You Make a Difference

On By myrnacoleman.comIn Business, Collecting, Inspirational, Your StoryLeave a comment

What’s Your Story?

What’s your life been like? Here’s your spot to share your story; who’ve you met, choices you’ve made, paths you’ve taken. Have you been uplifted by helping others, or others helping you? What events have made a difference in your life?

HERE’S HOW:

Send me an email at: myrnacolemanfreelancer@gmail.com. Include your name, email address and a short summary (200 words or less) of your story. I’ll email back so you’ll know I received your submission. If your story is selected as one of my features, I’ll ask you to send the entire story in your own words to a private email address. Please do not include any photos or attachments in your emails to me. I’ll review it and edit to fit the tone and space on the Tell Me Your Story part of my site. My edits will be sent back to you for your approval and comments. You can include your name or keep it anonymous.  Your story will not be put on my site without your approval. 

TAKE THE FIRST STEP by sending a short summary of your story to the email above. I am eager to share your story. I know it’s a good one. You might be helping someone who is in the process of living and writing their own story.

All decisions to publish any story are made by the Editor. (That’s me.)

myrnacolemanfreelancer@gmail.com

What To Do When Your Church Loses You

On By myrnacoleman.comIn InspirationalLeave a comment

There are a lot of ways your church can lose you.  When you begin to lose interest in your church, you start to stay away, shop around, or stay home.  There are small ways this begins.  It helps to know how to recognize the beginnings of those interest-losing times.

Some of the cause for dissention in a church in deciding on materials to be taught–in Sunday School, Bible study, take home teaching aids.  Who gets to decide this, how does it get voted on?

In a church, the leader is important.  Whether you call him a pastor, minister, preacher, or other title, it’s important to know that you as a church body have someone steering the ship.  What happens when you lose your captain?

  • Church membership dwindles. 

You stay away, thinking there is no real reason to attend services.  After all, if there is a different preacher each week, no regular person in front, how can you get a message?  The truth is, a church feeds each other.  Everyone of you is needed, so if you stay away, someone else is needing you.

  • Church members shop around.

You believe that changing churches will help.  Since your leader left, why should you stay?  You start going to other churches one by one, to see if they have that something that you’re missing.  They won’t.  What you’re missing is the enthusiasm you had before.  Part of what you’re feeling is left behind.  To be honest, you’re angry or hurt that your pastor left.  You didn’t even know he was thinking about it.  What went wrong?  He told all of you he’d be there forever, so what changed?

  • Church members get depressed. 

You go to church but your heart is not in it.  You don’t know where else to be, so you’re there on Sunday morning.  You have no zip, no enthusiasm.  You and the other members–you’re just people–what can you do for your church?

Stop.  Take a deep breath.  Wait a minute.  What is a church, really?

Defined in Funk and Wagnall’s Standard College Dictionary, a church is “a building for Christian worship; a local congregation of Christians; a distinct body of Christians having a common faith and discipline”.  It doesn’t say anywhere that a church is a group of people sitting in front of a leader in order to worship or to practice that faith and discipline.  Nowhere does the dictionary refer to the church as being the leader, as depending on the leadership.  It’s easy to forget.  Every so often let’s go to the dictionary for a reminder of what a church is.  Then we’ll look in the Bible for what a church does.

A recent sermon by a guest pastor focused on 1 Corinthians 1, 12:4-12.  These passages do not mention the pastor as being the church.  Verse 4: “There are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit.  There are differences of ministries, but the same Lord.  And there are diversities of activities, but it is the same God who works all in all.”  (New King James)  These verses talk about you and me and our gifts, and God. 

The gifted church functions under one God.  Sounds like the church in this instance is a living, moving entity.  The gifted church is made up of many members who have been given gifts.  By using those gifts, members contribute to the church and help it to function under one God. 

Verse 7 adds: “But the manifestation of the Spirit is given to each one for the profit of all.”  If your gift is not put into practice, your church suffers.  The church here, is defined again as a body of Christians.  Not a building, not a leader, but a body of Christians–the members.  There is no mention of the minister as defining the church, as being the one who has to do it all.  The gifted church functions through diverse gifts.  Each of these scriptures reminds us of a logical, almost mathematical equation–the total of the gifts of the gifted church is only limited by the sum of the gifts utilized and offered to the church by each member in its congregation.

