I just finished a summer bible study by Beth Moore, on the book of Esther; and I just have to say there is something so special about studying the word of God with other women! I would also like to say God has given me some amazing women with whom to study His Word!

The final night we gathered for a pot luck meal and then participated in an activity which is a part of the feast of Purim — the celebration that occurs at the end of the Book of Esther. The woman who led us in the activity is Jewish — and I might add — a very funny person. She read Chapter 3 of Esther while the rest of us shook noisemakers in our hands and booed loudly every time the name of Haman was read. We also cheered wildly when the name of Mordecai or Esther was read! We had so much fun!!

The essence of the Book of Esther is what is called “Reversal of Destinies”. In the beginning of the book, Esther, Mordecai & their people, the Jews, are destined to die while Haman (the villain) is “sitting pretty” – right next to the King. However, through Mordecai and Esther’s cooperation with each other and with the unseen God of the book of Esther, everyone’s destiny reverses. Haman is disgraced and killed on the gallows, while Mordecai is exalted and becomes the King’s right-hand man. Queen Esther is esteemed throughout the land and she and her people are delivered from death. What a great deliverance the Lord gave them — and what an amazing “Reversal of Destiny” each one received.

My Jewish friend’s animated face kept us all laughing when we were supposed to be booing as she read the scriptures that night and booed along with us. Looking at her I wondered . . . was Sharon’s destiny reversed because of Esther and Mordecai’s bravery? Had one of her ancestors been destined to die from the edict manipulated by Haman? If God hadn’t reversed the destiny of the Jews in Persia would Sharon be sitting here with us today?

And then it dawned on me . . . I looked at each woman with new eyes! Every one of us seated around the table, had been sinners for whom Jesus had died. At some point in our lives we had turned to Him and by His grace had been delivered from the Kingdom of darkness into the Kingdom of God. Much gratefulness filled my heart for my friends seated with me and for the gift of salvation that had delivered each one of us! A deep sense of destiny and purpose settled over me and I knew . . . we, like Esther and her people, had experienced a reversal of destiny. And God, in His great wisdom, had knit us together “for such a time as this”.

Over lunch today my friend and I had a discussion concerning our value. My friends’ issue dealt with her children growing up, leaving home and not needing her as much as before. I’ve had similar conversations with others recently, and it has aroused questions in me about our worth and value.

Does our value come from doing or from being, or from both? As we talked today I reassured my friend her value was still intact and although her role in her children’s lives was changing, she still had great worth. Unfortunately, I’m not sure my words soothed her aching heart, nor did they bring peace to her questions regarding her value.

Driving home I was reminded of the place in scripture where Jesus talks about not being anxious because God takes care of even the birds of the air and the lilies of the field. Once home, I looked up the passage: “Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” He states the birds aren’t “doing” anything, yet they’re cared for by our heavenly Father. Then He confronts the heart of the matter . . . our value. “Are you not of more value than they?”

I find it interesting that Jesus asks them a question rather than simply telling them they have value. Aren’t you more important than the birds of the air, he asks? Don’t you think there were some people there who didn’t feel like they mattered? Some whose circumstances in life were dictating to them they were without value. Perhaps there was a mother in the crowd whose children no longer needed her. I think He said those words specifically for them! The ones who didn’t feel they had value or worth.

I believe the conversations I’ve been encountering are directing me to a truth He’s wanting to work in my own heart as well. My value isn’t based on what I do or don’t do. My Heavenly Father values me! Our heavenly Father values us! I believe He’s asking the same question today . . . “Are you not of more value than . . .?

Journals fill an entire drawer underneath my bed, as well as a shelf built into the headboard. Over the years I’ve written in journals in order to chronicle the moments I deemed special to my life. Taking time to re-read the entries in those journals is something I rarely do. However, today, while writing on the next-to-last page of another journal, my mind wondered what was at the beginning. Thumbing to the front and landing upon a post written in early 2006, I was astounded by what was recorded there.

