When Weeds Become Centerpieces

 Long years ago when my family lived in South Dakota, my dad was entranced with the way someone went out and collected dried flowers and weeds from fields and roadsides to add to pictures and sell. He had us children go with him at times to help collect pretty dried weeds to try to do the same thing.

So when we knew he didn't want us spending money for flowers for his memorial service, a couple of us decided we would instead send some nieces and nephews out to the edges of their properties to try to find some pretty dried grasses or flowers or plants to make dried bouquets instead of fresh to decorate the tables at Wilson Memorial Center for the meal afterward. 

And the bouquets would all be free! 

Joella had Mason jars that we used, which the girls decorated with pieces of ribbon, raffia, or burlap bows. 

 I purchased some miniature chalkboards to which we clipped a few of Dad's common quotes or advices or photos. 

This one above was one Joella remembered Dad often saying, "A Christian is either up or getting up."

For this centerpiece I had found an old red jalopy pickup at Hobby Lobby, which reminded me of Dad's many old jalopies through the years, and his love of living in the country. 

When we children were very young, Dad tried his hand at photography, learning to develop all his own pictures, all of which were black and white at that time. He built his own "dark room." 

I also bought this little painted decoration at Hobby Lobby--"Forgiven." It was precious to me.

Joella chose to purchase a bundle of wheat instead of flowers, which she put together with a chalkboard with the verse, "Let us not be weary in well doing, for in due season, we shall reap, if we faint not."

She thought of the many good things Dad has reaped, especially a Christian family, 

eight of which were present at the memorial service. 

Sam's church in Colorado sent in this beautiful bouquet as well. 

 

But beneath the bouquet of flowers is the most important bouquet of all, a family photo of all the Morley clan who had gathered only four months earlier to celebrate Mom and Dad's 60th wedding anniversary. 

Although per Dad's own request we had to resort to dried weeds for centerpieces, in memory of a man who was a misfit in society and who had a heart for the down and out--

wife, children, spouses, and grands were Dad's memorial bouquet.

And what an amazing bouquet that is! 

Dad's Bouquet--Bells and Seeds

  Dad did not want flowers at his memorial service. "No money wasted on flowers!" he said.

That was the way Dad was, and we knew it.

Mom was determined to honor who he was and what he requested.

His memorial service needed to reflect who he was. 

But...

 

So what is a family to do to show love and respect?

Well, two of my nieces work at a florist shop, and the florist manager wanted to send a bouquet which we could not and did not refuse. 

So no, we did not spend any money on flowers. Per Dad's desires.

But yes, we had flowers.

They were our link between a one-of-a-kind father

and our real world where there are almost always flowers at funerals--at least funerals where people loved the departed.  

Joella and I were the two sisters combing the florist shop the day before the memorial service last week for what would represent Dad best in the bouquet that Susanna was going to make for him as a gift from her florist shop. 

Pink flowers--no. 

Expensive stuff-no. 

Red roses--well, no. 

Heart-shaped wreaths. No. 

Cross-shaped bouquets--no. "The cross Jesus died on was not frilly!" Dad said once when he saw a cross made of flowers on a church wall. He was not a bit happy about frilly crosses.

 

Dad was more concerned about not being a burden to family, not wanting them to spend a lot of money honoring him in the typical ways. He was far more concerned about leaving behind an honor of God and His Word.

So this is what we settled on, asking Susanna to add in some pretty brown grasses or stalks of some sort, to give the bouquet a little more masculine appearance. We loved how it turned out. 

Just this morning I read in Isaiah 40:8, "The grass withereth, the flower fadeth; but the word of our God shall stand for ever."

We made God's Word a prominent place in the memorial service.

Susanna also found a cross made with moss (not flowers, mind you!) which another niece wound clear lights around. We all liked that as well. 

Dad was all about the "old rugged cross." 