A church doesn’t run based on who is behind the pulpit, but who is on the throne in Heaven.  That’s a fact.  We know it, we breathe it, we read it, but we forget it.  Preachers come and go, but there are many members to carry on the work of the church.  When we don’t get involved (use our gifts) the way God intends us to, it hurts us.  It hurts our church. 

Okay–we’ve identified the problem, we’ve zeroed in on the solution.  How do we keep the church going while we’re waiting for the new leader to be discovered?

  • To borrow the Nike slogan, “Just Do it!”

Many of us talk, discuss, theorize, postulate, summarize, network, and so on and so forth until no one just DOES anything.  Get involved in your church.  You have an idea of how you can be of help to your church.  You love to teach, to decorate, to share encouragement, to send cards, to clean, to organize a Bible study or prayer group, to work in the nursery, to write poetry for the newsletter, and to do many other little jobs you’ve had in your heart as a way to share your love for God with your church.  Tell the church secretary or put it in the newsletter, to let others know what you’re doing because they may want to join you, to be part of the fun.  Post it on the church bulletin board, have it announced from the pulpit.  In other words, don’t wait for someone else to get the ball rolling, throw it yourself.  This is as easy as using your gifts, gets. 

Think of a church like making a pot of stone soup.  If you don’t know the legend of the stone soup, I’ll tell you.  There was an old lady who lived outside a small village and she had no food, nothing in her pantry, her garden had long since given all it had.  She had nothing but an idea.  She invited everyone in the village to dinner.  She was making stone soup, she told them, the main course, she said.  She asked each person to bring his own bowl and just one food item–something to show his neighbors what a good year God had given them.  She reminded them they were to be her guest.  The people came, each bringing the best from their garden, their pantry, and their storehouse.  She asked her neighbors to add what they brought to her soup pot, which was still nothing more than a stone boiling at the bottom of the water in the pot.  They continued to bring riches from their farm’s bounty.  One by one they added carrots, onions, cabbage, tomatoes, potatoes and meat to the pot.  Then they gathered in groups and talked about their bountiful year.  They visited and renewed friendships while the soup simmered.  It was late in the afternoon when the talk turned to the meal–although everyone felt full of friendship and fun from conversation.  She dished up the soup.  She had bragged that the soup would be delicious, and she was right.  They all told her how wonderful it tasted.  “We must get this recipe, the ladies said.” 

Making a church is like making stone soup.  When each person doesn’t contribute, the soup is tasteless–no ingredients, no flavor–just stone.  When we each offer at least one ingredient, it is zesty–interesting–even fun, with everyone sharing in the fruits for the common good of all.

  • Remember the soup.

Remember the stone soup legend whether you have a pastor or not.  Don’t forget to bring your best ingredient even if your leader has been at that pulpit for ten years.  It’s not the pastor who makes the church.  You could almost say it’s the church that makes the pastor.  It doesn’t really matter who is behind your pulpit.  It does matter Who is on the Throne.  He really cares that you’re in front of the pulpit, and He loves what you’re bringing to add to His stone soup.

Another Birthday

On By myrnacoleman.comIn Quick ThoughtsLeave a comment

My knees, now they snap, then crackle and pop.

I walk somewhat slower, so noises will stop.

The brown spots I see on my face and my hands

Can bring out the blue in my eyes, or my veins.

The stiff, stretchy stockings are good for relief

Pulling them on worse than the swellings so brief

Trips to the bathroom all through the night,

Means mornings come later and I look a fright

Grateful for mornings, just not quite like before,

Late breakfast or lunch, then head to the store.

The years they march onward, walking the pace.

Life is still busy, and I’m in a slow race.

And if you’ve forgotten or haven’t kept score…

I’ve just had a birthday, now I’m 84!

A Guaranteed Good Day

On By myrnacoleman.comIn Quick ThoughtsLeave a comment

Start off your day with a good look around, outside, inside.  What a glorious bit of blessings you have.  Thank Him for those. 

