We disappointed Michael! But received a blessing...

My grandson, Michael

I usually wait until the last few shopping days to start looking for Christmas presents.  This year was an exception.  With two grandchildren who have every imaginable toy, I wanted to get one gift for each of them that would be special - something they really, really wanted.


For Emily it was a motorized Barbie Glitterizer - I still don't know what it is or does!  For Michael it was the Zip Zoom Logging Adventure for his Thomas the Train collection.

Michael had told me on numerous occasions that this was a gift he really, really wanted.  I knew that other family members were getting train cars to complete his set.  I also knew that Michael's daddy, my oldest son, Ross, enjoyed the train collection almost as much as Michael. 

Ross and Jennie will be moving in the near future, so I thought a gift card to Menard's was more appropriate for Ross than a piece of the Thomas train set.  I may have made a mistake...

We opened gifts, we passed the gifts around for everyone to see, we took pictures and we had a good time.  The last two presents under the tree were for Michael and Emily.  They had already opened several smaller gifts from us, gifts from their doting Uncle Tyler and gifts from their aunts Allyson and Kayleigh. 

All cameras were poised on Emily as she opened her Glitterizer.  She was thrilled and the girls helped her set it up right away.

Michael's turn didn't play out at all like we had thought it would.  Again, all cameras were poised on him.  We couldn't wait to see his reaction.  Everyone had stopped what they were doing to capture the image, either with their cameras or with their minds.  And what we all got was an indelible image of disappointment.

Michael was not happy.  He liked the Zip Zoom Logging Adventure, that was not the problem.  The problem was that he had wanted HIS FATHER to receive it!  He was distressed, distraught even.  Grandpa and I were amused, but hid our smiles.  Mommy and Daddy were a little embarrassed by his reaction.  Emily came to save the day.  "You can share it!  You and Daddy can share, Michael!"

I know that years from now, this will be one of our favorite Christmas stories to repeat as we prepare to open gifts.  At a time when we talk about how everyone is thinking, "Me-Me-Me" this little guy is thinking about his daddy.  Isn't that precious?  The biggest gift under the tree this year was for Michael, and he didn't want it for himself, he wanted it for his father.  What a blessing!

As you begin 2011, I hope that you will think not of what the year holds for you, but of what opportunities you have to be a blessing to your Heavenly Father.

High School Poetry

I was as excited as a child at Christmas when I found a folder with poems I had written in a high school creative writing class.  Not that the poems were any good, mind you.  I was just excited to have them and to relive the joy and pain that went into writing them.

I was sent to the guidance counselor's office twice during my junior year, both times by my creative writing teacher.  I wasn't a miscreant, I promise.  My guilt lay in being an over-zealous student.  I loved my creative writing class, even though I did not love the teacher.  It seemed she did her best to take the fun out of writing; but nonetheless, I took each assignment seriously.  And for this, I was sent to see the counselor.

I only have one of the two assignments, but after re-reading the poem that sent me there the first time, I really don't see how she came up with the idea that I might be suicidal!  Please read and let me know if you do...


The old man sits quietly in the park,
He stays all day, from morning to dark.
He sits in the park as the children go by.
He'll stay in the park 'til the day he dies.

He has no family, no one to care.
No friends with stories, they want to share.
He sits in the park, he's all alone,
He sits so quietly as if he were stone.

Once he was happy, so happy he cried.
First his wife, then his children all died.
Now he's so lonely, so lonely he cries,
He'll stay in the park 'til the day he dies.

Thirty plus years removed from the writing of this poem, I can honestly say I see a feeble old man sitting on a park bench and nothing more.  I can't read between the lines and find myself concerned about a suicidal teen.  Can you?

As I've thought about this incident, I wondered about something else.  How often have we read scripture and felt compelled to find some hidden meaning?  Desperate to find a cryptic truth?   I am not denying that the Bible is full of imagery, it certainly is.  What I am suggesting is that there are verses that should be taken at face value.  They are what they say they are.  Why do we take scripture out of context and twist it to fit the situation at hand?  Because it's easy.  It is easier to take one or two verses out of context to support our cause, than it is to study the context within which the scripture was written and look further if it doesn't apply.

