-----MYSTERIOUS WAYS ~~
---MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~~

--THE 'Pride of Galveston' was docked in the Gulfport, Mississippi, harbor, the cruise ship's blue smokestack rising like a dolphin's fin from its gleaming white decks. My husband, Willem, helped me up the gangway, a porter behind us carrying our bags. We'd flown here from Canada to embark on a journey we'd dreamed about for most of our 40-year marriage--a grand tour of the Caribbean islands. I couldn't help but recall the last time I was on a ship, my only voyage until now, a lifetime ago....

It was 1953. I was 20 years old, aboard the Ryndam on a 10-day crossing from the Netherlands to Nova Scotia, leaving my whole world behind. I'd bought a second-class ticket with the money that Willem, then my fiance', had saved from his meager earnings as a farmhand in rural Ontario. All I had were the clothes on my back and my wedding dress, packed in a small suitcase. I'd bade farewell to Amersfoort, a city still struggling to recover from the ravages of war, and to my widowed mother and four younger siblings.

I spent my days at sea pacing the Ryndam's decks, the salt breeze on my face, a prayer on my lips. 'Lord, bless this journey. Be with Willem and me, always.' Beyond sight of land, the entire world seemed to be water. I couldn't tell what lay behind me or what lay ahead. I felt completely adrift. Was I doing the right thing? Could I make a home so far from everything and everyone I knew?

Forty years had taken away those fears, and answered my prayers. Willem built a successful cabinetmaking business. We raised four children, three daughters and a son. I'd grown to love my adopted country, even if our responsibilities left little time or money for vacations. This cruise was a celebration of all we'd accomplished, the life we'd created from scratch.

The 'Galveston's' captain greeted us on deck. "This brings back so many memories," I said, gazing up at the finlike smokestack once more. "The last time I was on a ship, I was coming over from Holland."

"Ah, then you might be interested in this vessel's history," the captain said. "She once carried immigrants from Europe. Back then, she wasn't known as the 'Pride of Galveston'. She was built for the Holland America Line. They named her the Ryndam."

--Wilhelmina Feddema
-GRIMSBY, ONTARIO, CANADA
-(GUIDEPOSTS June 2015)

--MYSTERIOUS WAYS -- (Nostalgia)

---MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~~

--DAD was brilliant with his hands. For 23 years he repaired and rebuilt typewriters and copiers for the Remington Rand Company in Elmira, New York; even at home he could usually be found putting something broken back together. My four sisters and I had no idea how far his talent went, however, until the Christmas after he retired. He gave each of us a stunning stained-glass ornament he'd made himself--a star of Bethlehem. A friend had taught him the painstaking process.

"I can make you anything you want," Dad said proudly.

The stained-glass gifts he produced over the next few years became prized possessions. My favorite was a trivet with four maple leaves, to remind me of the trees in Elmira that changed such vibrant colors in the Fall.

I hoped Dad would make a maple-leaf ornament for my Christmas tree, but he never had the chance. His hands failed him. It started with a slight tremor. Then they got too shaky to fit the pieces of glass together, to keep the soldering straight. My step-mom had died and Dad couldn't live on his own any longer. Our family decided he would move in with my sister Debbie and her husband. I would help him pack his things.

It had been a tough year already. My sister Patti had gone through a contentious divorce. Among the things her ex-husband refused to return was the star Dad made. 'If only Dad could replace it', I thought, clearing out drawers and closets and cupboards. Every now and then I found a stray shard of colored glass, each one a painful reminder that we'd seen the last of Dad's brilliant creations.

Cleaning out his place took days. Finally I emptied every cupboard. I picked up the last box and headed for the door. A nagging feeling stopped me. I glanced around--all that was left was some furniture Dad was giving away. An old couch and a small end table with a drawer. 'I never checked that drawer!'

I opened it and gasped. There were only two items inside--both stained-glass ornaments. A big orange maple leaf. And a star of Bethlehem! --

Dad was even more surprised. "That's my handiwork, all right," he said. "But where they came from I haven't got a clue."~~

--Guideposts/CJ~~
-Have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2017. Remember, Jesus is as close as the mention of His Name, 24/7's. JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON!~~

----MYSTERIOUS WAYS~~

---MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~~

--I WAS RELIEVED that the Laundromat in Temple, Oklahoma, was empty that sweltering day in July. With three young children at home who liked to get into all sorts of messes, I had a ton of laundry to do. It was my second trip that week!

Not that I minded. I had always wanted a big family, something I didn't have growing up. Neither of my parents were close to their relatives, and after my dad died, when I was 10 years old, it was just my mom, my sister and me. Then my family seemed to shrink again. Without Dad's income as a farmer, we couldn't support ourselves. At 14, I was put in foster care, and later sent to an orphanage. I lived there until I went off to college.