People are my thing.  I love to hear their stuff–the problems, the joys, the clicks of what make them tick.  They love to share their stuff.  Take the time to listen, and you’ll be amazed at what you hear.  You’ll hear stories about family, friends, no friends, no family, or loneliness.  These are all inroads to a person’s heart that you can hear if you listen. 

Myrna Estey Coleman

How Do You Talk To Your Customers?

On By myrnacoleman.comIn BusinessLeave a comment

            Talking to your customers is not just chit-chat.  There are many means of conveying a message, verbal being only one.  Consider the following to be additional ways your customer hears your “voice”.

            Talk Friendly.  Who makes the first impression for your company?  The receptionist gives a picture of your company to more people than all your sales force put together.  Is the image she gives the one you want your customer to see?  Sales are often lost because the telephone or front desk person seems disinterested.  Solve the problem before it arises by going over telephone–friendly ways of getting your image across that you want your customer to see/hear.  A simple, “Hello” won’t convince the potential customer on the other end of the telephone that your company is eager to do business with them.  There should be sunshine in the voice. Give potential customers a picture of a successful future.  Go over telephone methods of conveying a business attitude that shows eagerness, even excitement. Conduct a taped message seminar, let your telephone person hear the way he/she sounds to the customer.  Practice a fresh approach and a sincere voice.  “Good morning” sounds livelier than a boring hello.  “What can I do for you?” might be replaced with, “How can I help you today”, or the increasingly popular, “Hello, I can help you today“.  Changing from a helpful question to a more personalized query lets your customer know you really do care at ABC Company.  As long as you let your employee know how you want your customer to hear you, and they respond, you can make changes.

            Talk Often.  In advertising, repetition is successful.  Putting your name in front of your buying public needs to be done again and again.  The first ad you run will be noticed and filed away in the memory bank.  The second ad within a short time period reminds the buying reader you’re a credible business.  The third ad gets your buyer’s attention to product and price.  The fourth ad reminds your buying reader of your location, your phone number, and the need to contact you.  The fifth and sixth ads put you on his call list or remind him he has made a good decision if he’s called you by now.  These are not exact patterns, but advertising works best when done consistently and repeatedly.  Running one large ad once a year will get you some attention, possibly even some calls, but you’ll gain more productivity with a pattern of planned, smaller advertisements.  Price often gets attention, but unless you convince your customer you’re a source of supply for him that will offer price and quality, dependability and trustworthiness, he probably won’t add you to his list of reliable suppliers.  Plan an ad campaign that builds on this reliability. 

            Notice old, tried and true television commercials.  They start by introducing the “old comfy” company concept.  They establish a focus–a voice they want us to hear.  In an old McDonalds’ Super-Bowl commercial build-up, we knew the two men watching TV were good-old-boys who had basic needs, feeding their sports hunger by catching a good sports event on television.  We are pre-programmed, we see how laid back these two fellas are, then see them rush from their chairs and comfort to go catch the product (pictured, but not explicitly explained), to satisfy their stomach’s hunger before the rest of the game is over.  You get the idea–progressive commercials start with step one, and build.  As the buying audience, we hear the talk the company wants us to.  Do the same with your buyers.

            Talk Plainly.  In your store, your company’s voice needs to say what you want it to with no confusion.  Do that with your displays–is the department featuring a product conveying size range, price and color?  Do you have extra inventory in case your customer wants to buy by the dozen?  Is it obvious if you have a quantity discount?  Are your signs legible?  Do you let your buyer know product qualities:  color-fastness, shrink factor, limitations or lack of?  Letting a customer ask questions may be a way of getting your customer to talk to your salespeople, but forcing your customer decipher details that need to be answered before buying may be enough to make her walk out of the store on a rushed day of errands sandwiched in between getting out of work, picking the kids up at basketball practice, and fixing dinner.  Don’t make your buyer work too hard to buy.