It read: “I found this line in the second Mitford book and I just have to write it in this journal! Father Tim has realized he can’t live without Cynthia, and as the realization comes to him he begins running from his place on a hill to his home where she is waiting. As he runs towards Cynthia with the intention of asking her to marry him, the author pens these words: ‘. . . he sensed he had come at last to a destination he’d been running toward all his life.’ “

My journal continues: “I love that quote — and I feel like it states exactly what I believe about this upcoming trip to England, where we will meet spiritual leaders from all over Europe. All our lives we have sought to be in relationship with people who were like-minded about the things God had put inside us. People who weren’t looking for position, but friends who desired to help other friends. So it is with that in mind, regarding this trip to England, that I too say, ‘we sense we are coming at last to a part of our destiny that we have been running towards our whole life.’ “

Looking upon it from where we stand today, the truth of this journal entry is staggering. The trip to England, and subsequent meetings in the years following, joined us to a people and to certain spiritual leaders who are now impacting our lives, the life of our church and the lives of the generations behind us. Our relationships with these leaders have grown and deepened, while our hearts and lives have expanded to see the Kingdom of God in a fresh, new light. The men and women we met in England have become our friends. Friends who are now helping us.

In 2006 we only had a sense that we were running toward our destiny. Today we know we bumped right into it, and the impact has changed the course of our lives forever.

A few days ago, in the early morning, before opening my eyes, the awareness of this special day drifted through my mind stirring strong emotions in my heart. This day marked the premature birth of our granddaughters Claire and Ellery six years ago. Ellery went to live with Jesus after only 9 hours, while Claire faced a long and hard battle for her life. Claire’s battle lasted for several months before she was able to go home and live with her family! This day would mark another milestone in her life as she turned 6 special-years-old!

As this reflection filled my heart, my mind rapidly moved to another special occasion which had occurred four years ago this day — my son Paul’s marriage to Revonna. My son’s wedding day was deeply meaningful in and of itself, but these thoughts led me backward in time, and intertwined with yet another experience — a time when we didn’t know if Paul would live or die, much less grow up and marry.

Paul, like Claire was a premature twin, and his brother Luke left us while still in my womb. During his first week of life Paul came very close to death. He fought, we prayed, God answered and Paul survived, but his doctors warned us he would probably be blind and deaf, and have cerebral palsy leaving him unable to walk.

On the night of his wedding, as he waited in a room behind the altar, Paul could clearly hear the music that marked his time to walk to the altar and stand beside his brothers and father as he waited to see his bride come through the door. As Revonna gracefully moved towards him, his eyes filled with tears at the sight of the woman whom he had loved since high school and whom he was vowing to love for the rest of his life.

These combined memories overwhelmed me as I offered up praise to God for allowing Paul to live and marry Revonna; and for the miracle of these six precious years of little Claire’s life. In that early morning reverie I realized this day would always be accompanied with deep sentiment resulting in praise to God. For each year would bring with it remembrance of our little ones who now live with Jesus, as well as answers to our prayers prayed for tiny little babies, who entered this world too early, who did not die, but lived to declare the works of the Lord! (Ps. 118:17)

For me, opening my recipe box causes me to recall some extremely sentimental moments and friends who are a part of those moments. Recipes are usually simple index cards containing ingredients to delicious food dishes, placed behind specially marked tabs entitled main dish, vegetables or soups . . . not so with me. Oh, the name of the dish is there, along with all the necessary information and measurements, but if you look closely you’ll find — up in the right hand corner — the name of the person or place from which each recipe originated.

My all-around, use-for-anything-requiring-bread-dough recipe has my friend Pat’s name on it. As soon as I see her name my heart warms, I smile and sometimes I even pick up the phone and call her. Pat and I met Jesus together at a campus ministry retreat. I was 18 and she was 20. We were radically changed that weekend. We leaned on each other as we learned about prayer, bible study and living life as followers of Jesus. We were inseparable. If I was struggling I could count on her to pull me up — if she was struggling, I would be there for her. Together we left our “old” lifestyles and bad relationships, and found a little church where God was moving, and where we found more college students who also loved God and wanted to serve Him. Our lives paralleled each other for a long time . . . I married a year and a month before she did. We were in each others weddings. Later, we each had 4 children within the same time frame. (Except she went on to have 2 more after she turned 40 — not me.)

Times were simpler back then, and although we both graduated from the same college, our desire was to be stay-at- home wives and mothers, and raise our children to love and serve God. We could go get jobs when the kids were grown.

We endeavored to feed our families on our “shoe-string” budgets, so we were always trying to help each other create inexpensive yet tasty meals! We would meet for lunch at our homes, feed the kids lunch, send them out to play, then share our hearts with one another over the remaining home-cooked meal. Frequently, we would copy a recipe from one another as we discovered simple, affordable dishes that our children enjoyed.

