Author Archives: dinahoverlien

Mighty Men

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mightymenPB preached a sermon on Sunday about King David’s Mighty Men in 2 Samuel 23.  It was a mighty good message.  I know it was good because it’s Tuesday and I’m still thinking about it.

PB told the story of a rag-tag bunch of guys, about 400 “losers and vagrants and misfits of all sorts” (1 Sam. 22:2) who sided with David, making them all enemies of King Saul.  Among those 400, there was “The Thirty” with a capital “T”.  In that elite group of 30, three earned the title “Mighty Men”.

The Mighty Men were fierce warriors who took on whole armies single-handedly.  They were also the kind of guys that would break through enemy lines just to fetch their beloved leader a cold drink of water.  These good-hearted men took a stand and risked their lives to serve their king.  They had David’s back — and his trust.

Two questions come to mind:

First, how many people have three mighty warriors in their lives who can be counted on to come alongside and fight for them?

Second, who needs me to be one of their mighty comrades, daring to break through enemy lines to bring refreshment?

 “Such were the exploits of the three mighty men.” (2 Samuel 23:17)

Exploit: a striking or notable deed; feat; spirited or heroic act.

It’s time for us to have some exploits.

Second Grade

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IMG_0563Second grade was awesome.  I loved my teacher.  She was young and pretty and married to the sixth grade teacher.  I found out her first name was Anita, so when we were assigned to write a story, the main character in my riveting tale was a mysterious character named Anita.  I wanted so badly to be the teacher’s pet, but she didn’t seem to pick any favorites.  Then, at the end of the year, Carla got to take home the class turtle, so I knew she loved Carla more than me.  I was crushed.  However, I did win the award for most book reports.

I felt very fancy on picture day.  My mom didn’t fuss with my hair very often, so the pin curls made me feel extra stylish and flouncy.  Too bad she didn’t cut those bangs a little straighter though.  I don’t know why I wore the same plaid dress in both my 1st and 2nd grade pictures.  Somebody wasn’t paying attention.

A few weeks into the fall quarter, Anita noticed I was having trouble seeing the blackboard from the back row.  She sent a note home and it wasn’t long before I was sporting cat-eye glasses.  By third grade, the lovely curls were chopped off in favor of the ever-popular pixie haircut.

Never again would I be as beautiful as I was in September of 1966.

It Is Not Death to Die

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it is not death

The title caught my eye.  “It Is Not Death to Die” — what an intriguing phrase.  I jotted the words down on a slip of torn-off notebook paper and stuck it in my pocket.  When pondering a thought, that’s what I do.  I seem to need to carry ideas in my pocket for awhile.  They roost in there, like a hen on her eggs, waiting for an insight to hatch.

Through the morning I argued with the short sentence that captured my thoughts.  Of course dying is death, I say to the paper in my pocket.  The final exhale, the last look before closing the eyes, the heartbeat halted — that’s death.  That’s what it is to die.  Right?

In the afternoon I had to know more.  A little research revealed the origin of the words.  In 1832, 60 year old Henri Abraham Cesar Malan wrote a hymn titled, “Non, Ce N’est Pas Mourir”.  Fifteen years later, George Bethune translated the French lyrics into English and the song found it’s way into 126 hymnals.  One hundred and sixty years later, Sovereign Grace Music recorded the hymn with a new tune.  I think Henri would approve.

By the evening, I was sitting at my piano singing a song that made its way from my pocket to my heart.  I got it.  Dying is not death in the sense that there is nothing more but blackness and non-existence.  Paul said that to be away from the body is to be at home with the Lord. (2 Cor. 5:8)  Jesus said, “The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.” (John 11:25)

It is life to die — more life than we can fathom.

The best of everything is yet to come.

This week, this is my song:

It Is Not Death to Die, Sovereign Grace Music

What A Deal

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saleWhen my girls visit, I like to take them to the Outlet Mall for clearance rack shopping.  After all those years of hand-me-downs and garage sale clothes, I figure I owe it to them.  Their men love it, because they know their wives will come home with something in their bags and nothing gone out of their pocketbooks.  Buying them a little something is my secret pleasure.