Perhaps my creative writing teacher had just attended a seminar on identifying suicidal teens -  look closely at the joyful ones - I don't know.  For whatever reason, she took a poem written to fulfill an assignment, an assignment she gave to the entire class, and saw something that wasn't there.

It was easy to send me to the counselor's office.  She didn't have to ask any difficult or embarrassing questions of me.  If she had studied the poem and the assignment from which it came, she would have realized I wasn't suicidal.  I was simply writing a poem.  It is what it is.  Nothing more, nothing less.

I hope that as I read the scripture, searching for the text I need for my next presentation, lesson or book, I will consider the context.  Please do the same.

Blessings to you and yours,
 Debra Fuhrman
Bluebird Ministries

My Earliest Chrstmas Memory

Some people remember their childhood vividly.  I don't.  I don't recall what I received for Christmas when I was six, or seven, or even eight.  I know I received a "Velvet" doll as a gift, but I'm not sure if it was for my birthday or for Christmas.  I remember you could pull her ponytail to make her hair grow longer, and you could push a button on her hard plastic stomach to shorten her hair.  I remember my gold bicycle with the metallic flakes and a white banana seat.  Was it a Christmas gift or birthday gift?  I have no idea.

My first Christmas memory is of being sick and missing the Christmas dinner and gift exchange at my Grandpa and Grandma Barber's house.  I remember crying as my parents and my brothers left the house.  Hot tears rolled down my feverish cheeks as I watched them leave.  My cousins would be there.  Grandma would be serving her delicious dressing.  Uncle David would surely have a special gift for me.  And I wouldn't be there.  Never mind that my parents would bring my gifts home.  I was too young to be consoled by that thought.

I remember my Granny Miller sitting on the edge of the bed as I cried.  She rubbed her hand on my back and it felt cool.  Over and over, she moved her hand in a figure eight pattern until I was calm.  I can remember what it felt like to have her cool hand on my feverish back, but most of all I remember thinking that she must surely love me.  I knew that she had been disappointed to miss the gift-giving as well, but she stayed with me.  Because she loved me.  I knew that she loved me, she had told me, but this was different.  Now I understood love. 

My first Christmas memory is of being loved and understanding what that meant.  What is your first Christmas memory?

Bluebird Ministries - What's In a Name? Day Three

What significance does the bluebird have to my ministry?  Why not the cardinal or the dove?  Why not the peacock or the swan? 

After completing the CLASS seminar, I knew that I wanted to revive my dream to be an author and inspirational speaker.  I knew I wanted to talk to women of all ages about the joy and contentment that come only through a relationship with our Lord, Jesus Christ.  I knew I didn't want to use Debra Fuhrman Ministries as my ministry name.  I wanted to use Bluebird Ministries.

I can trace my love for bluebirds back to my junior year in high school.  Jamie Hanrahan sat beside me in a Creative Writing class.  Not many students talked to Jamie, he was considered an outsider.  At the end of the year, I asked Jamie to sign my yearbook.  I have often thought about what he wrote.  He said I reminded him of a bluebird because I was always happy and I spread joy wherever I went.  He also said that I reminded him of a bluebird because I was nice to everyone, not just the popular kids.  As a sixteen-year-old, I could receive no better compliment.

I now have bluebird figurines in almost every room of my house.  I have pictures with bluebirds hanging on the wall and I have a stuffed bluebird that sings.  I have two bluebird items that mean a great deal to me. 

I stopped by my friend Merri's house and was introduced to her mother, Jo.  Merri and Jo were working on a jigsaw puzzle and I noticed an unopened bluebird puzzle that was next in line.  Jo insisted on giving me the puzzle when she learned of my love for bluebirds.  I'm not sure which of us received more joy in the giving of that gift.  A couple of years later, Jo lost her battle with cancer.  As Merri dealt with her grief and worked to get her mother's estate settled, she thought of me.  I have a beautiful wine bottle with a bluebird logo in my kitchen.  It reminds me of Jo's beautiful smile, a smile much like Merri's. 

I want to be a bluebird.  I want to bring joy to others.  I want to sing God's praises to everyone, not to a select few.  Bluebird Ministries was the only name that made any sense to me.

As I sit here, I have in front of me a small sign decorated with bluebirds that reads, "Friendship is not a big thing, it's a million little things." 

I wasn't trying to be noble when I befriended Jamie Hanrahan; I was simply sharing my joy.  Jo didn't have an ulterior motive when she gave me her puzzle; she was simply sharing her joy.  And Merri, dear Merri, gave her gift out of joy as well.  The bluebird sings and spreads joy because God created the bluebird for just such a purpose.  I want to be a bluebird, too.

Bluebird Ministries - What's In a Name? Day Two

I did not sleep Monday night.  Literally.  I had no idea what humiliating experience was awaiting me, but I wasn't going to miss out on the last two days of the seminar.  I have never been nervous about speaking in front of people, but Monday's lack of direction was unnerving!

Tuesday's group assignment was to select a full page magazine advertisement and create a three minute presentation - same assignment as the day before, but with some direction.  I had tried to think of topics during the night and I had a few ideas.  I wasn't prepared by any means, but I wasn't as flustered as the day before.  It would have been so much easier if the facilitator, Tama, had selected an ad for each of us, as it was, I kept second-guessing myself.  I had selected a real estate ad for luxury apartments.  Should I have selected the ad with a field of flowers?  Should I have selected the ad with the happy family?

When the five minutes began, I was able to focus.  I had written down my main points and support for each in short order! Scripture came to mind!  This wasn't going to be as bad as Monday!

I still didn't have time to go through the talk in my head and I worried that I wouldn't be finished before Tama held up her red sign signifying my presentation was over.  No finishing the last point.  The red flag meant "finish your sentence, you're done."

I had dressed in professional attire, I made eye contact and I was able to follow my outline!  The group critique was favorable and I realized I was having a good time!

Before we left on Tuesday, we were given our assignment for Wednesday.  We were to select a scripture (we had a list to choose from) and prepare as if we were leading a women's Bible study.  I made my selection:

"Be ready at all times to answer anyone who asks you to explain the hope you have in you, but do it with gentleness and respect..." I Peter 3: 15

I slept fitfully, I had not been able to memorize my presentation.  The next morning, in the truck, I timed myself. SEVEN minutes!  I made mental notes on what to delete and began again.  Still too long!  When I reached the church, I knew the presentation was still too long.  And none of it was memorized! 

We assembled in our classroom.  Our instructions were clear, write a critique that would be helpful but be critical of the speaker's presentation - physical and oral.  While our group members were working on our written critique, we would meet in the hallway with Tama for a private critique.  I was prepared - to write critiques.  I was not prepared to speak!

I did not volunteer to go first.  I listened intently to the first presentation and did my best to provide constructive comments on the critique, but I did notice the woman was using her notes.  I knew Tama would mention the use of notes in her private critique, so I didn't mention it in mine. 

The second woman used her notes.  Now, I was confused.  I began to wonder if Tama had actually said the presentation had to be memorized.  The group answer was a resounding, "NO!"  Great.  After the next presentation, I ran to the truck - in high heels - and made it back before Tama had finished the critique in the hallway!

It was my turn.  As soon as I quit panting, I began.  I really can't remember if I used my notes or not.  What I do remember is going into the hallway with Tama.

"Debra, do you have girls?"

"Yes, 14 year-old twins."

"You should let them dress you."

I didn't know how to respond,  I had selected what I considered to be an appropriate outfit.  I had received compliments on it earlier in the day.  This was going to be harsh!

"I heard you say that you would like to young girls, young women and their mothers.  They won't relate to you dressed like that."

Okay.  I could accept that.  I 'd rather be in jeans and dress boots anyway.  I steeled myself waiting for the next comment.  I waited.  She didn't say anything.

"It's okay.  I want the tough critique, " I said uncertainly.

"That was it.  You did a great job relating to your audience, and showing them how the scripture applies to their lives.  I don't know why you aren't out there telling your story now.  Get your platform organized and start speaking!"

And so, after some quiet time and much prayer, I chose Bluebird Ministries as my ministry name. And in my next blog, I will explain the significance of bluebirds.

Daddy's Hands

I've been thinking about my dad a lot these last few weeks.  He died two years ago, on November fourth.  I thought sitting at the cemetery would help, but it didn't.  This morning I realized that I needed to write about him.  I apologize for the self-indulgence, but of course, if you'd rather not, you don't have to read these particular blogs. 

I liked the Judds, the mother-daughter duo, I still love to sing along with their CD.  But, there was one song I usually skipped past - "Daddy's Hands."  I loved the lyrics, but they didn't fit my situation.  I had never seen "father's hands folded silently in prayer."  Yes, his hands were gentle and yes, he could discipline with those hands!  Yes, his hands were calloused, but I never saw them folded in an attitude of prayer.  The song just made me too sad.

This morning, as I was walking on the treadmill, the lyrics to that song forced their way into my thoughts.  As I sang, I could actually feel my dad's hands. 

I was always a Daddy's girl and once when I was driving Dad to a chemo treatment, he asked me to tell him one of my favorite memories.  There would be many to voice later, but at the time, I thought of one: walking in the pasture holding hands with my dad.  I loved that time alone with him.  We shared a love of animals and I always welcomed a chance to check on the few cows we pastured near the house.

Back then, his hands were always dark, the dirt and grime from Rockwell Industries, followed each and every line, it circled every callous.  Later, when he retired his hands began to soften and he would often fuss about them.  He'd call himself a "sissy." 

I loved holding his hands while I drove him to chemo treatments and I always reached for his hand when he was in the hospital.  His grip was always firm, not as firm as it had been when I was a little girl, but firm just the same.  And that firm grip conveyed one thing - his love for me. 

A few months before he died, my dad did what so many of us had prayed for through the years.  He turned his life over to God.  He recognized Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.  And he began to fold his hand in prayer. His baptism was one of the most memorable events of my life.

In the end, cancer didn't take his life like we thought it would.  A heart attack, totally unexpected did that.  But before it was over, I was holding my daddy's hand.

Bluebird Ministries - What's in a Name? (Part One)

Before I explain why I chose the name, perhaps I should explain the need for the name.

Not long after we started attending Grace Evangelical Church, an announcement was made that  the Christian Leaders and Speakers Seminar, an organization founded by Florence Littauer, would be conducting a three day seminar for leaders and teachers.  Meeting Florence Littauer and been a dream of mine for many years, but I had put that dream to rest.  She wouldn't be attending the seminar, but I knew the training would be memorable.

Unfortunately, life got in the way as it often does.  My father-in-law passed away and then my mother-in-law became gravely ill.  Consumed with the demands of each day, I forgot about the seminar.  Until the Sunday before...

Allyson and Kayleigh were singing in both services and we were leaving as soon as they finished in the second.  It was in the second service, that our pastor introduced a guest - Florence Littauer!  She was not close enough to touch, but oh so close.  I couldn't believe she had been in the same sanctuary and I had missed an opportunity to meet her!

I hadn't filled out a registration form and more importantly, my grandkids were coming early the next morning, as they do every Monday.  I prayed about the situation before going to bed, but I must admit I didn't sleep well that night.

The next morning I told Marlin how much I had longed to attend the seminar and how I had appreciated and used what I had learned from Florence Littauer's books on personality types.  And then, I asked him if he thought he could take care of Michael and Emily so I could attend the seminar.  I had no obligations for the other two days.  Amazing man that he is, he told me to hurry up and get ready!

