart black suits with white shirt and striped tie, they sit under the red canopy, their hair blowing in the wind. We gather nearby to listen – my sister and brother, my nephews, and nieces. I video the girls as they play. Later on we will walk by the lovely canal that weaves its way like a secret through the streets of industrial Wigan, and my nephew, Jake, will run ahead of us and back again, like I used to do when I was a little girl.

Fifty long years ago, those were my feet, that ran back and forth on this same tow path, laughing with my dad and my brothers and sisters as we fed the ducks and ate our cream cheese and spring onion sandwiches.

Once, when it rained, we sheltered under one of the little stone bridges that arch their way over the water and watched as the raindrops made ripples that spread from bank to bank. I didn’t know it then, but I was a lucky girl to have been born in this little town, and to be part of such a wonderful family.

But I know it now.

And this is what I think about as the notes of All Through the Night are carried on the breeze and through the streets of Wigan… the far-away town where I was born.

And sometimes, even though I am four thousand long miles away, I imagine I can still hear them.

https://youtu.be/XgVbSZ8cgjg