Another recipe card explains How To Can Peaches — something I didn’t learn growing up. The name you’ll see in the upper right hand corner is Wanda A. Wanda took several of us newly- married girls under her wing and taught us how to can peaches and tomatoes, and how to make jelly and jam. We would go to her home for our lessons, and afterwards we would gather in her kitchen or on her patio for a precious time of bible study and prayer. Although she knew the Bible better than we did, she would designate one of us to share something we had learned that week from our time with Jesus. We probably didn’t even know the scripture “older women teach the younger women”, we just knew we loved Wanda and she loved us and was helping us become godly wives to our new husbands. We would leave her home with our jars of canned peaches or jelly, and our hearts filled with the truth of God’s word.

Just one more card I’ll mention here, and that’s my recipe for home-made french bread. The name on this one is Evelyn Bunn and it makes me cry whenever I see her name. This precious little lady, walked with a limp due to having had polio as a little girl. I never once heard her complain. The only expression she ever wore was a beautiful smile. If the pastor ever asked someone to share what Jesus had been doing in their life, she would stand up with an amazing testimony of God’s answer to her prayers. Evelyn taught me to pray. I watched her from a distance as a young college girl and I knew something was different about her. Then one day the older ladies asked me to come to their prayer meeting. I listened as Evelyn’s sweet spirit combined with her deep relationship to Jesus, and I discovered the reality of communion with Jesus like I had never known. I was never the same. Evelyn went to live in heaven before I wanted her to go, but she left her legacy of prayer in my life, and in the lives of other young women in that church. I am forever indebted to her.

Other names come to mind when I think of my recipes. Names of friends who walked with us when we lost our son Luke, or were there for us as we fought for our premature baby Paul’s life. Other older ladies who taught me about child-rearing, and about various aspects of housekeeping. Friends with whom I’ve laughed and cried. Friends who remain and friends who’ve moved on. Many who deposited truths in my heart and created lasting memories with me. All of them, precious to God and to me!

Maybe it’s time for a change. Maybe I’ll no longer call this box my recipe box, but instead make it’s title reflect the treasure it holds inside.

I know . . . I’ll call it My Friendship Box.

Last weekend my husband Don, my adult daughter, Stephanie and I drove 3 hours to spend the night and next day with our son Dan, his wife Felicity and our precious grandchildren, Jesse, Claire, Ada and Macy. They live 5 + hours away, and sometimes we start missing them so much we all decide to meet in a city half-way between our homes. We stayed overnight in a very trendy hotel and spent the next day browsing shops and purchasing special gear for the children. Though the time together was short it afforded special times of talking and hugging and enjoying simple things like meals together, shopping and yummy ice cream treats.

One of my favorite things whenever any of our family gathers, is to step back and listen to them talking and laughing together. If I listen closely I’ll hear the little girls giggling to one another about something probably no one else would think is funny. At the same time I’ll hear baby Macy talking baby-talk to her parents who are engrossed in a conversation with my husband, while Jesse is teasing his aunt. When my other adult children, spouse and grandchildren are present, I’ll hear the guys laughing at each other as they try to upstage one another.To some perhaps it may sound like a cacophony, but to my ears it is harmonious music.

Occasionally when we’re together, unknown to them, I stop and listen for this sound. It’s a sound that’s more than noise. A sound of hearts connected to one another and of laughter that shares a deep kind of knowing one another. It’s not their words, or the degree of softness or loudness, it’s the message the sound conveys to my heart. They are brothers and sisters, whether by marriage or by blood. They are friends for life! They, their spouses and children matter to each other and their voices blended together create a special sound that causes my heart to be overwhelmed with gratitude. To me, there’s nothing like this sound! I call it the sound of family.

A few days ago I found myself thinking about unanswered prayer. I wondered . . . is it that I don’t pray enough, or pray the right way, or is that I rely on formulas and principles rather than talking heart-to-heart with my Father?

The heart-to-heart with my Father idea brought me up short. Apparently I had arrived at something important in my time of musing. I could clearly see how I had drifted into certain ways to pray about various things, rather than coming honestly to my Father and baring my heart to Him. My prayers of late were “old prayers” prayed from times past. Ways of praying that worked in previous days, but were void of my relationship to my Father today.

Although this revelation challenged me, the aspect of My Father brought it home! I found myself quietly calling to Him, “My Father”, but my heart felt as if I had said, “Hi Dad, I’ve been missing You lately.” Immediately He replied, “Hi Cheri’. Welcome back. I’ve missed you too.”

I am quite sure I haven’t found a new formula for answered prayer. What I have found . . . my heart is communicating honestly, and He is answering. For now, that’s more than enough!