Friday Tidings

Back in the day, (read: before Amazon) when I was a youth baseball coach’s wife, I had to help raise money for our teams by asking our local businesses to buy sponsorships. Each spring, I’d take my pre-written letter, my beaming smile, and a well-rehearsed plea, and walk in the door of each small store in our downtown. After five years of repetitive requests, the owners recognized me, and I could skip my little speech. Then, years later, when our community group was replacing an aging playground, the request was larger—something for us to auction off at our fundraiser. The hobby store donated a rather expensive geology kit, the bookstore gave us a set of a popular series. The restaurant on the corner gave us a generous gift certificate.  The thing was, I wasn’t the only game in town. There was the local soccer club, youth football, and orchestra kids raising money to go to Carnegie Hall. Our small local businesses supported them all.  But now it’s an Amazon world. Last we...

We emailed back and forth—a volley of typed angst and concern.  She’s a grandma like me, but unlike me, she’s attempting to monitor her granddaughter as she tackles her online high school classes. Yes, COVID restrictions have been hard on everyone. But for America’s young students, nothing could really prepare them for what to expect.  Her granddaughter is sinking beneath a weight that she wasn’t prepared to carry. Her lower grades this school year have defeated her will to try harder. One teacher told her that she should have been more prepared for the online school year. It’s not like they hadn’t already been doing it last spring. The teacher may have meant well, but to a teen, or at least this one, it was another heavy stone to add to the weight already on her back. Her grandma tries to encourage in the way we grandmas do—sharing our own stories of hardships and then baking cookies, as if a little sugar will help. Her youngest grandchild longs to play with his frien...

I heard the online sermon almost a month ago. The pastor’s words made sense, and since it was recorded, I listened again. I even took notes. But I didn’t do what he suggested. It was such a simple thing, easy enough to implement, but since I didn’t start, I never saw the difference it might have made. So, what was so hard to do? Invest just a little bit of time, once a day, to encourage someone else. Maybe it would be at work, or at home, or an online friend, or a person on the bus, or at a store. Just do something once-a-day to make someone’s day better.  It’s kind of like the pay-it-forward thing, but without the cost. The only cost is time, and a willingness to look for some goodness to share. What surprised me is that after a month, I still remember the sermon, but I didn’t invest the time in doing it.  So, this week, I pulled out those sermon notes. It will become my once-a-day investment of goodness—writing someone, texting, emailing, saying something, or calling and...

I heard him from two floors above. I followed the sound down two massive marble staircases to where the polished grand piano was placed. The piano man’s fingers played the song I’d learned as a teen, and those notes drew me to the place where I now stood. I was half a world away from my home, but the song of my youth, made me feel connected in a way only music can. The piano man sensed my joy, and asked, "May I play something else for you?" As he played I thought back to another piano man. The sawmill was brutal on unprotected ears and violent to unprepared hands and arms. Frank had his ears exposed, but the saws were carefully managed by his skilled, muscled arms. Placing huge green timber’s before the sharpened blades was his job, ten hours a day. Returning home at night, his ears would be ringing painfully. After a nightly meal, his wife Alice and step-daughters Agnes and Mary would play lilting melodies on the old upright piano. The sound was a balm to his wounded ears. T...