On Saturday, Katie put the boys down for a nap and we bolted out the door.  However, we were unprepared for what awaited us.

Outlet Mall + Labor Day Weekend + Sales = CRAZINESS

We parked at the far end of the parking lot.  We stood in line to get into the changing rooms.  We stood in line to make a purchase.  After going into two stores that had everything marked 50% off, we were ready to call it quits and considered ourselves lucky to make it out alive.

This morning I read about another unbelievable deal.

“Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat!  Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost.”  Isaiah 55:1

People!  This is like the swankiest, most high-end store in the mall offering the absolute top quality merchandise for 100% off.  And the owner is out on the sidewalk begging us to come in and help ourselves.  No money, no cost.  Yet, we hurry by on the way to the Five & Dime for cheap trinkets and watered down Kool-Aid.  Not a deal even at half off.

It’s incredible that God lays everything before us, all kinds of riches, all manner of provision, and yet He has to implore us to come.  Just come.  No lines, no cranky sales clerks, no overspending on the credit card.  100% satisfaction.

“Out of my want and into Thy wealth, out of my sin and into Thyself — Jesus, I come to Thee.”

My Wedding Ring

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Thirty-five years ago, when I had curly hair and a skinny waistline, I stood before a church full of people and promised to love and to cherish PB my whole life.  My handsome groom and I sang a song together to seal the deal.

But when the time came to exchange rings, something went awry.  My sister and PB’s brother had conspired to pull a prank on us.  My future father-in-law held out his open Bible to receive the gleaming gold bands from the maid-of-honor and the best man.

Instead, gleaming plastic Oscar Meyer wiener rings were presented.

There was a momentary pause as we took it in.  A gasp (PB), a frown (his dad), a nervous giggle (me).

Unfortunately, the microphone standing right in front of us picked up my voice as I whispered, “I can’t do this!”  Oh yes.  More gasps, frowns, and nervous giggles from the congregation.

We carried on.  “With this ring, I thee wed.”  With this plastic, Oscar Meyer ring, I marry you, and that’s no bologna.  Hot dog!

Even though the O.M. boy with the frankfurter hat had been thoroughly blessed, we discarded those trinkets shortly after the ceremony and slipped on the real rings.

A few years ago, I got to thinking about those unique little pieces of our history.  I found one on Ebay for $5.00 and gave it to PB for Christmas.  We said, “I do” all over again.

This is our story.  This is our song.

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“Love’s grown deep inside of us,

And time has made us sure,

That the reason we stand here,

Is because You’ve touched Your hand here.

The love we feel today is meant to be shared by two,

So we commit our love to You.”

Still do.

I Am A Writer

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I went away on Sunday as a timid, toe-dipping, hesitant dabbler.  Jotting down silly thoughts was a hobby to enjoy but to keep under wraps. Throwing words out into the great internet cloud wasn’t intimidating because I didn’t have to actually look a handful of readers in the eye.  No expectations, no demands, no problem.

Dabble, dabble, dabble.

This week, I took a big breath and jumped in the deep end, cannonball-style.  I heard my silly scribbles read out loud and looked deep into others’ watery eyes through my own.  No longer words thrown about, but instead words placed with care and precision to reveal one delicate layer.

On Friday, I came home with a new name — Writer.

Thank you, Green Lake Christian Writer’s Conference.

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Starting Five

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It’s been awhile since I’ve shared photos of my grands.  I’m still amazed that five grandchildren have graced my life in the past two and a half years.  Since I have writer’s block and can’t think of anything to say, I will default to my little team of kiddos.  There’s always something to say about them.

Here’s my starting five line-up:

Hudson, AKA Hud Bud.

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He is our starting center, because, well, he started it all and he’s used to being in the center.

Strengths: Tall, most experienced, smart and in-charge.

Needs to work on: Passing the ball and not beating up on teammates.

Elijah, AKA Eli.

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This guy is our power forward.  Don’t get in his way.

Strengths: Size, strength and having his own personal gym.

Needs to work on: Not crying when he gets fouled.

Eleanor, AKA Ella.

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This little lady is a force on the court.