Susanna put into the bouquet what are called Bells of Ireland, which I thought was extremely appropriate, since Dad is from Scotch-Irish stock. I believe his mother was Scotch-Irish while his father was English.

To say nothing about all the years that Dad took his family out playing bells and the way some of the family is still playing them!

And another appropriate addition Susanna made to the bouquet was this seed pod, which I thought was so appropriate for Dad. Dad is gone now, having lived his life just like the plant that left behind this pod. But Dad left behind a lot of seed.

Four sons.

Five daughters.

Fifty-four grandchildren.

Eight great-grandchildren with at least three more on the way at this moment. 

The church was nearly half filled with just Dad's own progeny, not counting friends and acquaintances who attended. 

This morning I couldn't help noticing with sadness how the flowers in the memorial bouquet are already wilting. Truly "the grass withereth, the flower fadeth; but the word of our God shall stand for ever." 

Let's be true to the Word of God. 

To Play Perfect Notes--or to Play with Passion?

"To play a wrong note is insignificant; to play without passion is inexcusable."

---Ludwig van Beethoven

This is a quote I read on a tote of someone in Penn View's music group last year. It especially impressed me because of how the pianist, in a moment of singing passionately, forgot her correct notes and fumbled on the piano.

But everyone forgave her, because it wasn't about playing perfectly, but about playing and singing with a passionate heart, a heart passionate with the love of Jesus.

And now this week as our Morley family is making plans and gathering in for the memorial service for my dad, I can't help thinking about Dad's passions--despite all the wrong notes. 

 In his eighties, Dad purchased a bass fiddle which he loved to play. He would play for any of us who came who were willing to listen--or even if we weren't very willing. 

He would still play that thing.

He would hit nearly all wrong notes, but boy, did he love to play that fiddle along with some song being played on a CD or sung by someone in person, beating out the time (usually all the wrong timing, too!)

But Dad played that fiddle with passion. He was transported clear to the heavenlies somewhere every time he grabbed that fiddle and started drawing the poor, bouncing bow across those twangy strings. 

Dad played an awful lot of wrong notes in his life, leaving his family wincing and gulping and trying to figure out what to do with them all.

But no one can deny the passion with which Dad played in certain areas of his life--like passing down the sword of God's Word to the next generation; reading books like Pilgrim's Progress out loud; making sure his boys learned everything he knew about mechanics and more; and making family a priority.

And I couldn't  help wondering what God thinks of all of us, with all our fiddling passions, and all the many other passions that we have.

Let's hope we have some passions--like ministry, helping others, pro-life ministry, music, woodworking, writing books or reading good ones, photography, community service, fighting fires, cooking healthy, passing on God's values to the next generation.

It seems to me that God would rather that we be passionate about something, even if we hit only wrong notes, rather than mediocre and listless and lukewarm and not care about anything. 

Dad played many wrong notes; but he played with passion.

And I am quite sure that I play--and sing--and do--many wrong notes, but I pray that I may play with passion...

and sing with passion. 

and love with passion!

Because "to play a wrong note is insignificant; but to play without passion is inexcusable."

Dad's Gone--Now It's Up to Us

  Dad, along with Mom, has been in my life, whether near or far away, ever since I was born. 

Others have come and gone, but Dad has been Dad all my life.

 

He was the dad, the parent, the authority figure, 

the grandpa, the patriarch, 

the head of a large family and clan, and the example and pattern. 

 It's up to us now.

Where he followed God and did the right things, we must step up and do the same. 

Where he obeyed God, we must obey also.

Where he reached high, we must also reach. And where his wagon was hitched to a star, we must hitch ours to the Star. 

 

 Where he carried the torch successfully, we must carry that same torch.

Where he failed and made mistakes, we must not sit around blaming, but step up and do better. 

Where his example left something to be desired, it's up to us to be a better example.  

 

 It's up to us.

And it begins with love. 