            Talk Interested.  If you have salespeople “on the floor”, communicate–tell them the image you want offered to your customers.  Sometimes sales are lost because an employee doesn’t seem to care whether a customer purchases or not.  We each like to feel the money we spend is more than a boring transition from our wallet to your cash register.  It’s more fun to buy when the sales person is excited to sell.  The voice here could be body language, or inflection; the tone a salesperson puts into the customary, “May I help you?”  Change from the previous expected question to, “Are you finding what you need?” and put the emphasis on your buyer instead of your salesperson.  Teach your sales personnel to convey a desire to know and answer the needs of your customer and your customer hears an interest in his need to buy instead of yours to sell. 

            Talk Patiently.  Allowing the customer an amount of time to browse first is a good idea.  There is a fine line between letting too much browsing time go by before your customer thinks no one cares, and allowing him enough time to shop.  When a sales person is kind enough to ask, “May I help you find anything?” and then leaves the customer alone long enough to exercise enough intelligence to do just that, it’s smart of the selling person to offer the buying person a smile.  Then, if it appears the buyer is going in circles, he’ll be reminded there is someone to help if he doesn’t remember what it was he wanted in the first place.

            Talk Professionally.  Salespeople, beauticians, or CPA’s who talk to each other in front of a customer about what they did last night, or what their best friend did to them, let customers know they are more concerned with their own problems than a customer’s needs.  The voice they project is immature and self-interested.  If you have sales people who practice more interaction with each other than your customers, your customers have probably already figured out that your company doesn’t need their business and have gone somewhere else.  Don’t leave this possibility open–let your people, your employees know that an unprofessional attitude toward the customer will eliminate the need for their job.  School them on the proper way to approach and care for a customer, leaving their personal life at home.

            Talk Word-of-Mouth.  People–all of us–share what we think, what we feel, and sometimes, even what we know.  Word-of-mouth can be the most damaging or the most advantageous advertising.  All of the mentioned methods of talking to your customer result in your customer talking to friends, family and co-workers about your company.  Make sure your customer hears the voice you want to convey.  Insure your success by talking to those who can be your company’s voice:  your receptionist, your advertising team, your warehouse workers and your salespeople.  Remind yourself you’re just as excited about your business today as you were when you first started it.  Then believe it.  When you do all those things, you’ll talk to your customers in a voice that is friendly, clear, consistent, caring, professional, fun, and profitable.

by Myrna E. Coleman

Small Town, Big Time

On By myrnacoleman.comIn Inspirational, Land Man ArticlesLeave a comment

What we call Small Town USA is really what is at the heart of all of us–a desire to belong, to fit in, to have a place that is not just home, but where we can go to get back who we are.  Everything is fast-paced today–instant cereals, microwave meals, drive-thru banks, restaurants, even churches.  How do we get back to the slow pace necessary to notice life as it goes on around us?  Where do you and I go to get the memories back, to regain our own heritage?  In this world of whizzing travel, energy-efficient homes and electronic offices, what do we do to remember what takes us backward in time to appreciate life?  How do we slow down and smell all the flowers?

Working on a pipeline and neighboring in small towns near Wayne, Pender, West Point, and Thurston, Nebraska, reminded me of one precious lesson:  people are the same wherever you go.  High-level  conventions will never reach the heart of America like a small-town celebration.

Everyone hoped, even prayed for sunny skies to hit Thurston to greet the many out-of-town visitors that had planned part of their vacation around being involved in this centennial celebration.  There had been a deluge of rain in the spring before the special date, but it had finally seemed to subside, giving area farmers a chance to get most of their crops, corn and a changeover to the later crop of beans, planted.  Answers to prayer come in mystery modes. The sunshine two weeks previous to centennial may have been the break the farmers needed to get crops in.  The rain the weekend of the festivities could have been nothing more than insurance that farmers would attend, not having opportunity nor inclination to plant.

Rain it did.  Notices of tornado-watch meant this was more than just an innocent little plains-state rain.  Winds gusted, food vendors watched as their side tarps blew and threatened to whisk the just-cooked bratwurst to the floor.  Rain collected in heavy pools on the blue tarped-roof, then dripped and drizzled at will on unsuspecting customers.  Hot coffee in styrofoam cups warmed the hands that cradled it.  Funnel cakes were sugared and fruit-dripped, as hungry customers pulled pieces apart to pop in mouths ready for the hot just-fried calorie laden delicacy.