Strengths: Enthusiasm, spirit, and determination.

Needs to work on: Control.  And how to dribble while holding three purses.

Charlie, AKA Charlie-boy.

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He’s our speedy point guard.

Strengths: Quickness, especially if there is a dog nearby.  And well-defined muscles.

Needs to work on: Being a little more aggressive.  In a nice way.

And last but not least, Evie, AKA Evie-girl.

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She rounds out the team by being the other guard, but she’s secretly holding out to be replaced so she can become head cheerleader.

Strengths: Always looks good on the court.

Needs to work on: Lowering the decibel of her screams.

There you have it, folks.

It looks like a good season.

Opa and Nonnie are cheering them on!

Getting It

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PB and I got outta town for a few days last week.  I haven’t had a chance to jot down anything since returning home, so I was thrilled when my sister, Robin, sent me this piece.  Here is my first ever guest post on small drop!  Thanks, dear sister, for sharing your story.  We sound a little bit alike!  Enjoy everybody!

jokesOur oldest grandchild just turned nine years old, an age of truly understanding and enjoying a good joke.  He especially likes jokes that use play on words, or words with double meanings.  He went through the stage of making up his own jokes (that weren’t really funny).  We would all laugh because he laughed, not because the joke was particularly humorous.

But now, he delights in telling a good joke.  With great anticipation, he sets the stage and draws us in with a knock-knock joke or a loaded question.  He watches us with knowing eyes as we try to figure out the punch line.  Of course, we have incorrect answers or no answers at all.  Then, with excitement in his voice, he delivers the punch line.  His blue eyes sparkle, his entire face lights up in a big smile, and he laughs joyfully, saying, “Get it?!  Get it?!”  Then, on we go to the next joke or question, repeating the process again and again, always ending with “Get it?! Get it?!”  Such genuine joy is rare.

Perhaps God uses the same methods with us.  He tells us a story — a parable — maybe with a play on words or double meanings.  Then, with great anticipation, He delivers the punch line, hoping we grasp the meaning.

Do you suppose He says to us with great delight, “Get it?!  Get it?!”

“If anyone has ears to hear, let him hear.”  Mark 4:23

 

Checkout Line

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grocery

Here’s how you know you’re life has changed:

You are in the checkout line at the grocery store.

You wonder why there is so little in your cart.

You remember that the 15 people who filled your home for several weeks have dispersed and there’s only two of you left.

You bag up your measly purchases and swipe your card.

You push your cart toward the exit.

You walk past the other checkout lane and are momentarily disoriented.

You see someone familiar and you are slightly taken aback.

You realize it is your newly married son unloading a full cart of groceries.

You panic for an instant as random thoughts run through your mind —

Should I be paying for his groceries?  How many bags of chips are in that cart?  Did I ever teach my son how to grocery shop?  I never sent him to the store for anything but a gallon of milk.  Have I failed as a mother?  Will he survive?????

Your eyes meet for an awkward second.

Then your newly married son smiles and says, “Hi Momma!” and gives you a big hug right there in the checkout line.

That’s when you know you’re life has changed.

The Secret of Life

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“The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.”  James Taylor

So that’s it.

The secret, according to JT, is finding joy in each part of life —

acknowledging its passing,

without fighting against the natural movement of time.

It’s a secret because not many of us get it.

I’ve spent many days trying to push through to a more promising tomorrow.

Other days, I cling to a past that has come and gone.

Lately, God’s been whispering secrets in my ear,

singing James Taylor lyrics into my heart.

He says, “Time passes, but find the joy in it.”

“Since we’re only here for awhile, we might as well show some style.”

My highest goal in life was to see my children through their growing years and witness them launching out on their own.  Losing my mother at a young age, I wanted more than anything to spare my kids that pain.  Now they are all married, established, on their own.

As I told a friend, “The rest is just frosting on the cake!”

She responded, “There is  A LOT of frosting for you, my friend!”

So there is a new phase on the horizon.

I get more days.  Frosting days.

“Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill,

but since we’re on our way down,

we might as well enjoy the ride.”

It’s a lovely ride.

This is my story.

This is my song: