It was a warm August day in 1996 — warm by British Colombia interior standards but still slightly brisk for a teenage girl from Missouri. All around the region, large and frolicking waterfalls abounded. What a lovely day to get out and see them. Or so it seemed.

My parents and I had made the multi-day drive up in Dad’s humble red Dodge pickup to visit our Canadian relatives: uncle, aunt, and cousins that I had only seen a few times over the years due to the great geographic distance between us. That day, part way into our visit, Uncle Lloyd offered to take the three of us on an invigorating nature tour. We drove around to a few locales with much more accessible approaches or viewing spots, cleanly cut bluffs or wooden decking and steps. But Uncle Lloyd saved a favorite spot for last.

When we stopped the car at that final location, I was immediately puzzled when I got out but could neither see nor hear any sign of rushing water.

“It’s up this way,” Uncle Lloyd called over his shoulder, taking his sturdy walking stick in hand and heading off on a gravel-strewn path, toward a thick grove of trees trailing down the mountain looming above. We followed him and walked on that path for many minutes, the way becoming progressively more winding.

As I kept my eyes fixed on the trail, I was surprised when the gravel covering evaporated and the way forward was apparently not well-established. It was harder to see as the tree coverage above became denser. Yet, Uncle Lloyd seemed to know right where he was going given how his steady pace didn’t miss a beat from the more refined surface to the utterly wild one.

He glanced back to check on us and paused fully when he saw I was not immediately continuing. “Tired already?” he asked with a small smile.

“No,” I said, a bit of shakiness in my voice. “I just didn’t know it was going to be like this.”

The further we climbed, the more fear-filled I became. The path was slick in places due to recent rain. There was nothing to hang onto for security apart from the occasional tree we passed that closely. By the time we reached the top of the ascent and stood in close-viewing distance of a scraggy, impish falls with brilliant, multiple tiers, my emotions were shot.

Uncle Lloyd turned with a big smile. “Was really worth the climb, eh?”

I burst into tears. And I found myself sobbing nearly uncontrollably for a moment. It was embarrassing and equally scary for me to have difficulty reigning in my feelings, when I’d been encouraged for so long not to display negative emotions so openly in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” my uncle asked, his brow now furrowed, with deep concern in his voice. He stepped closer and turned back and forth between me and the view, seeming genuinely puzzled over how all that rugged beauty could draw out such terror and discomfort in me.

When I could finally speak coherently, I tried to excuse my childish display. “All the way up here, I was just thinking about not falling on the path,” I mumbled in a raspy voice, “and thinking about how hard the way back down will be.” Only two summers previously, I had severely sprained my ankle and was still gun-shy of being too adventurous lest I should repeat my clumsy misstep and go through all that again.

Once more his gaze swept back and forth between the falls and my tear-drenched face. He reached out to touch my shoulder. “It’s okay. Let’s stay here and rest for a few moments and enjoy the view. We’ll be careful going down. You can hold onto me if you need to in the tricky patches.”

I took a deep ragged breath and swiped the back of my hand across each cheek in turn. The waterfall really was magnificent. I tried to focus on it and breathe deeply, to calm my heart and agree that all this had been worth it. No matter how awful it felt to be pulled right out of my comfort zone.

I didn’t know my uncle very well. In that moment, I didn’t understand that he wasn’t scowling at me in disapproval or anger. But later, as I came to know him more, I would understand that his heart felt my anxiety in those moments. He wanted to put me at ease to some degree. But he also wanted me to lay down my fears and be free to enjoy the beauty in the world. So much beauty in the world that he could see. He was eager for me to learn this lesson in trust.

True to his word, when it was time to descend, he kept a reasonable pace, slowing down in places where it was prudent to do so. More than once, he anchored himself with his walking stick and made sure I and my folks all made it over a challenging spot. By the time we reached the bottom, my legs were shaking from the physical demands of the descent. But my emotions were restored to a peaceful state, and my confidence was quietly lifted.

Uncle Lloyd knew the way up and the way down. He knew where he was going. He knew what awaited him — and us. And he was eager to take us and show us. He was confident and sure in a powerfully humble way.

We finished out our visit. We drove back to Missouri. I went to college and off to teach in a foreign land. I came back to attend grad school and later to work Stateside. And I joined social media platforms. Through the Facebook connection, I got to know my uncle again. And better.

Here was a man who gave his whole life to loving his family and ministering to others for God’s glory in several different roles and capacities. Here was a man who approached things and people with both wisdom and kindness while never neglecting what he knew to be truth. Here was a man who, though human, did his best by God’s grace to live an upright life.

By that same social media platform, the Canadian family communicated with us as Uncle Lloyd recently became increasingly sick. Then went to the hospital, then was moved to hospice care and quickly faded. Finally, on March 16th, he flew away to the arms of Jesus.

Where he’d always known he was headed.

There is a nearly indescribable blessing in seeing the beauty of a wild waterfall, completely untamed, while one drinks in the thin mountain air like a dehydrated person. There is an even greater blessing, however, in knowing the way out and the way home. In knowing where I will end up one day. For good.

It is a sweet thing to trust Jesus. To hold on to Him in the rough spots. And to follow Him both there and back again.

Uncle Lloyd taught me that. One summer’s day. And by the span of his whole life.

Rest in peace. I will see you again, Uncle. I am blessed to know it.

This coming week in the Nebraska Legislature, a judiciary committee will begin to hear testimonies and statements from citizens regarding opinions on LB781: Adopt the Heartbeat Act. This bill, if passed, will protect unborn children from the threat of legal abortion in our state once their heartbeat has been detected. While I personally believe that a conceived child is a true and unique life even in the weeks before a fetal heartbeat first occurs, I appreciate this bill and the good that it can do if the legislation is passed and enforced. There are so many tiny, precious lives to be saved.

I’m not the type to attend a lot of big protest rallies or get up in the faces of other people via obnoxious, disrespectful debates. But I do have very strong opinions on matters such as this one. I think I’d forgotten, in fact, just how passionately I felt about it.

Until the day a brother from church encouraged me and others to speak up, to speak out, in the forum we were welcome to join. And I thought to myself, “Well, I can’t attend the hearings directly because I have to work at that time. But he says we can submit written statements for the committee’s consideration. I can at the very least do that.”

So, I sat down this afternoon to start writing my statement. And the more I wrote, the more I felt the need to write–to speak and to be heard, for the sake of those who cannot yet speak with words we can understand. When I finished writing, I felt a bit drained for all the energy it had taken to formulate the words and for all the goodness I felt over the thought of sharing my thoughts in the days ahead.

The Bible urges people to “speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves…” (Proverbs 31:8-9). When we will do so, we can be a tremendous blessing to those poor, needy, and voiceless ones. And when we do so, we receive a blessing in return: a blessing in knowing we have used the voice and words God has given us to do something really important in the world. The things we have said may fall on deaf ears in a human sense, but they will still have never been spoken or written in vain. Because God, the greatest Judge and the Most Just One sees and hears. And He is the one who returns blessings for obedience, time spent, reputations risked.

Whether it be speaking against murder of innocents, standing up to a bully to protect a less powerful person, or taking part in similar activities, we must choose wisely when we will speak up and speak out. Let us do what we can in the days and weeks He gives us to bless others in this way. Use your voice, friends, and be blessed in return.

It’s time for a shout out. A love shout out, showering appreciation on those who mean so much to us. We can, and should, do this regularly. But I thought a bit of seasonal and encouragement might be in order.

So, a few weeks ago, I took to Facebook to announce a contest. I encouraged readers to reply in post comments or send me an email for a chance to have an affirming message to their loved one published here and also for a chance to win a copy of The Voice of Melody.

In terms of responses, I had a couple of initial great ones.

Charles McCoy wrote, “I love my wife, a living example of Genesis 2:18.” (If you don’t know the reference, that verse speaks of the creation of Eve as the suitable helper for her husband, made by God so that Adam did not need to be alone.)

And Chris Turack shared, “I love and appreciate God for giving me my husband John. And I love John because he has been so patient and encouraging in our forty years of marriage. He has never been critical of me and has cheered me through my hormonal/emotional ups and downs with ten pregnancies, two miscarriages, PMS, and now menopause. He has a great servant’s heart and I’m thankful to be married to him, my best friend.”

These are wonderful words, all.

I was encouraged by the start of the responses, looking forward to more. A short time before the submission deadline, I tried to share another post to remind people of the opportunity to participate.

That’s when things went haywire and I was temporarily blocked from Facebook. Apparently promotion of an activity that encouraged sharing such affirming words was going against their community standards. I have never thought of myself as a threatening person. And I have never thought that promoting loving words to bless those we cherish is an offensive act. I guess I was wrong.

After struggling to get past the block and sending feedback to protest their decision (which was received but not affirmed as valid…ironically), I chose not to try and promote the contest further. I saw that my original contest post had reached well over 100 readers. So, I just decided to wait and see what would happen.

The deadline came and went. No more responses.

Perhaps it is no longer the thing to publicly declare appreciation for another person for no other reason than just because we notice and cherish them, and want to let them know it.

Perhaps we have started to lose the ability to say something good about others in a genuine, selfless way: not doing it because we really want to draw attention to ourselves but because we really want to bathe that other person in the warmth of a loving spotlight.

Perhaps I would have gotten a greater quantity of responses if I had asked people to give a shout out to themselves. Or if I had asked people to tell us about the people and things that most often frustrate them.

As a culture, generally speaking, we speak far less love and appreciation than we should. We are given to focusing most on our own personal contentment, accomplishments, interests. We are quicker to speak what is harsh, critical, obscene, unverified, slanderous, manipulative, or self-serving than to speak what is thrive-promoting and praiseworthy. We want to focus on all the ways we have been hurt by others instead of affirming how others have helped us.