Sunday was the final day of celebration.  All area churches combined to put their best spiritual foot forward for all to hear.  Loudspeakers were hooked up and piped to all parts of the town of just over 130 people.  The basement of the original Presbyterian church was set-up with metal folding chairs offering a cool-seated surprise for anyone sitting down on that blustery day.  A quartet from a neighboring community raised God’s melodies to the highest as notes filtered through speakers to the lowest depths in the village, the church basement.  Getting to the basement was a trip to the past down winding, single-file width stairs that turned at right angles with a supporting hand rail following the curving walls.   No one worried that I was late, just smiled and showed me a chair.  Not a person wondered why I had come, but they were aware that I wasn’t from there.  At a later time, I would be asked where I lived and what brought me here.  Not bad manners, just an attempt to understand and welcome me to their community.  After all, it wasn’t exactly on my way to anywhere.

The rain beat down on this church so narrow in width, high in ceiling, and mighty in hospitality.  The roof high above the sanctuary was just feet above the heads of anyone sitting in the loft area.  Metal squared tiles formed the roof underneath the loft, which was still useful for a source of music seeming to actually come from His highest.  Pews downstairs were straight-backed and cushioned, and the pulpit raised above the congregation to offer a good look at the minister, a lady of gentle spirit, with a positive and strong message of a confident love and responsibility she urged for all of us.

If I believed all the rumors I’ve heard about Mid-west people; back-east folks; central states coolness, I would never have met anyone.  Without stopping to worry if someone might like me, I go forward with a handshake, step up with a hug or greet everyone with a smile. I wasn’t always like this, but learned a valuable lesson after moving to a new church half-way across the country.  I figured if I wanted a smile and a hug, they might too. That day in a church 600 miles from my home was no different; my own theory of relativity – you don’t have to be related to be friendly.

The rain continued, people mingled, and I met so many good people who had come to hear God’s word–and talked to all of them. There was a Brat (pronounced Braht) truck downtown, and that was where you’d get the best food in town.  I headed downtown to discover that downtown was actually two long blocks away and two blocks in length.  Looking for the Brat truck easy enough–there was only one.  An enterprising young lady had a gas grill set up in the back of her pickup truck, a tarp-roofed framework with blanket-sided awnings.  Her cooler was filled with ice and soda, the grill sizzled with drips of cholesterol.  She stood in the back of her truck, as content and cozy as if she was cooking at the Waldorf. It rained outside, but Jana’s warmth filled the air.

“You’d better get in the back,” she said.  “You’ll just get wetter and colder out there.”

At first I thought that was kind of pushy, getting in a dry pick-up box with someone I’d never met, but I climbed on the tailgate and over into the back.  Her business picked up after church let out.  The rain kept coming. People stood in line until she sold out and told people “15 minutes and I’ll have more!” She smiled–they smiled, and waited.

My friend Helen walked by, found me in the back of Jana’s truck, and wasn’t surprised to see I’d made another friend.  Everyone in that town on centennial day was a friend waiting to happen.  Jana’s food sales were on hold so we went next door to the Legion Hall.  The Legion had just run out of barbecue-beef sandwiches, and had inside seating going to waste, so they invited the Scouts to bring over half their supply of beef and pork slices.  They helped serve it as if it was money going into their own treasury.  I asked one lady if she had a child in the Scouts.  “Oh, no,” she answered.  “We just wanted to help them out.”

Greetings of hugs and handshakes answered each other– “Are you Freida’s boy?  I didn’t recognize you.  Where do you live now?  Where is Burt these days?”

Questions drew out the connection between a face they almost knew and the years that had put a haze on both the memory and the face.

Small towns know how to do parades better than anyone.  You won’t see any of those tall, helium parades.  Everyone participates–kids on bikes and pony carts, car collectors and their families, beauty queens, the retirement home queen, even clowns driving keystone kops cars. The rain didn’t stop.  Would we all be assembled and drizzly and no parade?

The man dripping wet, holding a small hand mike, reassured us.  “We are going to have the parade, no matter the weather.”

So it began.  The school band marched and played. Rain ran off their noses, probably into their mouthpieces, puddled up in the street, and yet they continued marching the 8-block area.  Then came the scouts–cub and boy, brownie and girl.  Everyone walked with head up and a smile plastered face.  Old road equipment including graders and snowblowers from an era recalling road closings, whirling snow, and then came new equipment showing more efficient equipment to keep roads and school open in a plains winter.

Floats rode by–a small church group singing a hymn, local farm supply companies showing products and spirit in an area of the country thriving in crops and tenacious survival.  The State Senator rode by in a 1957 Thunderbird (twice) followed by an assortment of civic minded citizens including the hospital auxiliary to a group called Tree USA–where all the marchers looked surprisingly like trees.  Wet crepe paper painted rainbows down the arms, shirts, and shoes of floaters.  The rain never stopped.  Neither did the parade–for over an hour.  A wagon train of brightly-painted oil drums served as containers for several small children excited to be on wheels.  I’ve been to a lot of parades, being one of the champion watchers, and this was one of the best.  Rain and wind, the sunshine emanating from the faces of the marchers overcame the weather.

Afterwards, the quilt display at the school included all handwork from a local quilt guild.  Displays of family treasures including grandmother’s baptismal dress worn by five family members, a table filled with grandad’s tools, and a chronological line-up of wedding dresses created by-gone atmosphere and recollections.  Rain-soaked patrons entered the school gym, spotting the cookie table holding the basket of dollar bills offering the volunteer price for a steaming cup of coffee and a brownie from a treasured recipe belonging to one of the talented cooks in town.

Back to the Legion Hall to hear the polka band. This was not just any polka band. This was a button-accordion polka band, complete with fiddle, drum and tuba. Polkas played and added toe-tapping, hand-clapping oomp-pa-pa fun. Older folks sat around the room, singing, toe-tapping  and hand-clapping.  Young children moved to the music, twirling and jumping up and down, giggling with contagious energy and enthusiasm we all missed.

People are the same anywhere.  Establish a point-of-contact and you’ll make a friend.  If there is any camaraderie to be had, it’s when each of you is interested in the other–what he does, where he lives, who his family is, why he’s “here”.  If we’re still strangers, it’s because we don’t take time.  After you’ve sat next to a toe-tapping neighbor, you’ve made a friend.

Small-town USA is where we can all live–not just stopping to smell the roses, but taking time to plant a few. Make the opportunity to get to know each other. You and I can start.  Find your own centennial–whether actual or in spirit–discover and celebrate our heritage!

Copyright Myrna Estey Coleman

His Eye is on the Sparrow

On By myrnacoleman.comIn InspirationalLeave a comment

I looked out of the window by our kitchen table and watched Sparrows, Black-capped Chickadees, startling red Cardinals and their neutral colored mates, and the noisy Blue Jays.  I checked our bird identification book to identify which species had stopped to eat, noting their color, size, markings, shape of their beaks; more than I had ever noticed before.

I became the Chairman of the Bird Board.  I read my bird book with my morning coffee, discovering what seeds each type of bird likes to eat, where they nest. I bought feeders, birdseed, suet and found a recipe for nectar for Hummingbirds and Baltimore Orioles. I bought custom described seeds and soon observed that most types of birds will eat most types of seed.

Filling over twenty feeders was taking more of my time. Dan and I enjoyed window bird watching all day every day – morning through evening.  We were visited by 2 or 3 Cardinal families, pushy, noisy Blue Jays, Finch varieties – Goldfinch, House Finch, and Purple Finch.  A surprise visit from 2 Red Breasted Grosbeaks and their mates was a treat, and the black and bright orange Baltimore Orioles appeared – a rare treat. Woodpeckers – the Downy, Hairy, Red Bellied, pecked at the suet. Not in my plan were the Blackbirds, Starlings and Cowbirds who came in flocks, landing on the ground, eating spilled over seed, later flying up to the feeders and gobbling them dry. They were the bullies in the school yard and scared every smaller bird away.

As the Chairman of the Bird Board, I had to take control.  When the bigger birds interrupted the feeding flow at the feeders, I had a block of wood that I banged on the wall from my vantage point inside. In fact, I had 2 wood blocks for 2 areas. That worked!  But only for a minute or so. 