Even after I met my husband, got married and started a family of my own, I wondered about my relatives. My dad had left behind a steamer trunk full of old pictures, letters and journals that told of ancestors I would never know.

My grandfather had been a circuit-riding preacher, who met his wife, my namesake, Sarah Alice Ritz, at a revival in the small town of Licking, Missouri. Did I still have relatives in Licking? Did they remember my dad? Would they want to meet me?

That day in the Laundromat, while I waited for the wash, I went over to a pile of newspapers to grab one to line my laundry basket with. I wouldn't have taken a second glance at the headlines...if it hadn't been for the title of the publication splashed across the front page: 'Licking News.' It had a funny tag line--"The only paper that gives a lick about Licking." How did a paper from 500 miles away end up here?

I opened it up, my hands shaking. I sensed that there was something in there for me.
I found it a few pages in: a story about the annual 'Ritz-Hadley family reunion, with a picture of the whole clan. I almost forgot about my laundry, rushing home to tell my husband and the kids.

I gave one of the cousins mentioned in the story a call. She invited us to the next reunion. At a boisterous potluck dinner, we met relatives --75 of them--from all corners of the country.

"If we had known where you and your sister were, we would have taken you in," one of them said. "You're part of this family and always will be."

--Sarah Hudson Pierce
-SHREVEPORT, LOUISIANA.
[GUIDEPOSTS / January 2017]
~~~~~

---MYSTERIOUS WAYS--(MORE THAN COINCIDENCE~)

--THE convention center in downtown Dallas was packed for the conference. More than 6,000 of us had come for a week of inspirational talks about how to better our lives and grow in our faith. I'd driven some 30 miles from Fort Worth. From my seat in the balcony, I listened to the afternoon seminar, about clearing one's conscience. "Is there anything you may have done wrong that you need to make right?" the speaker said. "Do you to need to ask forgiveness of someone?"

-'Mr. Wilcox'. The name unexpectedly came to mind. He was my geometry teacher my sophomore year of high school in Fort Worth. I hadn't thought of him since I graduated, five years before, but suddenly I remembered with great clarity--a greater shame--what I'd done in his class.

Everybody liked Mr. Wilcox. He cared about his students and was passionate about his subject. But no matter who taught it, geometry was hard. I just didn't get it, and I needed to pass to graduate, so I cheated. I copied a classmate's homework. Mr. Wilcox never knew. He even seemed proud of how much I was learning. At the time, I was willing to do anything for a passing grade. Now, though, I was a mom with a newborn daughter. I regretted my actions.

"If anything came to mind, would you be willing to make it right?" the speaker continued. "If so, raise your hand." My hand shot up. I fully intended to find Mr. Wilcox somehow and confess my cheating. I just hoped he could forgive me.

The seminar ended. I scooted out of my aisle, went down the balcony steps to the next floor, walked a few feet, and ran smack-dab into my old geometry teacher.

"Mr. Wilcox? I'm Sunni Fisher. I was in your class..."

He smiled. "Of course, Sunni, I remember you. I'm surprised to see you here!"

Not as surprised as I was to see him. "Mr. Wilcox, I have a confession to make..."

Not only did Mr. Wilcox forgive me, but he invited me to attend his church. That's where I was inspired to teach. I've homeschooled my children and grandchildren and taught them everything they needed to earn their High School Diplomas--including a clear conscience.~~

--GUIDEPOSTS/SF

--BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES~~

--Create in me a pure heart, O God.
-- (Psalm 51:10)

-(PLEASE READ= MATTHEW 5:21–30)--

--In February 1497, a Monk named Girolamo Savonarola started a fire. Leading up to this, he and his followers spent several months collecting items that they thought might entice people to sin or neglect their religious duties—including artwork, cosmetics, instruments, and dresses. On the appointed day, thousands of vanity items were gathered at a public square in Florence, Italy, and set on fire. The event has come to be known as the 'Bonfire of the Vanities.'

Savonarola might have found inspiration for his extreme actions in some shocking statements from the Sermon on the Mount. “If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away,” said Jesus. “And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away” (Matthew 5:29-30).. But if we interpret Jesus’s words literally, we miss the point of the message. The entire sermon is a lesson on going deeper than the surface, to focus on the state of our hearts rather than blaming our behavior on external distractions and temptations.

The Bonfire of the Vanities made a great show of destroying belongings and works of art, but it is unlikely that the hearts of those involved were changed in the process. Only God can change a heart. That’s why the psalmist prayed, “Create in me a pure heart, O God” (Psalm 51:10). It’s our heart that counts.

--"Holy God, please give me the grace to surrender my heart to You and yield my life’s vanities to the purifying fire of the Holy Spirit. Thank You, LORD. Make me more like Jesus.~ amen~"

--ODB/RO