This is a great pity. Because a key way to promote goodness in the world and to really help “the community” is to write and speak more words of gratitude, appreciation, life.

And we fool ourselves if we think it is enough to say all the sweet things on one holiday a year and then go on with a nasty, selfish outpouring (or even just a neglectful silence) the other 364 days.

I am thankful for the answers that Charles and Chris submitted. Thankful not only for how they can each bless their spouse in this way this Valentine’s Day, but also for how they have each maintained healthy marriages for decades because they have chosen to speak words of affirmation and blessing on an ongoing basis, over the weeks and the years.

In the end, I will admit I didn’t enjoy my brief stent in Facebook “jail.” But that won’t make me stop sharing good words, encouraging good words. Let us all take the time to tell those around us more and more on a regular basis what we love about them, why we appreciate them, and how they have blessed us. We can start on Valentine’s Day…but let that only be the beginning!

Ralph Powell passed away yesterday. He was 75 years old and had struggled with some serious health conditions during his life. He lost two children over the years and faithfully cared for his wife who has been, herself, of limited mobility.

Ralph is my uncle. I am saddened by his passing. Saddened for my widowed aunt. Saddened for my father and his siblings. Saddened for my uncle’s neighbors and friends.

Saddened in and for myself as his niece, however? Reading reflections posted by Aunt Jean, I wondered if I have a right to be. After all, the brother she described was the uncle I barely knew. We lived at least a few hours apart over the years. And apart from a handful visits in my childhood and a number of letters I sent him later on, I had no contact with this uncle who spent many hours with my father as a boy and young man.

Yet, while reading Aunt Jean’s words, I felt my heart tugging, wishing I could have known my uncle more. Known his serving heart, known his gifted eye for helping to beautify spaces and cultivate plants, known his industrally-trained mind.

Last night, as I drifted to sleep, I quieted my heart with the wondrous thought that I will see Uncle Ralph again. And we will be able to know and understand each other better than we ever could have known each other on Earth. Because we will be in the place where we are fully known and where we have all the time in…well, not in the world really, but all the time in Heaven.

We, as mankind, were made for forever. We long for forever. But the forever now awaiting us is not universal.

Many of us have spent countless dollars and hours pursuing activities, using products, and eating foods that might help us live longer. Death seems like an annoying marage, a shadowy threat, or an eludable rumor. We want to develop some technology or wonder drug that will help us remain young and healthy and mentally sharp forever.

Because we have forgotten the Creator who made us. The Father who loves us. The King we were designed to dwell with forever. Before we broke faith and law…before our souls fell down.

But our souls do not have to remain crushed forever. They can be lifted from the mire of brokenness by the arms of Christ and washed in the blood of Christ to regain the possibility of forever life (instead of forever death). Because the forever we all need and long for is the forever of honoring God and of fellowshiping with each other with no distance, shame, secrets, or grief between us.

My Uncle Ralph’s days on Earth were extended by modern medicine, his work on Earth helped many people, and his time on Earth blessed more people than it cursed. But the most important thing I know about him and will remember is that Uncle Ralph knew Jesus and trusted in God’s grace through Christ.

And so, I grieve but I also praise. The blessing of forever awaits us. I want my heart and my mind to stay fixed on that promise with anticipation.

I will see you there, Ralph Powell. Can’t wait to know you better. Until then, rest in peace, and be blessed.

THE COUNSEL OF THE LORD STANDS FOREVER, THE PLANS OF HIS HEART TO ALL GENERATIONS. Psalm 33:11

How does God bless us most dearly and vitally on a daily basis? In addition to keeping us alive and meeting our most basic needs, He offers us His counsel. This is a blessing that stands for all time and is supremely good, never leading us astray and never abandoning us in our time of needed wisdom.

Some people might argue that God can be silent or seem silent at times, and others may wonder how we can know His counsel at times when so many of us have never heard His audible voice. But in every generation and in every season, the counsel recorded for us in His Word can lead us well. And when we listen to wise people in our lives, where their advice falls in line with His Word, we are also guided with assurance.

His counsel is boundless. It is timeless. And it is matchless in value. In receiving His counsel – in even seeking it out in the first place – we open our hearts to the very best input we can receive. To our greatest daily blessing.

It is the ONLY source of true life, wisdom, guidance. It is the ONLY route for answers to the questions that gnaw at us in soul and in mind. All other outlets for potential blessing will leave a sense of phantom longing in the gut and a strange hit of dissatisfaction on the tongue.

And once we have found this blessing, it is not enough to only seek His counsel once or twice. No, we must hunger and thirst for it, crave it daily, and desire to live in it more fully.

Because the goal of being blessed by the Lord is to know Him better…that His blessed counsel in our lives should bring Him glory and lift our hearts to see things at least a little more from His point of view.