Love forgives. Love lets go of blame. Love always hopes, always endures. Love seeks not her own, is not puffed up. Love seeks to understand, to be patient, to return good for evil. Love reaches out, embraces, speaks kindly, gets tough sometimes, defends the helpless, confronts sin. Love was what we received when God first loved us. Now it's up to us.

It's up to us to love as Christ loved. It's a big assignment. Are we ready for the job?

Memorial Service Wall Hanging--in Shatters

Small disasters have been happening the last couple days--including Tim ending up in a ditch along a snowy road, some animal issues, and a big shattering crash yesterday morning as Rose ran up the stairs!

Not that it was Rose, or even her fault. It's just that the beautiful, elegant wall plaque that I had purchased to take along to Dad's memorial service event, and which Hannah had hung temporarily on the wall at the top of the stairs suddenly fell off the wall and down the stairs--shattering hopelessly into a hundred pieces big and small! Glass lay on the carpet all around poor, dismayed Rose, who wasn't sure what she had done to deserve this!

I wasn't sure why it had happened, either! I was deeply disappointed that something it seemed God had provided was suddenly--well, unprovided, after all.  Dad did not want money spent on a lot of flowers at his service, so instead, we siblings were trying to come up with creative ways to honor his memory without a lot of flowers.

And a plaque with one of our favorite old hymns, complete with music notes (since music was such a part of our family) was especially suited. It had said, "All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!"

And I thought that was so appropriate--how God had provided for my dad and my family for 86 years.  

 

I had been looking forward to putting that plaque in our new house after the memorial service. I didn't know what to think. But just because a beautiful thing I bought in memory of Dad and God's faithfulness to our family had broken didn't mean God's faithfulness was messed up!

 God's faithfulness is still great, even if a wall plaque with that verse on it broke.

God is still faithful, even if at times we are not.

God's faithfulness is still there even when we fail, when we sin, when we do not believe in His faithfulness;

even when we just see brokenness and are blind to His grace. 

"All I have needed truly You have provided, Lord."

"Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!"

 

God Has No Scar!

Today I was talking with someone on the phone, and we were both reminiscing about how we sometimes carry scars--memories we can't forget. We may forgive others or forgive ourselves, but the scars and memories, because we are fallen human beings, often remain. 

But then we talked about how God is different than we humans are. He is able to totally forgive and forget sins and wrongs done--after we confess and forsake them. He casts them into the depths of the sea, as far as the east is from the west, and He is so divine that He doesn't remember them against us again. 

"And," I suddenly realized, "God has no scars!"

Nothing to remind Him of our sins and wrongs. No scars at all! Jesus took our sins upon Himself, and carries His scars to His Father, Whose heart is all good, whole, and gracious. A heart with no scars! And just like that, I knew I had to sit down and write.

So I did.

 

God Has No Scars!

My heart, O God, has injuries;

   I can't erase its scars.

I can't forget some memories;

   I've put up iron bars. 

 

But on the rugged cross, O Lord,

   Where Jesus bled and died,

He took the nails in His hands,

   The spear deep in His side.

He took the piercing of His feet,

   The holes that still are deep--

He took them for our ugly sins,

   The sins that make us weep.

The sins that I have done, O God,

   The guilt that I must bear.

The sins of others done to me--

   Wounds quite beyond repair.

In heaven still Christ's scars are seen

   That were not made in vain.

His stripes were for our healing,

   His bruises for our pain.

But though Christ's hands still bear His scars,

   God's heart is whole and free,

With mercy wider than the heav'ns,

   And deeper than the sea.

His goodness stands unending,

   His kindness beautiful.

His pardon so far-reaching

   It overwhelms the soul.

 

Deeper than the ocean vast,

   As far as east from west,

God puts those awful, hurtful sins.

   To the penitent gives rest.

God throws them to oblivion

   And totally forgets.

No hellish demon can retrieve

   Though wide he dip his nets.

In our place the Savior died

   To bring us near from far

To God Who loves us as His own,

   The God Who has no scar!

 

(by Anna Lucas)