They came back. I banged. They came back.  Dan tried to help me by waving his arms in the air or banging the table.  The bully birds left.  They came back.  Again.  And again.  The banging became a patterned and annoying ritual. 

I remember the late Ethel Waters singing “His Eye is on the Sparrow” and marveled at the way God watched over even those tiny birds.  I hummed that song and as I watched the birds out the window while fixing dinner or cleaning up the kitchen.  I looked out at the many birds, gave thanks for their beauty and brightness, and hummed that song.  The chorus of the song, “I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free!  For His Eye is on the sparrow, so I know He watches me.”  I loved that part – “…I know He watches me”. 

I was brought back to abrupt reality.  The banging on the table, the wall, my yelling through the screen, the waving of Dan’s arms, all pushed out the peace I had enjoyed while watching my storybook feeder picture of many types of birds gathered in our backyard. 

I had to put a stop to it. I declared a new rule.  We would ignore the rude and pushy blackbirds, the starlings, even those cowbirds who moved in to takeover any nest of any other bird.

I surrendered.  I will look the other way; I will buy seed more often. 

I watched as the blackbirds flew in, crowded into feeders used by small sparrows, pecked at the suet enjoyed by all the woodpeckers.  The smaller birds left as they saw the blackbirds coming in for a

landing.  I was tempted to get out my block of wood again, but I had made a “rule”, and was determined to stick to it.  

Funny thing, when you surrender to what is God’s plan, it works.  My giving in taught me what “His Eye is on the sparrow” really means. Birds live together in their own type of harmony. The blackbirds came in a flurry, but didn’t stay long. After they left, the other birds came back, one by one.  It shouldn’t have been a surprise since I’ve seen it in so many other parts of my life, but leaving it in God’s hands works!  His eye really is on the sparrow, taking care of the small, the unnoticed.  And He is watching over me. That’s His plan.

Copyright Myrna Estey Coleman

A BIT OF HISTORY:

“His Eye Is on the Sparrow,” became famous during the Billy Graham Evangelistic services as Ethel Waters sang it with the great crusade choirs.  This song had an unusual birth, authored by Civilla D. Martin, a Canadian lady who had been educated in Nova Scotia. She taught school for a short time before meeting and marrying Dr. William Martin, an evangelist and musician of sorts. Together, they enjoyed a ministry. Civilla wrote the lyrics and said this about her inspiration to write the song.

“Early in the spring of 1905, my husband and I were sojourning in Elmira, New York. We developed a deep friendship for a couple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Doolittle – true saints of God. Mrs. Doolittle had been bedridden for nigh 20 years. Her husband was an incurable cripple who had to propel himself to and from his business in a wheel chair.”

Civilla continued, “Despite their afflictions, they lived happy Christian lives, bringing inspiration and comfort to all who knew them. One day, while we were visiting with the Doolittles, my husband commented on their bright hopefulness and asked them for the secret of it. Mrs. Doolittle’s reply was simple: ‘His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.’ The beauty of this simple expression of boundless faith gripped the hearts and fired the imagination of Dr. Martin and me. The song ‘His Eye Is on the Sparrow’ was the outcome of that experience.”

Dr. Martin tried writing a musical setting for the poem, but they were not satisfied with it, and sent the lyrics to Charles H. Gabriel, an experienced musician and songwriter, asking him to write some fitting music for her lyrics. He did so and his melody has been the vehicle that carried Civilla Martin’s poem around the world.

“Why should I feel discouraged,

Why should the shadows come,

Why should my heart be lonely,

And long for heaven and home?

When Jesus is my portion,

My constant Friend is He,

His eye is on the sparrow,

And I know He watches me.”

Chorus

“I sing because I’m happy.

I sing because I’m free,

For His eye is on the sparrow,

And I know He watches me.”

“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father… Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” – Matthew 10:29

Shelter in Place

On By myrnacoleman.comIn PoetryLeave a comment

Shelter in Place

Just as requested, we’ve sheltered in place.

We’re washing our hands, not touching our face.

Cell phones for contacts, connections with many

who’ve also stayed home, family aplenty.

Zoom chats and facetime, all while online.

Luckily now, we do have the time.

More emails and texts and you-tube reveals

to show each of us how the other guy feels.