Everyone was in the sanctuary when I arrived.  I saw no familiar faces and found that strange, but didn't have time to look any further as I needed to take notes.  Lots and lots of notes!  The next few hours were exciting and the information was helpful.  But then, my excitement gave way to panic.  We were informed that we were being divided into groups and that once we found the area designated for our group, we would have five minutes to prepare a three minute talk!  Not only that, but we were to stand in front of the group deliver our talk and then remain standing while each member offered a critique!  Oh my!  This was not what I signed up for!  All I wanted was to learn how to be a better Christian teacher and leader.  I though this was a seminar on teaching methods!!!

It was at this point, right before we were dismissed to find our groups, that I realized all of the attendees were in professional attire, except one.  And, all of the attendees had laptop computers or briefcases, except one.  AND, all of them were exchanging business cards, except one.  Guess who that one was?

I have never experienced "test anxiety" but I can fully appreciate the fear others with this problem feel. Without any direction, I couldn't get focused. I wasted the first three minutes choosing my topic!  Once I decided on a topic, I tried to put an outline together in an effort to stay focused.  That didn't help.  Neither did the fact that I couldn't run through my talk and time myself!  I made it through, but it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. 

What I discovered was that the other attendees were already speaking to groups; they talked of their "speaking platforms" and I didn't even know that that meant!  And, some of them were published authors!! I was in the wrong place!!!  Thankfully, they were all very gracious and helpful.

I attended the evening session on writing for the Christian market and again was out of place.  We sat in a circle and the facilitator said we would go around the room introducing ourselves after which we could ask any writing questions we had.  Wouldn't you know it?  She started with me!  I felt so foolish when I admitted that I hadn't written anything for publication since college and that I had come to the session with no questions!  Several of the attendees had published books, some had hundreds of published magazine articles! Once again, I was a fish out of water.

I don't know when I have ever been so keyed up.  Driving home, all I could think about was what torture lay in store on Tuesday.  How can you prepare for the unknown?

Our first Christmas

     Recently, I was reminded of my first Christmas as a young bride.  I was indeed young, nineteen years and six weeks to be exact, and a hopeless romantic.  I was determined to have a stately tree and to decorate it with fabulous ornaments - it would be comparable to a department store display.

     For those of you who live in the area, I had envisioned a trip to Arensberg's Grocery store on Main Street to select the perfect Christmas tree.  After selecting ther perfect tree, I envisioned selecting ornaments and lights.  We'd walk hand in hand through the aisles, agreeing on every detail! 

     When I suggested selecting a Christmas tree, Marlin scoffed at the idea of paying for one.  He had a better idea - he'd go to the pasture and cut down a tree.  I knew what that meant - a scrub tree!  I'd been to the pasture and I didn't remember any of the scrub trees looking stately.  Sickly was more like it.  The tree he brought home was scraggly; we turned it every which way trying to find the "best side" to face out - there was no "best side."  Oh well, I was determined not to let my disappointment show.  I put on my happy face and resolved to transform the tree with ornaments, lights and garland - lots of garland.

      My optimism was tested when Marlin told me we were NOT going to pay full price for ornaments or anything else related to decorating.  We would wait until they were 75% off after Christmas.  AND, we would buy them from the farm store!  I didn't cry, really I didn't.  Looking back, maybe I should have.  He might have let me buy one box of ornaments.  Instead, I did the only thing I could think of - I created a construction paper garland, just like we made in grade school.  I also strung popcorn and put that on the tree.  It wouldn't have been too bad, but scrub trees have a distinct smell.  You don't notice it when they're in the pasture, but brought inside they emit an odor simliar to cat urine.  Oh how I wished I hadn't been in such a hurry to get a tree!

     A week or so before Christmas, my husband's aunt took pity on me and made me two tiny crocheted stockings and a lady from church gave me a small beaded bell.  What a pitiful tree! 

     You know what?  In spite of the scraggly, smelly tree we had a wonderful Christmas.  We have laughed about that first tree for almost 30 years.  A memory was created that is better than any memory a perfect tree could have provided.

A trip to the hair salon - Random Thoughts

     I went to get my hair cut and colored yesterday.  Nothing new. I've been coloring my hair for years.  I had hoped to take after my father who didn't gray until his early sixties.  I didn't.  I inherited my mother's tendency to gray early.  I had told my husband years ago that I would continue to color my hair as long as his mother did.  I was NOT going to have more gray showing than my mother-in-law!  Well, now I have a dilemma...

     My mother-in-law is no longer coloring her hair, in fact, she does not have enough hair to color.  After undergoing numerous chemotherapy and radiation treatments, her hair is just now beginning to grow back.  Best described as a marbling of gray and white, I find it quite lovely.  Unique. Now that she is doing well, I wonder what she'll do about coloring her hair... For now, I will continue to color mine - just to be safe.

     Have you ever considered what your hair says about you?  The color and the style?  These questions were floating around my mind as I waited for my appointment.  Looking at the women whose hair was being styled, I wondered if I couldn't accurately describe the personality of each.

     Then I had what seemed to be a rather bizarre thought - a relationship with a good hairstylist can be compared to our relationship with God.  A stretch, you say?  All I can say is, it's my mind and I can't always control these thoughts...

     Have you ever taken a picture to your stylist and said, "This is exactly what I want.  I love this cut!"  Somehow, our identity, our happiness if you will, is often tied to our hair.  If we can get that perfect cut, our lives will be transformed.  Our children will become more compliant, helpful even.  Our husbands will greet us with grand gifts.  And all we meet will greet us with looks of admiration.

     And don't we take that same notion to God?  If I just had a better car, a bigger house, a better job, then my life would be perfect.  "God, could you look at these mental pictures I have and fill my desires? Then my life would be perfect and the kids would be more compliant and helpful.  I'm sure my husband would start lavishing me with gifts and attention.  And everyone I meet will greet me with looks of admiration."  Sounds selfish, doesn't it?  We have a mental picture of what it would take to have a perfect life and we want God to provide that perfect life based on our mental picture.

     I've never had that perfect cut.  The elusive perfect cut.  I have had some bad cuts.  Really bad.  I'm sure at some time you have experienced the "I'll be wearing this hat for a while" hair massacre.  You are mortified, speechless as you leave the salon.  Your mood darkens as time passes and by the time your family sees you, you are livid.  Poor things.  They don't know what to say or do.  And if they are smart, they won't say anything!

     I've never seen anyone with a perfect life, either.  God knows us well enough not to give us our every desire.  Who learns from perfection?  I don't.  Well, I don't think I would - I haven't experienced perfection...

     My sister is my stylist.  I've been able to count on her for about ten years.  She has talked me out of hairstyles and talked me into others.  She has made me promise to never, ever color my hair myself (I have pictures that support her demands).  I've learned a lot about hair from her.

     So here is the path my brain took: When we are faithful in our walk with God, we can trust him to send nothing but the best our way.  We may not like his choice of "best," but we trust His judgment.  Much like the relationship with a good hairstylist, we trust her when she says, "This is a great style but it's not for you.  You wouldn't be happy with it." We don't always appreciate being told that what we want is not what is best for us.  At least, not initially.

     And what about the times when we experimented?  When we walked away from our stylist and decided to try someone new?  The allure of a new stylist who could possible give us the elusive "perfect" cut can overtake us, just as the temptation to temporarily abandon our walk with God can.  Both scenarios will end in heartache.  Fortunately, our original stylist will take us back, will forgive us for trying someone new.  And, she will repair the damage done by a stylist who doesn't know our hair growth pattern.  Isn't God like that?  Even when we walk away, or just turn a deaf ear and operate on autopilot, God is ready to take us back into his arms.  Ready to undo any damage.

     When I get a really good haircut, I feel better about myself.  I know you do, too.  We are more confident and other people notice.  A faithful walk with God can do even more.  Not only are you more confident, but you have more to offer the person who asks, "What's up with you?  Why are you in such a good mood?"  Passing on the name of a good stylist is helpful for now, passing on the name of your Savior is helpful forever.