Churches are closed, but only the doors,

for so many services live stream and more

Videoed anthems are shared one by one,

while choirs, inventive, sing out and have fun.                              

Family is valued though quarters are close.

Children see firsthand what matters the most.

Doors to our shopping are “Closed”, say the Signs.

Sales are not offered, but wait – they’re online!

Lives interrupted in so many ways,

but spirit is high for so many, each day.

Schools – video meetings, internet style.

Kids keep on learning, all of the while.

Cooking and baking – new recipes make

inventive lasagna, or good chocolate cake.

Calories exceeded, no tragedy,

just seeing what tastes good to you and to me.

For supplies, curbside pickup, an adventurous new caper. Shoppers, inventive, locate toilet paper.

Eating out – curbside, take-out, deliver

as restaurants bring out great food as the giver.

Neighbors stop by with sweet loving deeds,

“Can we get you something that you really need?”

Caregivers busy in jobs, giving care.

Service and caring are seen everywhere.

Thanks to so many, the doctors, the nurses,

the truckers, the shippers, the makers of purses,

the pastors, the chemists, the scientists too,

are all working hard for us – me and you.

In all of our spare time, we’ll look all around

and thank God for goodness that’s grown leaps and bounds.

This too one day passes, of that we’re assured,

this evil new virus will one day be cured.

Copyright Myrna Estey Coleman

How Do We Go On?

On By myrnacoleman.comIn PoetryLeave a comment

                             How Do We Go On?

Father, help me find the words to paint the truth of what I’ve heard.

That people hate so much inside, they loved it when those thousands died.

We can’t believe it could be true.  We agonize and look to You.

How can they do such cruel acts?  Where do they get their cold hard facts?

My heart is filled with many things, it’s hard to speak, it’s hard to sing.

The depth of what I feel today is shared by others in all ways.

We almost can’t just carry on.  Our jobs, our games – just don’t belong.

But that’s the way we start to heal, that’s the day You start to seal the sadness,

when it’s down and deep.

You ask no more but that we give our lives to You.  That’s when we live.

You’ll comfort us right when we grieve.  You’re there with us, when we believe

that Life, our life, belongs to You.  It’s precious when we know it’s true

that Your way, Lord is nothing more than knowing You, what love is for.

We hurt for many who have died.  We’re heartsick, angry, and have tried

to get by daily.  That’s what it takes.  We hope You’ll “fix-it” when it breaks.

So Father, prayers are heading straight to You, prayers for others and for us too.

How do we find the joy, the love?  Where do we look – except above?

Please be with us as we pray.  Please surround us everyday

With strength to get us through this time, with peace that offers all a sign

that You’re the one who’s in control, that You’re the way to save our souls.

Lord, turn this act of hate around so that Your love is all that’s found.

So people know, what else they’ve got, Your love is there, no matter what.

The answer, You’ve just given me.  The only way for them to see

Is for all of us who love You so, to keep on daily, then they’ll know

There is no way to kill Your love.  There is no day that You can’t move

the earth and all the people in it, to take the time, to the last minute.

Lord, please be with us on this day and show us how to work, to play,

so You’re the center of our hearts – You – the giver of new starts.

That whether pain and agony, indifference or just apathy

creeps into people whom we meet, then we can offer You, so sweet.

For isn’t that what life is for?  To show and share Your love, and more…

written September 14, after the tragic terrorist attack of September 11, 2001

                                                                                    ©  by Myrna Estey Coleman

I love being a MOM!

On By myrnacoleman.comIn Mom StuffLeave a comment

So many wonderful memories of my Mom-time:

I used to make outfits for my 3 girls from fabric gained from coats or clothing purchased at church rummage sales, after washing, of course. Once in awhile, I went to JCP and bought brand new fabric. One of the most memorable times was when I bought flowered yellows, pinks, and blues, and made sundresses, then matching capes of solid colors. I made a vest of more subdued color for my son. We lived in the village of Pompey, NY, and my 4 beautiful children (Diana, Denise, Joe, Sarah) and I walked to church one Easter Sunday, having our own little Easter parade. I loved being a Mom!

Copyright Myrna Estey Coleman